The Dugout(14)

“The last thing I want to do is bother the baseball team while they’re trying to work out. That was humiliating, Jerry. And what would have happened if he actually needed spotting? There is no way I could have assisted him.”

“He’s Carson Stone. He doesn’t need assisting when it comes to weights.”

“That’s beside the point. You put me in a stupid situation and in the end, I was burned. You saw the look on his face when you said I could help him. If I wasn’t standing directly in front of him, he would have laughed out loud.”

“That’s not true,” Jerry counters, but I don’t think he truly believes himself.

“So not only does he refer to me as the panini line girl, but he also thinks I’m some kind of idiot who thinks they know more than his coaches.”

“You do know more than them.”

I tilt my head to the side in exhaustion. “I don’t, Jerry. They’re the head coaches at Brentwood University for a reason. They’re the best.” Sighing, I glance toward Lake Michigan, easy as our campus is right next to it. “It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not like our paths will cross again.”

“You never know, you could run into him in the dining hall again.”

“We are no longer eating at Lakeview, because we’re going to slum it at Lincoln dining hall to avoid any interaction with the baseball team.”

“What?” His brows shoot up. “And miss out on the paninis? No fucking way.”

“It’s the price you pay for embarrassing me.”

He shakes his head, determination in the sharp back and forth. “Nope, not happening. Have fun eating by yourself at Lincoln. Jerry is getting himself some paninis.”

Ridiculous.

Then again, I don’t want to punish myself either, because their paninis are really freaking good. It’s not just the crunch of the bread and the delicious insides of the sandwich, but the sauces. Man, do they have the best sauces.

I take a sip of my coffee and look him square in the eyes. “Fine, but for the next three nights you’re buying my dinner, and at the game on Saturday, you’re getting me a giant box of popcorn all for myself.”

“You’re still going to go to the game?” A smile stretches across his face.

“It’s not like he’ll see me, and I refuse to let Carson Stone stand in the way of my love of baseball.”

Chuckling, he wraps his arm around me and says, “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“It means I’m talking to you, but you’re not yet forgiven. That will take some time.”

“Fair enough.” If there’s one thing I learned from being the only girl in my family, it was this. Do not give boys an inch, because they will always take a mile. Jerry’s smart. He knows he’s not off my shit list yet.

We start to walk toward our class, Jerry’s arm around my shoulder, the familiar weight of his body pressing against mine. We met freshman year at orientation. We were both wearing Chicago Bobcat shirts and hats, totally twinning. We joked about who wore it better and a friendship was formed. Shane and Jerry were friends in high school, and I was quickly pulled into their little group, for which I am still very thankful. I’d been mildly concerned that I’d get the normal brush-off from college girls that I had all through high school, so these boys saved me. Even if they are annoying at times.

Never—and I mean never—have we had any romantic feelings toward each other. They’re like brothers to me, two more—as if I need any more in my life. They protect me, tease me, let me use them as sounding boards, and they’re the main reason I wasn’t a hermit the entire four years of college. They also push me out of my comfort zone, which was exactly what Jerry tried doing, and even though I need to appreciate his attempt to make me feel uncomfortable for a good reason, it can’t happen again.

Pausing, I look at him and say, “Please don’t do that again. I know you were trying to be helpful, but in the long run, it was anything but helpful. Just embarrassing.”

His face softens and he pulls me into a big hug, his strong arms wrapping around me, holding me tightly. “I’m sorry, Milly. My intention wasn’t to embarrass you. I guess I was excited. We’ve always talked about you working for Brentwood one day.”

“Yeah, in a dreamland situation, not in real life. We both know it’s a boys’ club when it comes to men’s sports.”

“And that’s where you’re selling yourself short. You need to have confidence in yourself and your knowledge and stop hiding behind the fact that you’re a woman.”

“I’m not hiding behind my gender.”

“It’s what you bring up every time we suggest you offer assistance. We practically had to drag you to the field to get you to coach with us. You offered to help with only female sports in the weight room until we convinced you, you can do both.” He tips my chin up. “If men can coach both genders, you sure as shit can too.”

Slightly ashamed, I stare at the ground. I’ve never thought I’m incapable of coaching male sports, but there is a definite boys’ club mentality in baseball. And that’s the wall I’m not certain I’ll ever scale. That unwritten code that defines the roles in coaching have most definitely deemed baseball coaching as a male-only profession. But I do appreciate Jerry’s and Shane’s faith in me. “You’re one in a million, Jerry. Not many people think the same way you do.”