The Locker Room(50)

“Fuck timing. I’m all in with you, Em,” I admit, feeling slightly desperate. “And I want more.” You would think a girl would be happy hearing that, but it only seems to make her more nervous, so I slow down a bit. “I’m not saying that sex is more. But I need you to know that my eyes are closed. You’re all I see. It’s you and you only. Before you freak out though, let’s start with a real date. You dress up, I put on a tie, I take you out.”

“You don’t have to wear a tie, but maybe something other than a backward baseball hat and baseball hoodie.”

I glance down at my hoodie and back up at her. “But you love this thing so much.”

“Love to trash it.”

“You act as if it’s ratty and gross. It’s Under Armour, babe, new this year. And I have five of them.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve seen them all,” she says with a sarcastic tone.

“Well . . . then, I expect you to wear a dress, not a skirt.”

“You don’t like my skirts?” Her brows crash together.

“No, I love them, I’m trying to punish you like you punished me.”

She chuckles. “You’re such a punk. Fine. I’ll put on a dress for you.”

“Then you agree? You’ll seriously date me? Like full-on boyfriend and girlfriend type stuff?”

She swirls her straw around her drink a few times before looking back at me. “Isn’t the girl supposed to ask things like that?”

“I’m an equal opportunist, babe.”

She rolls her eyes and then sits up, leaning forward. She brings the back of my hand to her lips and she places a soft kiss across my knuckles. It’s intimate, unexpected, and I fucking like it. “It’s a date then.”





“Sit.” Coach Disik points to the chair in front of him.

I was called into his office this morning. His text was simple: My office. Ten.

Translation—when Coach beckons, you arrive when you’re told. I have no idea what this is about but from the furrowed brow, I’m going to guess it isn’t good.

I scroll through my rolodex of stupid shit I’ve done over the last two weeks, but nothing comes to mind. I’m going into this meeting completely blind.

Hands folded and resting on his stomach, he stares at me from under the intimidating brim of his hat.

“I never took you for a moron, Gentry.”

Well, that’s one way to start a meeting. Only causes me to shift in my seat while a bead of sweat rolls down my back.

“But what the hell are you doing?”

Err . . .

I shift in my chair again. “Would you be able to elaborate?”

“The girl.”

“Emory?” I ask, trying to clarify why the hell I’m here.

“Sure.” He runs his finger under his nose. “The girl in the library. Dora Flower told me about your run-in with the intern.”

“Oh.” I chuckle and let out a breath of relief. “It wasn’t anything bad, Coach. We didn’t take it any further than a kiss.”

“You’re not seeing this girl?”

“Wait, what?” I ask confused. “No. I am. She’s my girlfriend.”

“You’re a dumbass. Perfect.” He leans forward, lifts his hat, and runs his hand across his forehead. “You realize where you are in your life right now, right?” He holds up his finger. “One semester away from being drafted, and you get involved with a girl? That is the dumbest thing you could do. You need to focus on your future.”

“Isn’t a girl the future as well?” I don’t know why I say it, apart from maybe I really am the dumbass Coach makes me out to be.

“So your life-long dream has been to be a boyfriend?”

Well, when he says it that way . . .

“No,” I answer, feeling stupid.

“You’re damn right it’s not. It’s to be a goddamn professional baseball player. This girl could be in it for all the wrong reasons.”

“That’s not how Emory is,” I say. “She’s different.”

“They always are,” Coach huffs. “Let’s say she’s different like you claim. What happens when she complains to you during the season that she never gets to see you? What happens when you have a fight, are you mentally prepared to push that to the side and do your job on the field?”

“I mean . . .” I’ve never even considered that. “I’ve never had a problem blocking things out before.”

“You never had a girl before either, but you chose now to do so.” Coach shakes his head and mutters, “Fucking moron.” He blows out a harsh breath and turns to his computer where he starts typing away. “I can’t force you to break things off with her, but there are plenty of other players ready to take your place if your performance suffers. Make the right choice for you and the team, Gentry.”

“And what would that right decision be?” This is so fucked. He can’t be serious that I have to choose between Em and baseball . . .

He tears his eyes from the computer screen and looks me up and down. “I think you know the answer to your own question.” He nods toward the door. “Now get the hell out of here. I have shit to do.”