Curveball(26)

“Well, aren’t we possessive?” she says, goading me. “You know, this is really turning me on. You want to own my body, Mark?”

“I already do.” Caressing her face with my hand one last time, I kiss her and my dick gets hard again, but I need to break away from her. “I have to talk to Coach. I’ll stop by your apartment after you’re done with work.”

She winks and then walks in the opposite direction, toward the exit. I watch her ass shake down the hallway until she pushes open the door and steps outside, leaving me with a semi hard-on and wanting more.

By the time I take a seat in front of Coach, he’s writing down plays in his book and grinding his teeth.

“You fucked off half of last season, Montgomery. I thought, with scouts coming to see you and agents knocking down your door, that you would at least get your shit together for your final season. If you want to bang girls at your fraternity house, go right ahead, but when you are in this building, you are on my time. Do you understand?”

I suck in a deep breath and let it out, frustrated. “Yes, Coach.”

“While that was a nice piece of ass you found, you need to get your head back in the game.”

“Don’t talk about my girl like that,” I say, defensive.

He laughs into the crook of his elbow. “She’s your girlfriend?”

“Yes…no…I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

Coach leans his forearms on his desk and locks eyes with me. “Women will distract you. This is not the time to mess around, not after everything you have done to get to this point in your career. I have no doubt that you could be one of the best pitchers in the MLB—if you stay on track. At least twice a week, I get phone calls about you from reporters, scouts, and agents who want a piece of you. You have been slipping for the past few weeks, including during practice today. I assumed you’d been partying too much, but now, I’ve found the real source of the problem.”

“She’s not a problem, and there’s nothing wrong with how I’ve been playing.”

“Really?” He stands up from his desk and hovers over me. “When was the last time you pitched a perfect inning?”

I cross my arms over my chest, fighting back my anger even though I know he has a point. “It’s just practice, Coach.”

“You’ve had your head up your ass lately. I have two ex-wives and four kids. I know all about being in love and falling out of it just as fast.”

“I’m not in love.” I snort.

“Whatever. Love, lust—it makes no difference to me; just snap out of it. We have our first game next week. I need you in the zone, and so does the team.” Coach sits down, leaning back in his chair that creaks beneath his bulky frame. “Now, go hit the showers! You’re stinking up my office.”

After I strip out of my uniform, I throw my clothes into a gym bag and stuff it at the bottom of my locker. I close the door and walk toward the showers. As I glance in the mirror on the wall next to me, I notice something red on my neck. Studying the mark, I stop to rub it with my index finger.

Thirty minutes ago, Olivia kissed me in the exact same spot. I smile at the thought until I realize that Coach is right. I like her a lot more than I ever intended, more than I have ever liked another girl. She was supposed to be a one-night stand, but I claimed her, made her mine.

Maybe I should let her go before we both get hurt.

But I’m too selfish.



After baseball practice, I stop by the food store and drive to my mother’s house in South Philly. With my hands full of groceries, I walk up the front steps of the row house. Anxious about what I might find on the other side of the door, I turn the key in the lock and push the door open. Cracked at the frame, the entryway appears as though someone broke in—a new development my mom failed to mention since my visit last week.

Seeing the broken door, combined with the cigarette-stained walls and frayed carpet with burns, takes my anxiety up another notch. My nostrils burn from the thick cloud of smoke in the air, causing my stomach to turn.

“Sammy,” I call out, hoping my little sister is not home to see Victoria, aka Mommy Dearest, passed out drunk on the living room couch with a lit cigarette dangling from between her fingers, the ash so long that it falls onto the carpet.

I set the bags down and lean over the coffee table. “Wake the fuck up!”

She stirs when I scream again, loud enough for her to open her glassy eyes.

“Mark,” she slurs, “what are you doing here?”

“It’s Wednesday.” I throw my hands on my hips, my anger shaking right through me. “Since my freshman year in college, I’ve been coming here on the same day and at the same time every week, no matter what I have going on at school. Don’t act like this is a surprise, Victoria.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m your mother.”

“Then, act like it!”

She sits up and scratches her head, confused and disoriented. Clearly, she has no clue what day it is, which means she has no fucking idea if my sister is home or even alive. The medal for the Worst Mother goes to my mom.

For most of my life, I’ve taken care of her. I cleaned up puke from the bathroom floor on school nights after only having a few hours of sleep. I had to change my sister’s diapers when she was a baby. When she grew up, I made sure she was fed, clothed, and didn’t go to school looking like she’d crawled out of the gutter. That was the last thing I wanted for my sister because kids could be harsh, and if you didn’t dress or act a certain way, they would pick on you—like they had done to me before I became friends with Luca. Knowing him changed my life. My sister does not have that luxury. She only has me.