Curveball(33)

He meets up with me at the doors on the right side of the gym that lead to the weight room. At his high school, Matthews was hot shit with banners and titles under his belt. Then, he came to Strick U and faded into the background, becoming my shadow. As my relief pitcher, he’s damn good, but he is not good enough to be a starter—at least, not at the moment. Next year, unless someone else comes along, he will be the starting pitcher for the team.

Coach has asked me to work with him to get him ready for the role he might need to fill in the fall semester when I’m gone. Most of the guys on the team call him Pretty Boy. He’s one of those dudes who looks like he models for a living with his platinum-blond hair and just-stepped-out-of-a-tanning-booth skin that makes him look even more out of place in Philly.

“Take a seat,” I tell Matthews. I sit down on the weight bench, leaning forward to pick up the dumbbells next to me. “Add another fifty,” I order when he chooses weights light enough for my sister to bench.

He smartens up and grips the heavier weights, lifting them to his chest. “How come we’re not benching?”

“You get a better range of motion with dumbbells. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. If you wanna do barbell presses, wait for Coach, and he can show you the right way to do it.”

We lift in silence for a few minutes, taking breaks between sets, before he drops the dumbbells on the floor and rests his elbows on his knees, his shaggy hear falling into his face, damp with sweat.

“I heard a rumor,” he says under his breath. He checks over his shoulder before he says the last part, “Someone told me you were hooking up with the prof with stripper tits, the one who looks like Cameron Diaz’s twin sister.”

I never really gave much thought to whom Olivia looked like, other than knowing she was hot as fuck, but now that Matthews has mentioned it, I can see some similarities to a young Cameron in her face. But Olivia has curves for days and the best tits I’ve ever held in my hands. I just want to bury my face in them.

“No,” I spit back. “Who told you that?”

“Jimmy said he saw you guys leaving the restroom together at Broad Street Beans.”

Fuck.

I knew I should have been more careful around campus. But I have to fuck her every time I see her, and the feeling is mutual. After the first time in the restroom, we’ve had sex a few more times up against that wall. We almost got caught the last time when someone knocked and had to ask a staff member to open the door. I hid in the back stall until all the girls left, which was super awkward but necessary so that people wouldn’t see us together.

“Am I not allowed to take a piss anymore without someone following me?”

He holds his arms up in defense and shrugs. “Look, man, I’m just telling you what I heard. Is it true?”

“I wish.” I drop the dumbbells to the mat when I hear some of the guys’ voices out in the hall, assuming they’re on their way into the weight room. “No, it’s not true.”

He peeks up at me from under his light brows with a strange expression on his face. “Whatever you say.”

Olivia would have a stroke if I told her about this conversation. She knows the risks as much as I do, but all of her barriers have slowly been coming down since we have gotten more serious. I have a girlfriend—something I never knew I wanted until I had Olivia in my life. And I don’t want to lose her.



After our away game against Penn State, I hang out longer than I expected to have dinner with a scout from the Phillies. He’s impressed not only with me, but also with the show our team put on today. All our hard work in the off-season paid off because we smoked them by three runs. We won, of course, because I pitched the fucking game of a lifetime.

By the seventh inning, Coach had been sweating bullets, but my hand had been steady the entire time. I have dealt with worse things in my life, and pitching a no-hitter was gravy compared to the things I had done off the field.

After I’ve finished up with the scout and showered, I get right back in my car. With her class schedule, Olivia was not able to leave with me for the weekend, no matter how much begging I had done. Literally, I’d gotten on my hands and knees before I shoved my face between her thighs.

All I have been able to think about for the last two days since I left is her lips. I love her lips, her mouth, the cute sounds she makes when she’s sleeping.

Fuck, I think I am in love with her, in love with my much older professor and the only girl who has ever made me feel something.

The long stretch of road on my way back home gives me a lot of time to think about our relationship. I spend so much time traveling on the same roads that one highway blends into another, my body on autopilot by the time I reach I-76, one step closer to home. Beyond tired and ready to jump into bed with my girl, I lean my head back against the headrest, smiling like a fucking idiot at the thought of the game I pitched, imagining the look on her face when I tell her about it.

Everything I do seems to turn her on, and baseball is no exception. I think she just likes the uniform. Deciding I need to talk to her, I hit the buttons on the steering wheel to call Olivia.

“Hey, baby,” I say the second she answers. “You missed one of the best games.”

She sighs. “Don’t say that. I already feel bad enough that I couldn’t come with you.”

The sound of her voice alone makes me hard, and I can’t wait to get home, now driving faster than before. “I pitched another no-hitter.”