The Perfect Game (The Perfect Game #1)

The Perfect Game (The Perfect Game #1) Page 28

JACK

The state of Alabama welcomed me with open arms. That was the good news. The bad news was that the air there was so thick with humidity I thought I might choke. I’d never experienced heat that felt almost solid in form, hitting you in the face when you stepped outside. But the people were friendly and the city boasted that small-town feel I thought only existed in movies.

All the shifting in the Diamondbacks organization caused a group of guys on my team to lose a roommate. This worked out perfectly for me, considering I was looking for some. I moved in right away, taking not only the other guy’s room in the house, but his spot on the roster too.

I braced for resentment from the other players that would never come. Instead, I found myself playing with a group of extremely supportive guys. The competition was fierce, but this was still a team sport, no matter how you sliced it.

“Hi,” I said as Cassie picked up her phone.

“Hi, yourself,” she said back, her voice making me smile. “How are you? How’s the team?”

“I’m good. The team is insane.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone’s just really fucking good.” I sighed with contentment.

“Like better than your other team, or how?”

“Just in every way possible. It’s a whole different level of ball.”

“You expected that though, right?” Her voice suggested if I hadn’t, I should have.

“I guess I didn’t really think about it. They’re definitely better hitters and my pitches don’t intimidate them.”

“So pitch around their bats and make your pitches scary,” she suggested with a giggle.

“I’m trying, Kitten.”

“Jack, you’re an incredible pitcher. You’ll figure it out. This is all part of the process and in the end you’ll be a better player for it.”

“When’d you get so smart?”

“Probably the second you left town.” I could practically feel her eye-roll over the phone line.

“Brat.”

“I gotta go, Jack. I’m sorry but I get to sit in on a call with the New York offices! Yay!” she screamed into the phone.

“That’s great, babe. You go. I’ll talk to you later.” I chuckled, her excitement making me smile.

“Wait, Jack?” she shouted and I fumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks. Love you,” I said before hanging up.

I took a deep breath as I kicked at the dirt mound beneath my cleats. The fans were all on their feet cheering, but I could barely hear anything above the sound of my own heart pumping adrenaline through my veins.

“You got this, Carter,” I heard my shortstop shout. I glanced at him briefly, our eyes meeting in a hopeful exchange. The cheers grew louder when I stepped onto the mound. My catcher flashed signs between his legs and I nodded in agreement, then gripped the ball in my left hand, the baseball’s string seams pressing against my fingertips. With another focused breath, I lifted my right leg into the air before delivering a piping hot fastball right down the middle.

The batter swung and I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t send that pitch into no man’s land. The sound of the ball crashing against the catcher’s glove echoed into the evening air, as the umpire screamed, “Strike three! You’re out!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and rushed the field before my teammates lifted me on top of their shoulders. Cameras flashed from all around, the quick bursts of light blinding me briefly. Hands reached out from every angle, pulling and tugging at any exposed body part. Everyone wanted a piece of me.

I had just pitched my first perfect game in Double-A ball. The feeling you get when that happens is hard to describe. It’s like an unbelievable high. I accomplished something that happens so rarely in the game of baseball. Not a single person from the other team got on base. I didn’t walk one batter. No one was hit by a pitch. Just me and my boys on our field for nine straight innings. Tonight, we’d be celebrating. And all I could think about was her.

I peeled myself away from the gaggle of fans and journalists and headed inside the locker room. “I’ll sign more after I shower,” I shouted toward the group of people wanting my autograph.

I opened my locker, grabbed my cell phone, and dialed.

“Hey, babe!” she answered, her tone excited and bubbly.

“Did you hear?”

“I watched the game online. Congratulations!” She squealed as I pulled my cell phone from my ear. “I’m so proud of you, baby!”

I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes, visualizing her gorgeous face. “God, I miss you,” I breathed out with a sigh.

“Me too. I wish I was there.” Her quiet, wistful tone tugged at my heart.

“I wish you were too. More than anything I wish you were celebrating this night with me.”

“I’m so happy for you, Jack.”

“Thanks, Kitten. I should probably go. I’ll call you later, okay?” My teammates filed out of the showers, eyeing me and pointing at their wrists.

“Have fun tonight. I love you,” she said and I grinned.

“I love you too. Night,” I replied before shutting my phone off.

The local bar seemed packed to capacity by the time we sauntered in. I walked through the front door with two of my teammates and the entire bar broke out into hoots and shouting. Before I knew it, drinks and shots were being handed to me from all directions. I downed the first three shots without hesitation and held on tightly to a bottle of beer. I looked around to thank whoever sent them over, but the dim lighting made it virtually impossible to distinguish individual people in the thick crowd.

“Great game tonight, Jack,” a petite brunette remarked as she grabbed my arm.

I looked at the hand touching me before removing it and placing it at her side. “Thanks.”

Her hand wrapped around my waist. “The name’s Chrystle.”

I removed her hand again more forcefully. “I didn’t ask.”

“Figured you’d want to know,” she said, inching her body closer to mine.

“And why’s that?” I asked, laying on the bored tone I usually used to discourage groupies.

She got on her tippy toes and leaned closer. “’Cause you’ll be screaming it later,” she whispered in my ear with a smile.

“Not a chance.” I frowned and turned my back to her before wading through the crowd toward a table in the back.

I reached my excited teammates and quickly sat down. “I’m starving! Please tell me there’s food here.” My stomach growled on cue and I looked around, noticing the insane amount of tequila shots covering the tabletop.

“Hell yes, there’s food! It’s just not here yet. So drink up, man. That was a hell of a game tonight, Carter!” My first baseman, Logan, slid a shot in my direction to celebrate.

The rest of the table erupted in similar congratulations and compliments, followed by high fives and knuckle-bumps, as we all grabbed a shot and drank a toast. I looked up from the table and noticed Chrystle eyeing me from the other end of the bar. She winked at me before taking a swig of her beer.

I elbowed Logan, who’d played on this team the past two seasons. “Hey, man. Who’s that chick at the end of the bar?”

“Which chick?” he asked with a chortle.

“The little brunette staring at us over there.”

“Oh, Chrystle? She’s basically a groupie on a mission. I’d steer clear of her if I were you,” he warned before downing another shot of the amber liquid.

“Trust me. I’m trying.”

“Here. Drink these.” He slid two shots over and I downed them one after the other, wincing after I swallowed. “You’re definitely on her radar.” He pointed at Chrystle engrossed in conversation with our head coach as both sets of eyes stared in our direction.

“I don’t want to be on any chick’s radar,” I answered, my temper starting to rise.

“Well, good luck with that. She’s relentless, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” I glanced quickly toward her before looking away. The last thing I wanted this groupie to think was that I was the least bit interested in her.

Logan handed me two more shots and I drank them effortlessly the tequila no longer a shock to my system. “I really need something to eat,” I mentioned to no one in particular before noticing the basket of bread across the table.

“Can I eat this?” I asked, reaching for it.

My teammate, Vince, looked up from his cell phone. “Huh? Oh yeah, Carter, here.” He shoved the basket toward me. “Eat up, man.”

“Thanks.” I nodded before ripping apart the bread and shoving a huge piece in my mouth.

It was too late and I knew it. My attempt to put something in my stomach was feeble at best. It was too little, too late…the bread no match for the alcohol that already assaulted my system. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d drank this much.

I elbowed Logan. “Where’s the pisser?”

“What, man?” He turned to me, his eyes already showing signs of how wasted he was getting.

“The bathroom? Where?” I shouted.

“In the far corner behind the jukebox.” He pointed, his finger unsteady.

“Thanks.” I pushed away from the table and stumbled. Shit, I was already drunk. My eyes squinted toward the corner of the bar and my legs headed in that direction.

Not even ten steps in and Chrystle stood at my side. “Where you going, Jack? Can I come?”

“No.” I tried to sound as disinterested as I could muster.

“You don’t mean that.” She bit her bottom lip seductively and I suddenly noticed her tight-fitting top. She caught me staring. “You like what you see?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“I don’t believe you.” She pressed her chest against my stomach and wrapped her arms around my lower back.

“Get the fuck off me,” I shouted before shoving her away from me.

“What’s your problem, Jack? I just want to make you feel good. Help you celebrate the big game.”

“I have a girlfriend. Why don’t you go celebrate with one of my single teammates. Or have you fucked them all already?” My lips formed a snarl as I walked away, leaving her behind.

A few minutes later, I exited the bathroom, my face wet with the water I’d splashed on it to help me feel less drunk. It didn’t work. And Chrystle still stood there waiting for me.

“I forgive you,” she said with a grin before blocking my path with her petite frame.

“Who gives a shit? Get out of my way.” I stared blearily at her perfectly made-up face.

“Come home with me.”

“I’m not interested.” I shook my head, suddenly feeling woozy.

“At least let me buy you a drink?” she offered and I narrowed my eyes, unsure of her intentions. “Come on, Jack, it’s just a drink.”

I glanced toward Logan for backup, only to see him crashed face-down on the table. I laughed. “Fine. One drink.”