Dirty Curve

Avix Inquirer:

The spring semester’s in full swing, and thanks to our very own Playboy Pitcher, so is the 2021 baseball season. Let’s go, Sharks!

“Tobias.”

Staring at the now-closed doors, I lick my lips, tempted to follow the girl out, but Coach Reid calls my name again, so I step into his office.

He drops into his chair, tossing his phone onto the desktop with an exasperated huff. “Sorry about that. I was hoping to talk to her before you got here, but I forget your internal clock is like an old man’s and you show up a half hour early everywhere you go.”

“Yeah.” I frown, subconsciously glancing toward the hall again. “It’s all good, Coach. She, uh, seems like fun.”

When I face forward, I find him frowning in my direction, and my lips pull to one side. “Not my fault you read that wrong. Thinking with the head on my shoulders, swear.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, you better be, and don’t worry, she’ll do what she’s told.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that sounded like a case of coercion and I didn’t catch the submission part.”

He chuckles, scrubbing his hands down his face as he leans forward. “Trust me, son. It’s handled, and since she took off, go on and head back to whatever it is I’m sure you had planned.”

“Why did she take off?”

His eyes snap to mine. “What?”

“Coach, she legit ran the fuck out. Didn’t say a word to me.”

Coach Reid looks to the side as he grabs his keys from the drawer. “What she lacks in social skills, the girl makes up for in brains. That’s all you need to know.”

A frown creeps over my face. “All right.”

“All right,” he echoes. “Now go, but no calling me to clean up any messes,” the man jokes.

“Yeah, you look like you could use a couple days of sleep.”

“I’ll sleep in July when the season’s over.”

“And I’m on my way to spring training.”

“Exactly, son.” He laughs, pushing to his feet and leading me out the door. “Go have your fun. I’ll send you what you need to know.”

Nodding, I spin on my feet, saluting him on my way out. “Thanks, Coach. See you tomorrow.”

I head out, and with my head still stuck in no-man’s-land, a mythical place where a lowly bun-sporting chick blows me off, I make my way home to join my teammates for some chill time.

Inside, I find my closest friend and roommate Echo, leaning against the wall, chatting up a couple ball babes. Our third and first basemen, Xavier and Neo, brothers in every way that counts, take up most of the space on the couch, a head of bleach-blonde hair I recognize sitting between them.

Our place is nice, low key, and we work hard to keep it that way.

It’s a three-bedroom bachelor pad directly across from campus, courtesy of Coach Reid, who happens to be the athletic director here at AU, and the man who gave my life purpose when I had none.

It’s a real sweet setup with all-expenses paid and a jacuzzi out back. He hooked me up with the spot when I accidentally got myself in a sticky situation that was against frat house rules—who knew the handbook clearly stated, in big ass bold letters, that bikini-Jell-O wrestling wasn’t allowed on campus?

Not me, that’s for damn sure.

Now, though, we’re in the clear and taking recommendations for this year’s contenders at our annual Memorial Day Jell-O Jamboree.

Sure, it’s technically against the rules for a school to fund their athletes beyond tuition, but the NCAA made a change to their guidelines this year. Student athletes are now allowed to make money off endorsements and the like, so no one really knows who’s paying the bills. The man never directly hands me a dollar, so no harm, no foul.

My coach knows my worth, and he made it clear from day one he will do anything to make sure I’m comfortable as well as able to keep my focus where we both want it—on the field, where he needs me.

Having no financial burdens allows me to do that, it’s part of the reason he’s asked me not to accept any sponsorship offers. He says they always ask for more and what I can give is already limited to near nothing. I can’t afford to put my energy anywhere else, and he understands that more than anyone. He’d probably pay someone to do my work for me too if there was a way to go about it that didn’t involve bringing someone else in, and that’s just too risky.

It’s like I said, Coach always knows best.

He also knows without me, his entire program would be fucked.

No joke.

The team ragged on Echo and me when we started packing up, talking shit about how we were becoming two old men ready for domestication. They were just fucking around, mad the party boys, as they liked to call us, would be gone and could no longer be a bargaining tool they could use when inviting the sorority houses over.

We knew every son of a bitch on that team would gladly take the third room we had if we let them. Who would pick one pad with twenty dudes, two to four in a room, depending on clout, over a three-bedroom house that gave them their own space? Nobody, that’s fucking who.

Especially when we still have full access to the team house, so when we feel like hopping over for some fun, we do.

Echo spots me as I cross the living room threshold.

“What up, man.” He breaks from the girls, joining me in the kitchen. “You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.”

“Yeah, it was a bunch of bullshit.” I tear the fridge open, reaching in for a Vitamin Water. “You want somethin’ to drink?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ beer,” he huffs out.

I hear him on that. Coach has a strict no-drinking policy that started after holidays and holds until the end of season. Saturday nights are technically our only free days to get drunk and fuck around, that and the occasional Friday when our games are done for the week, but that’s keeping in mind how on those kinds of Fridays, Coach likes to run our asses off at practice as a way to weed out who went too hard the night before. That and the early game film review Saturday mornings.

I mean, I drink whenever I want, and I do get bitched at for it, but it’s all for show, to make sure Coach is being fair and whatnot.

See, I’m a pitcher. The pitcher.

Number one in the country, that is, as far as college ball is concerned. I hold the record for the most consecutive strikes thrown and am one of the few pitchers at the D1-level who doesn’t use a designated hitter.

Yeah, my coach tried to fight me on it, but he lost.

They all lose when it comes to what I want, not that Coach Reid put up much of a fight.

Bottom line, the team needs me, the school wants me, and coach fought damn hard to get me, so if there’s ever a pass to be given, it’s mine.

If you ask the world around me, I’m handed things on a silver fucking platter with a side of ass-kissing.

Guess the day in, day out ache in my muscles from over–exertion means nothing.

People don’t care to know about the work that goes into what I do, only the outcome and since I stepped into the starting pitcher spotlight, the team went from late-night reruns to primetime playtime. We have MLB Network switching over to our live games, looking to catch a few minutes of pristine performance, something they know they can depend on when I’m on the mound. And that’s not me being conceited, it’s facts. It’s why I’m paid to be here rather than paying to be here.

It’s a lot of fucking pressure, but it’s worth it.

Never let ‘em see you sweat.

With a heavy inhale, I pull my drink to my lips and glance around the room, noticing E’s cousin is MIA. “Where’s Drew?”

“Couldn’t make it. Some shit for bio.” Echo shrugs. “How is it that half the team is stuck in some fucked-up version of science this semester, and we’re the odd ones out with nobody else in our classes to share the load with?”

“I don’t know, but my anatomy class is trash.”

“Try physics, bro.”

“Yeah, well, you’re some kind of fucking genius. You’ll pull an A in the end.” With a frown, I pull my phone from my pocket and open up the message Coach sent to me with my tutor’s email address, quickly jumping over to the other two messages now lighting up the screen, one from Melanie and the other from Vivian … who is sitting on the couch in my living room.

I lift my eyes to Echo, showing him my screen, and he chuckles.

“Fuckin’ knew she was waiting on you,” he says quietly. “Neo’s been laying it on thick, but that girl has yet to bite.”

“Funny, as far as I remember, she’s fond of biting.” My mouth lifts in the corner.

“You gonna take her up on her offer?”

I nod, knowing I likely will.

Echo shakes his head, smiling like a dick. “You better be careful with that one or she’s gonna think you like her.”

“I like her.”

His head swivels my way again, but I make him wait a solid ten seconds before I meet his pretty boy smile.

“You mean you like to fuck her.”

“One could say it’s the other way around.”

He grins, facing her way again. “Clearly.”

“Trust me, she’s cool, sweet and smart, the type who’d fly quick if I went boyfriend mode.”

“If you say so,” the fucker tries to clown. “So, what happened with the tutor, why you back so quick?”

“It was supposed to be a meet and greet, but we didn’t get to the meet part.”

Echo looks my way. “Why not?”

“She was in Coach Reid’s office when I got there, telling him how she couldn’t tutor me and what not.”

His brows jump. “For real?”

“For fuckin’ real.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know.” I shrug. “But as soon as she realized I was in the tunnel and heard her, she freaked. Grabbed her shit and booked it out the door. And get this, the girl kept her head down the entire time, not so much as a flick of her eyes my way, and trust me, I watched for it. She practically fuckin’ ran out the hall.”

Echo’s eyes tighten, and I’ll give his punk ass some credit—he squashes his lips together to at least attempt to keep his laugh in, but it slips. “She sounds like a real headcase.”

I lick my lips to hide my grin. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re a pompous motherfucker.” He smiles when I shove his ass in the shoulder and step by him, saying, “she was probably nervous. You can be a handful.”

“Two handfuls, if we’re being technical.”

He scoffs, the corner of his mouth lifting. “When you sitting down with her?”

“Coach said she’d be waiting in the library Friday after practice. Table number two, but I’m about to email her to work something else out.” I look at him. “You meet yours today?”

He bobs his chin. “It’s the same chick I had last semester. I don’t mind hangin’ with her and we know how each other works so it should be pretty smooth.”

“You ever make a move on her?”

“Nah, man.” His eyes widen. “Bringing her into this would be a cruel kind of torture. No way she’d enjoy our crew.”

I nod, pushing a long breath out of my nostrils when Vivian shoots a sly smile over her shoulder.

“Looks like my time has come.”

Echo laughs, pushing my shoulder as he walks away, and I collect the blonde from the couch.

I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “You waitin’ for me, gorgeous?”

“You know I am.” She smiles, steering us toward my bedroom without pause.

“Sweet dreams, Cruz!” Neo singsongs, so I sing right back.

“Fuck off, Calavera!”

“Oh, I will, son. Twice! Maybe even right here on your couch!”

Vivian laughs, kicking her shoes off as I poke my head out into the hallway.

“TMI, motherfucker!” I shout, closing and locking the door. “TMI.”

I spin to find Vivian already helping herself out of her dress, not requiring or desiring my help. Not interested in pregaming. No flirty fun or fired-up foreplay.

I swallow a heavy sigh, toss my hat, and tug my hoodie over my head.

Typical fucking Tuesday.

Meyer

“Your screen’s black.”

I blink, refocusing on my open computer in my lap, and sure enough, it’s gone to sleep, like I wish I could. I must have read over Avix University’s “star pitcher’s”—as he labeled the thread—email a dozen times since it came through.

Does he seriously think my tutoring him means he sends me his work and I do it for him?

I plaster on a small smile and turn toward my best friend. “Hey.”

Bianca stands in the bathroom doorway in a pair of my pajamas with a towel on her head. “When did you get back?”

“Maybe ten minutes ago, loved your version of ‘Work It’ by the way.”

“I’m telling you, how The Voice turned down my audition tape, I don’t even know.” She jokes and steps from the doorway, instantly in the living room.

This place is literally a square.

When you cross the threshold of the front door, it’s left, into the single-counter kitchen, with just enough room to turn from the sink to the stove or right, where two doors sit. One leads to the bathless bathroom, the other to a tiny room that’s hardly bigger than a standard closet, and if you don’t turn, but step straight, you’re in the living room, also known as my bedroom.

I have a dresser turned TV stand and a couch that pulls into a bed—my one chosen expense.

Thank God for Rent-A-Center.

The place is miniature, and sometimes, after really hot days or when there’s no airflow, it smells a little stale, the old mats beneath the carpet making themselves known. I have to wipe the windows down constantly to help keep out the mold, but it’s warm, safe, and not too far from campus.

Bianca comes to sit beside me on the ‘bed,’ takes my laptop from my hands, and places it on the far side of her.

“I would have voted for you, you know.” I look to her with a nod, and both of us laugh.

Bianca is a horrible singer, something she finds hilarious being that her grandfather is a living legend, and both her parents sang backup for him for years. She doesn’t let it stop her from hopping on the stage at random karaoke nights at Trivies, one of the local pubs within walking distance from campus.

“You and no one else, chica, but enough deflecting. Talk to me. Why were you zoning out? Your little fingers are never not typing away on that thing.”

Bianca is my biggest confidant and the only person who knows some of the troubles I face, keyword being some.

I’ve shared with her what I could never tell anyone else, but where she holds nothing back from me, I have had to keep a couple details to myself. I love and trust her, but when you’re at war with your own decisions, it’s not smart to share your sword.

“I don’t know how I’ll get through this year, let alone another one.” I swallow my sigh. “I’m already exhausted and we’re still in the first part of the semester. It’s only going to get worse.”

With a potential catastrophic nightmare to follow.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as Bianca falls beside me.

“You’re so close,” she softly says. “So close, but you definitely need a break. I’m taking us on a month-long vacation in paradise. We’ll leave the minute we finish finals. Bikinis and Bailey all day long!”

I turn to her with a small smile, and she slips her hand into mine. “I’m so holding you to that.”

“Bitch, I’m holding you to that.” She laughs.

Bianca and I are similar in some ways and polar opposites in others.

She’s tall and thin while I’m short and currently a good twenty-something pounds past my norm, which is still heavier than she could ever be. I’m on the quieter side and keep to myself, more so now than ever, where she can have a bit of a wild side sometimes. She’s confident, outgoing, and, inadvertently, the life of the party.

She and I were assigned the same room freshman year, and at first, I didn’t think we would become more than roommates, but I was wrong. We were fast friends and have been ever since.

She’s the most genuine person I know, and the only one who truly stuck around when my life shifted.

“Thank you for helping me out in the evenings. I would be so screwed without you.”

“Seriously, stop thanking me. I told you, being here works out for me just as much as it does for you. I need the downtime away from all the sorority drama. This is about the only place I can smile anymore.”

“Awe, is this your happy place?” I tease, but with a grateful rasp, one she picks up on.

Bianca winks when a soft hum calls for me.

I pull myself up, walk toward that tiny room in the corner, and slowly push the door the rest of the way open.

My gloomy mood disappears instantly, and I step inside with a smile that matches the one staring back at me. “Hi, baby girl.”