Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet Book 2) (3 page)

Easton tossed a few warmup pitches. Once finished, I glanced over to the net. Nikki, Kyrie, and Kasey were in their usual seats. Nikki blew me a kiss, and I smiled. Kyrie had finally put her fucking Kindle down and was staring out at Easton. Kasey scowled at me, made a jerk-off motion, and flung ghost jizz in my direction.

I caught it and rubbed it into my chest protector, obviously.

Focus.

The big batter next to me dug his cleat into the dirt and twisted his foot as if he were squashing an imaginary bug.

Show me the other foot, butternuts.

He followed my instructions like a good little bitch and brought his front foot to rest slightly angled out to left field.

He's sitting on fastball.

I called for a slider away, and Easton shook me off like a Neanderthal, so I threw it down again. He came set, and checked the runners. At the last moment, I slid to the outside corner like a goddamn ninja and flipped up my glove to give him a target.

He exploded toward me. I saw the familiar dot on the ball from the rotation of the slider and caught it six inches off the plate. The idiot to my left whiffed hard enough to start a typhoon on the other side of the world.

I laughed and tossed the ball back to Easton. “That a kid. Listen to Daddy back here. He knows what's up.”

“The fuck you laughing at, prick?” The big dummy of a hitter stared down at me.

“A goddamn circus clown. What do you think?” I chuckled again and nodded at him.

“Keep it clean, boys. Let's play ball.” Pussy-ass umpires always ruined all the shit-talking fun.

“Yes, sir.” I didn't sound sarcastic at all in my reply.

I lifted my mask to wipe beads of sweat and dirt that quickly turned to some kind of mud concoction on my face.

Easton stalked back up to the rubber, and I looked over at bitch boy's feet. The hitter crowded up on the plate with his front toe turned in.

Ohh, bad mistake motherfucker.

“Wouldn't crowd homeboy's plate. He ain't like it.” I flattened my right palm in the dirt and moved it back and forth, using the dry earth to soak up some of the sweat from my palm.

“Fuck you, Braden. This is
my
plate.” He waved the bat back and forth at Easton.

“You were warned.”

Easton did appear menacing for such a big teddy bear. His glove was up, covering his face, and his hat was pulled down so that I could only see his eyes. But, I knew he was smiling up a shit storm under the glove when I called for the fastball inside.

I rocked back to my heels and braced myself for it as he went into his motions. The big ox could throw hard as fuck.

His arm was a whirlwind and the ball buzzed before exploding into my glove, right behind where the batter once stood. I looked over at him, lying in the dirt on his back.

“Told ya.” I winked.

The asshole jumped to his feet and kicked his big clown foot at the ground, roiling up a dirt cloud as he stared Easton down.

“Make a move. I'm right here. Stay off my goddamn plate.” Easton held his glove up, signaling for me to get the ball back to him.

I happily obliged. “I told his ass, E. He don't listen.”

“That's a warning for all three of you. Keep it up, and your asses are gone.” The ump wagged a finger at me. It was kind of cute.

“Yes, sir.” I grinned.

Easton walked back up to the mound. I looked over to my man's legs wobbling like jello, foot pointed out to left field again.

He's fucked.

I called for the slider away, and big boy on the mound learned his lesson and nodded. He came set and threw the pitch. This one started down the middle and broke to the outside corner.

The batter swung and got a tiny piece of the ball with the tip of the bat. The ball rolled into the grass about ten feet away and came to rest.

“You knocked the shit out of that one.” I chuckled.

“Fuck you. Stop talking to me.” He beat the end of the bat on his cleat as the crowd stood. Two strikes, two outs, game on the line. They were definitely amped up for the payoff pitch.

“God, so sensitive. Fine.” I mocked him in a falsetto. It was all too easy to get into a hitter's head.

The cheers of the crowd grew to a deafening roar as Easton took the bump, ready to finish this guy the fuck off.

Don't hang that shit again, E. Hit your spots.

The hitter dug in, and I called for the slider way out. Might as well make him look extra stupid on national TV for his wife and mother to see.

When Easton started to deliver I kicked my leg out in true acrobat fashion and set up off the plate. The pitch was perfect. Cock boy never had a chance. It came in hard and broke away at the last second as he blew down every tree in the city trying to hit it. The ball slammed into my glove.

“Haaah!” The umpire got into it, even though there was no need since the guy swung.

Fuck it. Let him have his moment in the sun.

I fist-pumped and turned to the hitter, holding up my glove to show him the ball. “Looking for this, pussyboy?” I laughed as I strolled out and bumped gloves with Easton. The rest of the team followed, and we all slapped fives and said congratulations. We were on a roll, and Easton had been unhittable ever since getting serious with the growing-in-popularity Kyrie Kent.

With this win, we’d be on our way to the playoffs, and after that, anything was possible—the pennant, the World Series, maybe even the Gryffindor House Cup.

“You were great, babe!” Nik's tits pressed against my chest while she kissed me. My Violet Beauregard blueberry balls yearned for a release.

“She ready to go?” I whispered in her ear.

“She is off the disabled list and ready for cock.” Nik leaned back and stared at me.

“Good. He misses you, you know?” I glanced to the tent forming in my jeans.

“I know, baby. I sure do. I missed him too.” She brushed her ass against my dick as she turned to say hi to everyone else.

I glanced around the bar. It was the same place where Easton nearly destroyed Sean's face. Ahh, the memories. I nudged Easton. “Want to go grab a couple pitchers of Smithwicks?”

“Yep.” He turned on his heel, and we strode toward the bar.

I leaned down and propped my elbows on the smooth wood surface. The difference in weight on my knees made me wince a little.

“Knees?” Easton looked down at my legs.

“They’ll be fine. Some of us have to do real work. Not fuck off like pitchers and shag flies all day.” I smirked.

“Yeah, you do a lot of work on your knees, I hear. Surprised they lasted this long.” He did that thing where he pretended to jerk an imaginary dick near his mouth and stuck his tongue in his cheek in rhythm.

“It's not my fault your mom grabs me by the hair and bucks on my face like she's riding a prized bull. Shit is like licking sandpaper.” I looked up at him and tried to keep a straight face.

A vein bulged in his neck. I shrugged it off. He started it. Crude humor was my thing. If he didn't like it, he could eat a bag of dicks.

“Really?” He turned to the bartender and ordered two pitchers.

Why let the fun stop? “Really, man. It's like the Sahara down there. I'll find the oasis one day I suppose. The struggle is real.”

While E worked up his next comeback, I reached out and snagged a coaster and began picking at the edges.

Instead of blasting me with a well-deserved insult, he put a hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay?”

I scoffed and forced myself to leave the coaster alone. He’d picked up on my tell. “Yeah, man. I’m good.”

“Braden, look at me.”

Fuck.
I turned my head and whistled. Talking things out was for chicks. Not me.

“What's up?” He burned a hole in the side of my head with his stare.

“It's nothing, man. Don't sweat it.” I turned to him, hoping he'd leave it alone.

“Tell me what's up. You're acting weird.”

I sighed. There was no getting rid of him. “It's just some bullshit with Nik's parents. Got me a little stressed. It's nothing.”

He grinned. “Meeting the parents, huh? You guys pregnant?” He laughed at his own joke like a rookie.

I flashed him my best you're-a-fucking-idiot look.

“So what, man? You'll be fine.” He handed some money to the bartender.

“I know. I mean—umm—it's just different with her. And she's super excited about it. Not making shit easier. Know what I mean?” I grabbed one of the pitchers of beer.

“Just nerves. You'll ace the parent test. You're you, after all.” He looked me up and down. “People like you. You're fine.”

I looked over at Nik, her perfect body hugged by her tight jeans and Ravens t-shirt that she had bedazzled up with my number. Classic Nik style. “I love her, man. Like bad. I don't want to fuck it up. I know they'll be uppity. She comes from money and shit.”

“Just be yourself. If they hate you, then it's because they already do. And nothing you could do would change that. Trust me.”

We started toward the table.

“I guess.” I shrugged, but kept the pitcher steady, because spilling beer was a crime against humanity.

“It's about time you two dick shits brought the beer. You finish whitewashing his tonsils, Braden? We all know Easton is a catcher at heart.” Kasey snickered.

“Keep it up, lil sis. Heard you sucked off a Sharpie hog last night.” I grinned at Kasey as her cheeks grew a slight pink.

“Laugh it up, twinkle titties. I'll never suck a dick.
Ever
!”

Kyrie and Nik giggled. Kasey swiped the pitcher from my hand and filled her glass.

Easton looked over at Nik then back to me. “Don't be a pussy. It's time to shit or get off the pot.”

N
IKKI

“…
AND THAT’S WH
Y
I’ll never do my own waxing ever again.” I finished my tale of woe with a flourish of my hands and a satisfied smile on my face. I should have been an actress or a motivational speaker.

Kyrie stared at me from across the table, her mouth slightly agape. The rest of the faces around the table were littered with a variety of expressions—all could have been classified in the ‘aghast’ category.

“Thank you for that fascinating trip into your juvenile psyche and utter inability to follow simple instructions.” Graciela Froggart peered over her cat eye glasses, displeasure written in the lines around her eyes and the downturn of her lips. “I would ask if there was a point, but I believe we’ve all learned that, with you, the answer would be no.” She surveyed the conference table, packed with ten editors and their assistants. “Let’s move on to the actual business of the day—”

“Actually, I was thinking maybe we should do a piece on proper pussy haircare? Err, I mean
vagina
. Because that’s what doctors call it.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, every woman gets waxed or at the very least, trims. Maybe we could give tips on how to choose the right waxing boutique or what waxes are the best for your skin if you’re a do-it-yourselfer.” I chanced a glance at Kyrie. Her dark eyebrows popped up a little, as if surprised I actually followed through with an article idea.

“Well, Nikki …” Graciela twirled her pen in her bony fingers and stared down her nose at me. “I think … Yes, I do think that would actually be a nice piece to put in our beauty section. Have you discussed this with Kyrie? I’ll expect her to direct your efforts. That’s the only way I’ll entertain such an article from you.” She stopped twirling the pen and used it to point at me. “But keep it classy. No shenanigans. If I see the word ‘pussy’ or—” she closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose with disdain “—‘cunt’ anywhere in it, I’ll trash it right off. Got me?”

A thrill went through me at the prospect of my first real assignment. “Right. It will be up to the
Style and Substance
standard. I promise. No pussies, cunts, clams, cooches, gashes, slashes, twats, snatches—”

Graciela held up her hand. “I think we quite get it now, Nikki. Thank you for your contribution. I do believe I’ve had enough from Kyrie’s department for the day. Now, let’s talk fashion …” She continued down the row of editors, asking about articles on clothing and accessories.