Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
He was cocky. He was a shitty batter, and he was going to be getting his ass kicked the moment I got back.
I wanted to go home. The rage inside my chest each time I saw Sway get flirted with by that little cock sucker was enough to cause me heart palpitations.
I wanted my brother home.
I wanted to take a hot goddamned shower that lasted longer than thirty seconds.
I wanted a fucking cheeseburger.
And most of all, I wanted Sway.
The good thing was that later that night, everything in our entire fucking plan seemed to work out perfectly…mostly.
Chapter 21
I vow to still grab your butt even when you’re old and wrinkly.
-Hancock’s wedding vows
Sway
“Why would I want to throw the first pitch?” I asked in confusion. “That’s a big thing. I’m a nobody.”
“Just do it,” Uncle Siggy passed me the ball. “This is the last game in the series against your brother’s team. They want you to throw the ball because they like seeing stupid shit like that. Plus, wouldn’t it be something if we won against your brother’s team, and you had the first pitch?”
I sighed, took the ball from my uncle and started walking toward the mound.
Though the entire scene of throwing the first pitch wouldn’t be perfect if I didn’t trip going up the steps of the dugout. Oh, and halfway across the field.
My eyes went to home plate where the catcher for our team and the umpire were having a discussion. With both of them already wearing their masks, they had their faces pushed together so they could hear what the other was saying over the noise of the crowd.
“What in the hell?” I muttered, waving at my brother who was standing at the top of the steps watching me.
My brother rose his chin in acknowledgement, and I had the ridiculous thought that I should go over there and mess up the paint underneath his eyes with wet, sloppy kisses.
He’d probably kill me after he was finished dying of embarrassment.
But, since the two men were still deep in discussion, I passed the mound and continued straight toward my brother, who was now watching me with apprehension in his eyes.
“What are you doing?” He asked warily.
I grinned and walked into his arms, which he opened for me once he realized what I was after.
“Love you.” He told me.
I grinned, stepped back, then grabbed hold of his head, brought his face down to mine, and pressed my face against his so hard that I knew there was no way the paint hadn’t spread.
“You’re such a shit!” He laughed, pushing me away.
I wiped my face on the black polo shirt, hoping that I got most of the paint off, and gave him a small wave as I jogged back toward the pitcher’s mound.
I looked at my uncle, who watched it all, and waved.
He shook his head and gestured toward the catcher who was now waiting on me.
I arrived at the mound and kicked the chalk bag out of the way before taking my place on the top of the small hill.
I eyed the distance from the plate to where I was standing.
Please don’t embarrass yourself. Just throw it hard, right to the catcher. He’ll catch it.
Speaking of the catcher, the one behind the plate wasn’t the backup who’d been playing since Hancock had left three weeks ago.
No, this one was much bigger.
Much.
But he wasn’t Hancock.
Hancock had been tall and stocky.
This guy was tall, but he wasn’t nearly as bulked up as Hancock had been.
And what the hell was the deal with the long sleeves in the middle of summer? He wasn’t wearing those because he thought they looked good, right?
Where had he come from? Surely if they’d gotten another catcher, they would’ve told me…right?
The catcher waved his hand at me to ‘hurry on up,’ and I sighed.
Taking one step, I launched the ball at the catcher, and it went right to his glove. He didn’t even have to move for it at all. No steps to the side. No ball rolling to his glove.
Hell, no. That just wasn’t how I rolled.
It went directly to his glove, straight through the air. A perfect damn strike!
As the happiness poured through me that I was able to get it to him without it falling ten feet in front of him like I’d seen some of the other ladies who’d thrown the first pitch do this year, I clapped my hands together and started walking forward.
It was customary to take the ball with you, and that’d been what I was going to do.
When I got to him, he handed me the ball, but stayed in his crouched position.
Once I took it from his hands, the catcher stood, and I waved at him, intending to head to the dugout.
I just couldn’t find the same enthusiasm for the game now that Hancock wasn’t there.