Be My Game Changer: A Sports Romance
Genres: Romance
Book Preface
“About time.”
“Miss me that much?” Bodie steps into my apartment with that beaming face I’ve been waiting for all morning. Wasting no time, he makes himself at home, heading into the kitchen to pour a glass of water.
“Nope, but I’m ready to get this shopping trip over with.” I grab my purse, slinging it over my shoulder. I attempt to sound frustrated, but my lips automatically curl into a smile as my best friend turns his heart-melting grin back to me.
“You’re a girl, aren’t you supposed to love shopping? Besides, I need someone to help me not look like a fool.”
“That boat sailed many years ago.” I smirk as I throw the jab. I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, we both know he couldn’t care less about making an ass of himself. In fact, it’s his calling card. Bodie usually goes out of his way to act foolish, forever desiring to be the center of attention. While I on the other hand, prefer to hang out in the background, unnoticed. It’s one of the many reasons our lifelong friendship has thrived.
“Touché. But I have to look decent for my brother’s engagement party, and my only other option is shopping with Mom. You know how she tries to set me up with any single female in sight.” He gives me a fearful look as I raise my eyebrows, not actually considering making him shop with her, but it’s fun to watch the panic as it plays out in his mind. “Please, Avery. Don’t bail on me. Think of all the single retail workers you’ll be saving.”
“Oh, stop being such a baby. Your mom just wants you to settle down already. Plus, I have the entire day free. I even stayed up late last night to get papers graded so I could devote my day to helping you, because for some reason, I actually want to spend the day with my best friend who hasn’t been around much lately.”
“Yeah. The office has been keeping me busy, and I really want to spend time with my BFF too.” He pauses, and I feel it coming.
I prop my hand on my hip and look to him. “But?”
“No but, just … a slight alteration on today’s itinerary,” he says hesitantly as he shrugs.
“What ‘alteration’? I thought today was your only free day for party attire shopping?”
“It is. But”—I nod at the word I knew was coming—“my dad gave me tickets for the ball game today.”
I’m not even mad because I know how much he and his entire family love baseball. “Okay. Well, I guess shopping will have to wait. Have fun at the game with your dad.”
“Oh no, my dad can’t go. He got the tickets for us because he knew we planned to hang out today. It’s an afternoon game, so I figure we can hit the shops afterwards.”
“Bodie, really? As if shopping wasn’t bad enough, now you want me to sit through a baseball game beforehand?”
“We don’t have to stay for the entire game. I really just want to see the first few innings.”
“Is that your selling point? Because I’m not buying that you want me to schlep to the stadium just to see part of the game.”
“No really. Carter Barlowe is pitching, and I gotta see how it goes—along with all of Canaan Falls.”
“O-kay …” My eyes roll as the solution seems simple. “DVR it.”
“It’s not the same. I need the atmosphere if I’m going to be the envy of the podcast world.”
More like the envy of the uber-amateur, bro’d out Talking Sports, Taking Stats sports-nerds podcast world he and his brothers care about so much. “Fine. I’ll meet you after you watch your atmospheric pitcher.”
“No, it’s the first time he’s pitching for the Coyotes,” he informs me emphatically, like this should be common knowledge. “Avery, don’t you watch the news or anything? Even non-sports people know all about him. His dad is Cash Barlowe. Won the Coyotes the pennant three years in a row.”
“Yes, Cash rings a bell.” Only because Bodie and all the boys constantly compare every Coyote player to him.
“Well, his son is on track to be as great of a player, if not better, but an injury sidelined him. This is his first regular-season game back since his Tommy John surgery last year, and it’s going to set the tone for the rest of his season.”
“Okay.”
“It’s a big deal, Avery. I really want to be there, and I really want to hang out. So, just come with me, and we’ll watch him pitch then we’ll leave from there to go shopping. We’ll beat the traffic if we leave early, anyways.”
“Bodie, really. I’ll meet you afterwards. I’m sure one of your brothers would love to go instead.”
“Exactly. And that’s why they’re not invited.”
“How are y’all so competitive with something as simple as who gets to see Baby Cash throw a damn ball?”
“It’s all in love. Tough love, but still love.”
Rolling my eyes, I look down at my jean shorts and white linen button-down. “I wasn’t prepared for a baseball game.” Not that I’d even know what the proper attire would be.
“You look beautiful, Avery. I know it’s not your favorite way to spend the day, but I promise next time I’ll do something you want to do that bores me to death.”
“Yeah, sure.” I grab the paperback I’d been reading while waiting on him and tuck it into my bag. “I have a cure for your boring pursuit.”
“That’s what I’ll do. I’ll sit and read with you for an entire day. It sounds utterly horrendous.” He grabs my bag and holds it up. “I brought Mom’s clear bag for you to use.”
“You really did plan ahead with the assumption I’d say yes.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I knew my charm would wear you down eventually. Although, I thought it’d take a little more convincing.” He gives me a cocky smirk that would make any other girl melt, but for me, it’s like looking at my annoying brother who knows he’s going to get his way.
“We’re not there yet.” I grab my bag from him and head out the door. I might be planning to go along for the game, but that won’t stop me from complaining the entire way. Though I’m excited to spend the day with him, why’d he go and pick two of my least favorite activities? Baseball and shopping, bleh.
CARTER
“You ready to go?” Coach Dundee asks. His stance widens, arms folding over his chest as he tilts his head slightly to the right. It’s my pitching coach’s typical posture when he’s evaluating me, and I’ve seen it too many times over the last few weeks.
“Yep, all warmed up,” I say, turning my attention to the field. From the bullpen, I can see the stadium is packed. That’s never bothered me before, and I can’t let it now.
“Warmed up and ready are two different things,” Dundee says as I turn my attention back to him.
“My arm’s good, Coach. All those minor league games you had me pitch in should’ve showed you that.”
“Your arm is the least of my worries today. Stepping on the same mound as your father is your biggest challenge today. Combine that with all the other bullshit …”
Damn. I’ve kept my feelings for my piece of shit father well hidden from everyone except the man assessing me right now. And he sees right through me. “I got it. I have nothing to prove to him or his ancient fan club.”
Dundee gives me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “The only person you have to convince today is yourself.” He nods towards the field. “Need another rundown of the lineup?”
“Nope. I got it.” I point to my temple. I’ve memorized the batting order and every stat possible on each hitter. Knowing my opponent is the best way I can prepare myself, so that’s what I’ve always done. I probably know their stats better than they do.
“Alrighty. Let’s get out there with our team.” He motions towards the dugout.
Our team. Never thought I’d be donning the royal-blue uniform or referring to the Coyotes as “my” team. But here I am, a year after being cut loose from the Evergreens, the tools who released me two months after my surgery. But I came back, you bastards. Clenching my fist, I extend my arm, remembering the tightness, recalling the range of motion I’d lost, and compare it to how I feel now—confident, at the top of my game, best shape of my life. Now it’s time to prove it.
Stepping out of the bullpen, my mind clicks into game mode as I join my teammates. After the national anthem and team introductions, it’s finally time to step on the mound. I attempt to keep emotion off my face, but it’s everything. No matter that it’s the mound my father stood on, it’s home, and there were times I thought I’d never be here again. But I was hell-bent on a homecoming, and thankfully my body agreed.
When the first batter steps up, I nod to my catcher, Lynch, accepting his pitch call. Sliders aren’t the ones I’m known for, but it’s the best one to use against the player I’m up against at the moment. And sure enough, three pitches later, I send his ass back to the bench as the second batter makes his way into the box.
Lynch won’t call a splitter, the one I’m most well-known for delivering with perfection every time. The hitter’s expecting a splitter, but I know how to work that to my advantage, and Lynch is with me when he calls for a sinker. I nod and deliver with more side spin than the batter expected. When I told Dundee I knew these players, I meant it.
Strike one.
I throw a changeup on the second toss, and he fouls it away before I deliver a clean strike with the third throw.
Yes. I knew I was back, but this proves it. Glancing around the stadium, I absorb the sea of blue, fans on their feet cheering me on—not my father, me. And I wrap up the top of the first after three more pitches, striking out the third batter. One-two-three inning. Let’s go.
Making my way off the field, I take in the enthusiasm of the crowd around me and the announcer’s booming voice. Damn, I missed this. I scan the stadium rows in front of me, seeing fans on their feet. Clapping, cheering, whistling. Well, all except one. Bafflingly, a brunette sits in the first row behind the dugout, catching my attention only because hers is focused on the book she holds, ass firmly planted in her seat, completely oblivious to the chaos and shouting around her.
Squinting and shaking my head, I step down into the dugout, and plop onto the hard bench. One inning down, hopefully six or seven more tonight, and many additional games to go. A few of my teammates give me an encouraging word as they pass, pounding my fist, but Dundee doesn’t bypass me and instead parks his ass on the bench next to me.
“How’s the arm?”
“No complaints.”
“Well, I have one,” Dundee stands and leans over. “That ego of yours is gonna get bigger.” His annoyance contradicts the supportive slap he gives my knee as he walks away. He has faith in me and my abilities, but he also knows our bodies don’t always follow through.
I spend the bottom of the inning mentally reviewing Dundee’s analysis of the Hawks lineup and strategizing with Lynch on one particular hitter, then I’m back on the mound. Three batters up, three batters struck out. Boom. A hitless inning. Doing my job, motherfuckers.
Keeping cool on the surface, I mind my gait on the way off the mound. Like it’s easy. No sweat. It’s all part of the mind game. But I’m on fire on the inside, burning up with a satisfied adrenaline as I walk off the field to the cheers and chants of everyone—except that same brunette who still has her nose in a book.
I’m unsettled suddenly that it’s bothering me. Why do I care that her attention isn’t on me? Stepping onto the dugout’s top step, I lean against the rail, looking over the roof of the dugout to where the crowd has retaken their seats, heads swiveled to home where Gunner steps up to the plate. My only consolation is she still hasn’t looked up. So it’s not just one of my most important pitching days of my entire career that she’s uninterested in. All I can say is it must be a damn good book.
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