Bush League: New Adult Sports Romance

by Pfeiffer Jayst

  My treacherous actions from the night before cause me to become a little hot under the collar. When I twist in my chair I can still feel the impressions Beau left on my naked body, a reminder of how I had betrayed my father. Maybe he doesn't pick up on my uncomfortablness but I can barely breathe.

  "I'm going to go take a shower," I explain but don't go into detail about cleaning all of the remnants of Beau off of my body. As I walk away, father can't help but remind me again of what is at stake.

  "Focus and pass your classes or you're done with college," he says.

  *****

  Chapter Seventeen

  Beau

  *****

  My head is not hung low but instead up high as I approach the field and gymhouse. I'm going to explain my position as carefully as I can to Coach Steele and hope he understands. The guys too. I'm not going to grovel or beg, they wouldn't either in my position. Though I want to put myself back in their good graces, I'm only willing to go so far. I still manage to feel a little nervous and anxious though.

  As I arrive, the guys are wrapping up another pre-game practice that I've missed, sweaty, dirty and tired. I get eyed suspiciously as I approach, no warm greeting, not even from my good friend Enzo. Each of my teammates just stare at me until silently walking by. My shoulders shrug as I'm the last one inside. The guys go off to shower and get dressed and I head straight for Coach's office. He's busy talking to his assistant coaches but they leave the room once they see me standing there. I don't even have to knock, the uncomfortable tension hanging in the room leaves no room for that.

  "Close my door," Coach tells me sternly without even looking my way. I can feel and hear my heart begin to beat rapidly as I follow his command. Never before had I been this anxious and nervous; not in any game, not with any girl. Coach makes himself busy with some papers as I twist uncomfortably in the seat in front of his desk.

  "I know what you've been doing," he says before a long breath exhales right out of his nose and threatens to blow me over. "And I can't believe you would do that to me."

  Sweat starts to bead and roll down my forehead and for the first time ever I'm at a complete loss for words. The risks were clear from the moment Quinn and I first started getting together but I thought that we had been safe and wouldn't get caught. There are no words coming to my defense because I can't decide on what to say. If Coach knows about how just hours ago I was nailing his only daughter into my mattress, he must be getting ready to leap across the desk and kill me. If he knows about the hair-pulling, the licking, the dirty, dirty positions on the bed, I'm a dead man. The heat in the room is unbearable and I want to run out and never look back.

  "I mean," he continues as I struggle for words, "abandoning your team in the middle of the championship? Are you so over your team that you just don't care about anyone else?"

  Oh. Though I'm being lectured, there's a bit of relief I feel when I realize that Coach is referring to my other treacherous behavior, the one I can explain much easier.

  "Coach...sir, I was told that it was the only possible time for that meeting to happen. I'm incredibly sorry, I wouldn't have missed practice if I didn't have to."

  My plea is real and my words honest. My enunciation clear as fear is leaving my body at a record pace. As long as I don't think about twisting Quinn in all different positions, I can stave off the guilt that should rightfully be paralyzing me right now. Coach's face doesn't lighten up, he's still angry. Finally I break the awkward silence. "Coach," I say, "I want to rejoin the team. You guys need me."

  My words don't have the effect I was hoping for and an even angrier Coach looks up at me and walks over to my side of the desk. He leans over to get right in my face and I can hear his pissed off breath leaving his nose in bitter exhales.

  "Let's get something straight," he's practically spitting in my face. "We're gonna do just fine without you, you arrogant sonofabitch." He straightens up and leans back onto his desk. "You let everyone on this team down by forcing me to ban you for game two...”

  "But I wasn't even supposed to be pitching that game," I interrupt and don't really help my cause.

  "These games are not about you. You were supposed to be there for your team. For support. Instead you were off trying to do something for yourself."

  I was off doing your daughter.

  "I understand, I should've been there. I'm sorry."

  "We won without your support anyway. We got at least two games left and it's up to you to convince the rest of the team to forgive you," he says showing the first sign of his defenses weakening.

  "Aren't I supposed to pitch game four?"

  Coach laughs. "No way, you're out of the rotation. We'll use you only if we need you. But I expect you at each and every one of our practices and games."

  His decision stings and I'm livid upon hearing it. He has no right to pull me from the rotation, I'm the best damned pitcher on the team. Now I don't see the point in trying to get back in the team's good graces if I'm going to be treated like this. I have half a mind to storm out right then and say 'fuck it', I'm better than everyone here. The only thing keeping me from doing so is the possibility that if my absence would cause the team to lose the championship (and it will, they can't keep winning without me), Coach will be all over Quinn and she won't have any space to even breathe. She won't be able to sneak out and sing, she won't be able to sneak out and see me.

  "Ok," I say, practically trembling from the rage I feel deep inside. I'm not used to swallowing my pride.

  "Game's tonight. As long as the rest of the team is ok with you being there, I fully expect you to be dressed and sitting in the bullpen for the entire game."

  Coach flicks his wrist as an indication to me that it's time I leave, he's said his piece. Without a word I get up and storm out to the room, trying to contain my simmering anger.

  Enzo is my easiest point of entry and I make my way over towards him changing at the other end of the locker room. No eyes turn my way, it's like everyone is trying to pretend they don't even see me.

  "Sup," I say to him as he continues to fish through his locker, not turning to greet me.

  "Yo," he says quietly as I realize the rest of the locker room is now watching our interaction intently to see how it's gonna play out. Might as well cut the to the chase and address them all.

  "I know you're all mad at me," I open with and am met with a few scoffs and head shakes. "But I'm sorry. I'm here to play. If you'll have me."

  More head shaking goes on as if nobody can believe I'd have the audacity to make a plea to them.

  "Won just fine without you," someone in the back yells and is immediately met with voices of approval.

  "I'm not saying you can't win without me," I say. "I'm saying I want to be a part of the team when you do."

  That part seems to break through and I see everyone turning to each other to try and figure out how to react.

  "Your spot in the rotation is already gone," Enzo fills me in. "Johnson's gonna pitch your game, game four." Johnson is patted on the back by his adoring teammates, guys who barely knew his name a few days ago.

  "Then let me sit on the bench and cheer you on. For support. I'll help any way I can."

  "If you show us up one more time," Scottie, our star third basemen chimes in, "you're dead to me. To us. We don't care if you're going pro."

  Though no declarative statement is made, the hush over the crowd leads me to believe that I've been accepted back in. Everyone goes back to what they were doing only now they're even more silent.

  "Look man," I try to speak to Enzo but he's still standoffish.

  "Dude, don't," his hand goes up indicating I should only listen from here on in. "We get it, you're going pro, it's more important to you." Though I want to object, I maintain a silence to show respect. "But you could've really fucked us over by not showing up. I thought I knew you better than that."

  If anyone were to give me the benefit of the doubt, it would be Enzo. Seeing how pissed he is
, it's up to me to give him the truth. In the semi-privacy of the corner of the locker room, I tell him all about my meetings and how my Dad insists it's the best for me. While he doesn't turn sympathetic like I had hoped, he at least appears to be open to understanding.

  "So it's coming from both sides," he says.

  "More than that," I clarify.

  He pulls his bag back up to his shoulder, "It would go a real long way if you were dressed and sitting on the bench tonight," he explains and I insist nothing will prevent me from being there. The moment I finish speaking, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and know full well it will make me look real bad if I decide to get distracted by it right then. No matter what pressing issue, no matter if it is Quinn, it would have to wait as I gave Enzo my undivided attention.

  "We're all going to get lunch," he tells me. "You can ride with me."

  Enzo and I pile into his jeep and we talk only about baseball. He finally admits that my presence will be missed in game four but he's hoping to wear Coach down by begging to let me pitch. Otherwise, the team has a tough road ahead of them. I don't let him know that I don't believe they can win without me, I'm smart enough to keep that to myself. When we arrive at the diner, he stops me before we go in.

  "These guys were pretty hurt when you ditched us," Enzo says. "It's not up to us whether you play or not but you can be damned sure that if these guys don't want you, Coach won't let you anywhere near the field." He's right and I know it so I don't look at my phone, instead focus on my teammates who are still giving me the cold shoulder.

  Inside the diner it doesn't help my case that stranger after stranger approaches us and speaks directly to me. Everyone is excited to see me pitch game four and I don't have the ability to explain to them that I'm not sure it'll happen. I smile and nod as my team tries to pretend it doesn't bother them. I retrain my focus on the group every chance I get and I can see it when my effort eventually starts to be appreciated.

  "Well there he is," a honey-drenched voice calls out from behind me and by the looks of everyone's faces, I know it's someone with the power to render this rowdy group speechless. I refuse to turn and look, instead making the girl behind me make the effort. When she crams herself into the space beside me, I find that Nicole Duchamp has decided to conveniently drop by. She has on a tight, white tank-top that hugs her chest and shows off her shape and a pair of short jean shorts with very long ultra-tanned legs sprouting out from. She smells enticingly sweet, like the fancy stores in the mall, and I can feel myself drawn to her even if I don't necessarily want to be. Nicole and I have had a 'will they or won't they?' thing going on for years and while in the past I'd been absolutely dying to fuck her, my current situation has caused the spell she has had on me to wear off at least a little.

  "I just had to come by and say hello to the best pitcher in the whole darned state," Nicole proudly announces, her words dripping with flirtation and sex. The guys at the table, my teammates, are in a stunned silence, unable to speak as they are mesmerized by the girl.

  "I'm just a part of the best team in the whole state, the whole country even," I clarify and when she cocks her head as though she doesn't understand, I continue, "Sitting right at this very table are some of the best college baseball players to ever play the game. Gonna win the championship. Paul over there, he's gonna go pro with that gold glove of his. And Mickey? Have you seen what he can do with a bat?" I go around the whole table heaping loads of compliments on each of my teammates. While it appears to be appreciated by them, Nicole couldn't give less of a shit. When she places her hand on my leg and slowly starts to slide up my inner thigh, I have to pick up her hand by the wrist and remove her, causing a huff the whole table can hear.

  "Well, good luck gentlemen," Nicole says after standing up abruptly. She walks away to the amazement of my teammates who can't believe what I've just turned down in their names. I don't think any one of them would hold it against me if I ditched them for her.

  "Well played," Enzo leans over and whispers in my ear, enough encouragement for me to believe I'm back in the good graces of my team. At least until Mickey chimes in.

  "You didn't do that for us," he says loudly and proudly. "I don't believe it but there must be some chick who has finally got you under control."

  The rest of the team agrees with him and I do my best to try and tell them otherwise.

  "Yeah, you definitely haven't been yourself lately," Paul announces. No matter of how much I insist it isn't the case, they keep up with it, coming from all sides. Since the tone of this meal has changed considerably, I don't feel awkward about slyly pulling out my phone and checking it real quick. Let them have their fun as I figure out what messages I'm missing.

  At library. Could use a study buddy, the first text from Quinn reads.

  I don't understand any of this! Need help!

  I would understand this better this if I were sitting on your lap. Ps I'm not wearing panties ;)

  My cock swells underneath the table as I think of these messages but I can't let the team see me distracted and texting Quinn. I have to put it away and try not to think about giving it to her in the library. I put my phone back in my pocket and return to the teasing that is still going on.

  "Seriously," Enzo says with amazement, "I've never seen you whipped before. Not a good look, meat." The table laughs and I bite my tongue from explaining that I'm not whipped, just challenged. I can feel my pocket vibrate yet again and I ignore it, pretending the team has my undivided attention.

  *****

  On the days I'm not scheduled to pitch, my routine has always been pretty casual; last to get dressed, last in the bullpen but always the one with the best seat. Trying to show myself as a committed teammate though, before game three I'm the first dressed and I walk around the locker room giving words of encouragement to each and every person in there. Even if I'm not scheduled to pitch and even if it's been made clear I'm going to have a diminished role, nothing is going to stop me from being the best teammate for these guys. My phone still shakes with alerts from Quinn but I have to stop looking or I'm going to be faced to sit through the game with a raging set of blue balls.

  I've never been so interested in one of our games before. I'm standing on the bench in the bullpen yelling support every chance I get. It's contagious and soon all the other pitchers are doing the same. We're a force to be beat, absolutely ready to take the championship title.

  I'm a little worried when the top of the 8th inning rolls around and the score is still tied 0-0. Our guys just aren't hitting. Coach brings out our closer, a fellow junior we all call Brick. Built like a tank with legs, he's a powerhouse and I have full confidence in his ability. Everyone does. That's why we're all a little confused when the opposing team starts hitting him. When they load the bases with only one out, that's when the worry sets in.

  "It's alright, it's alright," I tell the guys in the pen. "We got this."

  "Not if they're hitting Brick," I'm told by Chuck. "If they've figured him out, we've got no chance. Without you or him, we're losing this series."

  It's a stupid statement and I'm appalled when everyone nods in agreement, like losers who've already given up. We're up two games to none and they're throwing in the towel. I keep quiet and watch as Enzo walks out to the mound to talk to Brick, trying to calm him down. Brick just needs to get his head right and he'll be fine. I wince when I notice Coach walking to the mound, never a good feeling for a pitcher. Coach walks off the mound looking concerned and just when I'm about to get back to cheering on my team, the phone in the bullpen rings.

  Chuck keeps the phone pressed to his ear and he looks right at me. "Tillman," he says, "start warming up."

  Not in a position to question orders, I get my stuff and hustle to the practice rubber, ready to start throwing to Meyers.

  *****

  I'm called into the game to pitch the top of the ninth, with two outs. My body is loose yet ready even though I've never been in a position like this before. My team has
scored one run while I was warming up so as long as I can pitch my absolute best, I'll save the game. Coach is putting his faith in me to do just that. It's a different kind of pressure I'm experiencing, being tasked with winning the game in less than one inning. I'm not giving in but I am a little nervous about my ability. Enzo's soon at the mound with me for some needed words of encouragement.

  "You got this. You're the best pitcher in the league. Let's get these guys out and win," he says and his generic statements don't have the impact he intends them to and we both know it. Before he heads back to his position behind the plate, he looks me dead in the eyes. "Whoever this girl is," he starts to say and when I try to stop him, he talks over me. "Whatever dude, I'm not giving you a hard time. Whoever this girl is," he places the ball in my glove, "do it for her."