The Catch
A Smart Jocks Prequel Novella
Rebecca Jenshak
Contents
Copyright
Blurb
1. Lucky Catch
2. Mistaken Identity
3. Old Fashioned
4. Manual Labor
5. Where Have All The Bad Boys Gone?
6. Good to be Good
7. I Need U
8. My Hero
Also From Rebecca Jenshak
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Rebecca Jenshak
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
* * *
Rebecca Jenshak
www.rebeccajenshak.com
Cover Design by Jena Brignola
Editing by Edits in Blue
Proofreading by My Brother’s Editor
* * *
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Blurb
One catch.
One extremely lucky catch and the moment just after changed my life.
I went from Mario, average college baseball player, to a Valley U hero.
All the attention, razzing from my teammates, and newfound fascination from the opposite sex, feels super weird.
Which is why Vanessa James’ disinterest is a welcome relief. She’s beautiful and daring and she makes me want to prove that I’m more than that one moment.
Winning her over will take as much effort as I give on the field, but when I do – she’ll be the greatest catch of my life.
Lucky Catch
Mario
MAY – THREE MONTHS AGO
* * *
We’re up by one, bases are loaded, two outs. Coach is at the mound with Travis killing time and psyching out the freshman batter from State. Or that’s the hope. Kid doesn’t look all that rattled.
At centerfield, I have a view of both dugouts. Players from the home and away teams have abandoned their benches and stand at the fence watching on. Nine innings and it’s all come down to one last at bat.
“Yo, twenty-two, you better be ready. You drop this one and I’ll call Coach Wright every day until he benches your ass,” shouts the guy in the first row in the balcony seats behind me.
I drop one fly ball all season and this guy won’t shut up about it. I hope next year he finds a new section to sit in so that I don’t have to keep listening to his bullshit. And why do the loudest assholes always have kids with them? I spare a glance at the boy, probably eight or nine, sitting next to the loudmouth who’s been goading me all game. He looks embarrassed by his dad’s antics and I feel for him. They’re both in Valley blue so we want the same things. Someone needs to explain sportsmanship and team morale to this clown before he passes on his shitty game etiquette to his kid.
Coach walks off the field, and the crowd is on their feet as Travis prepares to pitch. I shift my weight from left to right. The energy at Roadrunner Field flows through my veins.
When Travis winds up, I keep my eyes on the batter. He swings and connects. The sound comes only after I’ve started to move to center right to make the catch. It’s deep and I move back.
Shit. It’s real deep. It’s going to be close.
Back against the wall, I jump and close the glove around the ball. The crowd screams. God, I love this game. I run the ball in as my team rushes me. I glance back at the loudmouth from earlier, prepared to give him a cocky look that tells him where he can shove his threats, but he’s not even looking at me. Figures.
My gaze snags on the boy next to him and I still. It’s not easy to pull yourself from the middle of a thirty-five-man huddle, but I manage to slip out under my team and head to the centerfield wall. Loudmouth is trying to get the attention of people around him, but everyone is still celebrating the home team victory.
The boy’s eyes are wide, and he has both hands up to his neck. He’s choking.
I jump and pull myself over the wall. My presence has finally managed to draw attention to the emergency.
“Somebody please help my boy,” the guy says, voice frantic.
Instinct takes over and I drop my glove. I kneel behind him, wrap my arms around his small waist, and the second thrust unblocks his airway. He coughs up what looks like a piece of mangled hot dog and then throws his arms around his dad and bursts into sobs.
It’s over almost as fast as it began. Holy shit. As I watch them embrace, security gets here, and I explain the situation to them through a crash of adrenaline.
“You saved him,” the dad says with tears in his eyes. “You’re a hero.”
* * *
AUGUST – PRESENT DAY
* * *
You know that odor when someone tries to Febreze out the shit stench in the bathroom? That’s what my house smells like right now. Collectively, my teammates have on enough cologne to cover up the stink of the locker room after a four-game losing streak or, as it is, an old house with five sweaty, gross dudes living in it.
The baseball team is gathered around the small living room, standing, finishing off their last pre-party drink, while we wait for our marching orders.
Stephens, our catcher, walks in with the other seniors on the team. He holds a clipboard in his hand and stands in the center of the room as he goes down the list assigning dates.
“Sinclair.”
Clark Sinclair, the only underclassman who is excited about this, smiles. “Lay it on me, man. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Your date for the night is Isabella Ima—” He tries a couple more times to figure out her last name and then shakes his head. “Ima let you figure out how to say it.”
Clark dances forward and Stephens gives him all the pertinent information: name, year, and description so he can find her at the frat party. We had a closed team get together with just the baseball guys, getting to know the freshmen and transfers, so we’re heading out late and the party is already in full swing. The seniors went out an hour earlier to select the girls and now our dates are waiting for our arrival.
Every year the senior guys on the baseball team play matchmaker in what we call Hit or Miss night. It’s a sort of hazing/welcome to Valley initiation. It’s a tradition as important as wearing the same socks during a winning streak or touching the roadrunner mascot painted on the wall of the dugout before running out onto the field. Girls actually volunteer for this, for reasons I don’t fully understand.
One by one the guys step forward until it’s just me left. Stephens looks up at me, then back to his clipboard. “Mario, you’re with Violet Anders—goes by Vi. She’s wearing a boy band t-shirt with cut-off jean shorts and…” He quirks a brow. “Knee-high socks.”
Clark throws his head back and laughs as I suppress a groan. “What the hell, man?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t pick your date. You’ll have to ask Travis but says here she’s a freshman. Music major.”
I spot Travis on my way out the door. “Vi Anders?”
He grins. “Ah yes, you’re welcome for the freshman pick. Figured with all the pussy you’re getting since you saved that kid, you could use someone new to tell the story to.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t bother trying to discredit his assumptions. Sure, the jersey chasers were all up on my jock for a while, but I’ve done my best to play down the event of last spring. To be honest, it�
�s a little embarrassing getting so much credit for something I barely remember doing.
“Besides the ridiculous outfit, what’s she look like?”
“Brunette.” He shrugs.
Guess that’s all I’m getting.
The party at Sig Nu is as big and rowdy as ever. Everyone is out tonight. Even people who don’t usually party come out the week before classes start. It’s a chance to see everyone after the summer break and check out the new faces. People are drunk off foamy beer and possibilities. There’s just something about the start of a new year that makes people come out of their shells.
I contemplate disappearing into the crowd and hiding out for the night to dodge my date and what is sure to be an awkward night. I spot Wes and Joel, guys from the basketball team hovering in one corner—their tall asses could cover me. Disappearing in a crowd this size wouldn’t be hard, but I know Travis will follow up with Vi Anders. Like I said, it’s an honored tradition. It isn’t expected that I sleep with her, of course, but I am required to show her a good time. We have a reputation to uphold after all.
I scan the crowd, looking for brunettes in knee-high socks. I’m not sure the rest of the details even matter. Who wears knee-high socks to a party past the age of—shit, I don’t even know when? Is this some sort of trend I’m not up on?
My buddy and teammate Matt steps up beside me. “Seen a girl with pink hair?”
“Nope.”
“Who’d you get?”
“Brunette, knee-high socks, cut-off shorts.” I can’t even bring myself to add that she’s also wearing a boy band t-shirt.
“Ooooh, damn, lucky you.”
“You saw her?”
“Yeah. She’s hard to miss. Brunette, rocking body, working that outfit. Fine as hell. If she weren’t brunette, I’d swap you. Totally out of your league—I’d lead with the hero bit.”
I eye him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with brunettes?”
He shrugs. “I only go for blondes. Occasionally I make an exception for a strawberry blonde, but definitely no brunette.” He makes a face and I try and remember if I’ve ever seen him with a non-blonde. Guess I never paid that much attention.
A girl with cotton-candy-pink hair steps forward shyly. “Are you Matt?”
Matt lights up. Looks like he digs this non-blonde. “Sure am. You must be Tia.”
Tia looks to me, and her smile brightens. “Hey, aren’t you that guy who saved the kid last semester?”
I nod.
“Let’s get you a drink.” Matt places an arm around her shoulders. “I was right there with him. I’ll tell you the whole story.” He winks back at me. More of my teammates have gotten laid using that story than I have.
Matt and Tia head off, and I move to the keg to grab a beer. I’m stalling, but I don’t see any girls that match the description of Vi either. Drink in hand, I take a lap around the party. Not an easy feat. I sigh and start to head to the middle of the party. I’m more of a perimeter hang kinda guy but seems my date for the night isn’t. I’m about to give up and start yelling her name like some sort of idiot when I stop in my tracks.
Holy shit.
Knee-high socks.
Brunette.
Cut-off shorts and boy band t-shirt.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fuuuck, she can wear whatever weird-ass clothes she wants. She’s stunning. I know because I’m fucking stunned.
Her arms are raised over her head as she dances to the music. Her knee-high socks look like vintage sports socks—white with three blue stripes at the top. I don’t recognize the guys on her matching blue shirt, but their pretty faces scream boy band.
Vi moves with a careless freedom—confident and sexy. She’s attracted a group of guys, but she holds on tight to the girl with her—a brunette with a high ponytail, hot in her own right, but I only afford her a brief glance before I turn my gaze back to my date.
She catches my eye and I can’t even pretend to look away. She keeps dancing as we take each other in. After a few moments of not moving in her direction, she cocks one brow in a silent invitation and turns so she’s no longer facing me. The music changes and it’s as good of an opening as I’m gonna get.
“Vi?” I ask when I’m an arm’s length away, gently touching her elbow. Her skin sparks under my fingertips and we both stare at the spot where we’re connected.
She stops dancing and turns to face me, neither of us speaks for a moment. Her friend nudges her and finally she responds. “It’s not Vi, just V. Do I know you?”
Mistaken Identity
Mario
“I’m Mario. Your date.”
“Excuse me?” She doesn’t physically step back, but I feel the distance she’s put between us with the tone of those two little words. “I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” She has to shout as the music gets louder but keeps staring at me like she’s daring me to do something—though I don’t know what.
Shaking my head from side to side, I get another good look at her outfit. “I don’t think so.”
“This is my date for the night.” She hooks her arm through her friend’s. “Unless you can give me a very good reason to ditch her.”
I look around for… shit, I don’t know. I thought this would be easier.
“Hey!” Her friend protests with a smile.
Ah, I see. Travis must have told her to make it a challenge for me, given the whole hero thing.
“Well…”
We stand in gridlock, the music pumping away and people pushing and laughing around us while I try and figure out what reason I can give her that isn’t totally lame.
“Seriously?” she asks after a few seconds making me feel like there’s a buzzer somewhere and my chances are going to disappear with this girl if I take too long… which only makes it harder for me to think of something. She places both hands on her hips and steps forward. She’s so beautiful it jumbles my brain some more. “Has it really come to this?”
“Come to what?” I ask dumbly.
She waves a hand in front of me. “You walk over here and expect me to go out with you and you can’t even summon up a compliment or some bullshit pickup line? When exactly did guys stop making any kind of effort?”
My brows raise. “I… uh… wh…” What even are words? Why is my brain failing me right now of all times? I’m the smart guy on the team, good under pressure, rarely frazzled.
“I get it. You’re hot and girls probably throw themselves at you like your dick tastes like pumpkin spice, but I don’t date college guys. Not even when they’re as pretty as you. No, especially when they’re as pretty as you.”
“Why’s that?”
“What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?”
I nod and glance to her friend who shoots me an amused, but apologetic smile.
“Everyone knows girls mature faster than boys. Insurance companies start discounting men over twenty-five for a reason. That’s about the time you’re capable of thinking without your penis. And college is the worst because girls our age are insecure and idealistic. A terrible combination, but it works for you because you slide up in our DMs or come up to us at parties and use your whole hot guy, ‘I’m your date tonight’ thing you got going on—which is just terrible and super conceited for the record—but they fall for it because in some twisted way, it makes them feel special and gives them hope that you see them as a person and not a piece of ass.”
She pauses, giving me an opening, but I’ve got nothing. V is busting my balls. I can’t decide if it’s an act or not, but I’m starting to sweat. Usually the seniors give the girls a basic rundown. They make all sorts of promises on our behalf—we’re going to show them a good time, they caught a glimpse of our tripod in the locker room, etc. And then there are the threats, as in, if we fail to be a good date then they’ll see that the next month of our life is hell.
Honestly, I don’t know why so many of them want to go out with us, but being a jock does come with some social perks.
“If
you didn’t want to go out tonight, you could have just told Travis no.” I hold up a hand defensively. I’m wondering if she played him just so she could eat one of us alive.
“That’s it? You’re giving up that easily?”
“Isn’t that what you want me to do?”
She keeps standing there, waiting, so maybe not? I hope not. She’s coming at me all fire and attitude and I dig it. For the first time in months, I don’t feel like the school hero. It’s oddly freeing.
I’m just about to give her a list of reasons she should be my date for the night when Travis slides in next to me. “Who’s your friend, Hero?”
V purses her lips and narrows her gaze on Travis.
“This is V, Violet Anders,” I tell him—a little annoyed that he’s interrupting. He knows damn well who she is since he paired us up.
V’s face scrunches up in confusion and Travis laughs. “That’s not Violet.”
“It’s not?” I look to V. She’s exactly as he described.
She shakes her head, and Travis continues to cackle. He bends over, clutching his side as he laughs, and I start to really get irritated. What the hell is going on?
It takes him a few seconds to get himself under control. “Oh man, what are the odds?” He puts his arm around my neck and turns, forcing me with him. He points with the hand next to my face. “That’s Violet Anders. She goes by Vi, I think she said.”
Vi Anders stands ten feet away, twirling brown hair around her index finger with hearts in her eyes. The Jonas Brothers shirt she’s wearing is tight. So tight that their faces distort across her chest. The knee-high socks also have Joe, Nick, and whatever the name of that third one is smiling back at me.
The Catch (Smart Jocks #0.5) Page 1