Winning Streak

by Alice Ward

  I nodded towards the catcher as my index and middle finger positioned over the seam for my famous forkball. I threw it hard, and Ace swung just as it dropped diagonally, violently, and without warning. I just got my second strike.

  “Not bad, kid,” Ace yelled out, tossing the bat aside.

  “If you’re all done playing, let’s get warmed up,” the coach said sarcastically before shooting me a smile of admiration.

  It was obvious that Ace was testing me, hoping that I would fail, but I hadn’t. Something told me it wouldn’t be that easy to get on Ace Newman’s good side.

  Coach blew his whistle and told us to run the bases. Ace was fast, faster than the others, but I was a close second. He picked up the pace as he looked over his shoulder. His expression displayed the irritation of me being so close behind. Ace was used to being the center of attention, the big man on campus, so to speak. I’d read plenty about his temper and knew he didn’t play well with others, on or off the field, but something about him intrigued me.

  Coach Griffin, although seemingly nice when we first met was a drill sergeant on the field. He had us doing calisthenics and agility training for over an hour, then batting practice before another hour of hard exercise. I was exhausted when he blew that final whistle. “Alright, go clean up,” he yelled.

  The locker room smelled of sweat and cologne. Since I hadn’t pitched other than the few tosses to Ace, I skipped icing and post-practice rehab to head straight for the bank of showers in the back.

  “Impressive,” Ace said, sliding in beside me to the free shower.

  I had to admit, I had an “oh shit” moment so big I thought my damn head would explode when I thought my hero was admiring my dick, ass, or both. My mind raced, trying to decide how to handle it. When he added, “Hell of a good arm,” I stuck my face under the water to wash away the panic.

  “Thanks, you certainly weren’t taking it easy on me out there,” I said and tossed a glob of shampoo on my grimy hair.

  “Would you want it any other way?” he asked in that cocky way of speaking I was quickly getting to know.

  I said nothing, just rinsed the suds from my hair and turned to look at him. He smiled his famous asshole grin. “C’mon kid, you’re gonna get it a lot worse than that out there soon enough.”

  I knew that was true. This wasn’t college anymore, or even the minors. This was the majors, and some of the players I would be up against had decades of experience.

  What did I have?

  Ace shut his water off and quickly wrapped his towel back around his waist. He wasn’t much older than me, maybe six years, but he looked to be every bit in as good shape as me.

  As I was getting dressed, I heard Ace asking Marty out for drinks. They didn’t exactly strike me as a pair that would hang out.

  “Come with us,” Marty said, looking my way.

  “Can’t tonight,” I admitted. “My girl is finally coming into town, supposed to be here in a few hours.”

  “Don’t be a pussy!” Ace chimed in with a smirk. He held his towel in his right hand, twirling it until it made a tight point at the end. Snap! I dodged, but he whipped it perfectly, the end bringing up a three-inch welt on the cheek of my ass.

  “What the fuck was that for?” I yelled, forcing myself not to rub it. Damn it. Thought I was finally out of high school.

  “For being a pussy,” Ace replied with another smirk. “It’s just one drink, rookie. You’ll be home in time to please your mommy.”

  Pulling on my boxer-briefs and a t-shirt, I considered the request, knowing these men would be watching my back and needing them to want to. A good arm helped, but I needed them to pick up anything that hit a bat. Plus, it was one drink. On my first day of professional practice, I could use it. Celebrate being here.

  “One drink,” I said sternly, pulling on jeans and sticking my feet into shoes. “And don’t do that shit again.”

  Ace laughed as if my orders meant nothing to him. I finished dressing and walked out of the locker room, partly hoping they left without me, and I could just go home.

  “You’re riding with me, hot shot,” Ace insisted. He was leaning up against a black Porsche that looked like it had just been waxed. It was beautiful and expensive.

  Wow, I was really in the big leagues now.

  Marty left with Frank Lewis, the centerfielder from the same Atlanta team where he’d been poached. “So, who is this owner anyway?” I asked Ace as I climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

  “He’s a real heavy hitter, lots of money, need for power, and a damn good player,” Ace responded.

  “Player?” I asked, thinking about all the players I’d ever heard of. “I’ve never heard of Rhett Hamilton. Which team?”

  Ace laughed and pushed his foot on the gas as we tore out of the parking lot. A puff of smoke filled the rearview mirror, and the screeching likely scared any animal within a thirty-mile radius.

  “I didn’t say he played baseball, kid,” he said sarcastically. “He’s a player, the kind with a different woman in his bed every night.”

  That explains why he chose Ace. They shared a love for that game.

  My ass cheeks tightened with every turn, my fists clenched as I held my breath. Ace was a wild man, driving like he owned the road. It was scary. Death defying scary. When we pulled up to the bar, I knew my face had to be pale as a ghost.

  “Clean her up while ya got her,” Ace said and tossed the keys to a young valet. The kid scampered to get behind the wheel, thanking Ace repeatedly as we walked towards the entrance.

  I checked my phone. No messages from Whitney yet.

  “What, are ya worried your momma’s gonna call?” Ace snorted.

  I shoved the phone back into my front pocket and smiled, ignoring his sarcasm, which I was quickly learning was just Ace being Ace. “My girl will be here sometime tonight.”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “There’re plenty of girls here already.”

  A large man wearing a black suit and red vest reached to open the door as Ace and I approached the entrance to the bar. It was a swanky place, like one I’d only seen in the movies. My jeans and tight-fitting t-shirt made me feel out of place, especially next to Ace who wore slacks and a button down that probably cost more than my dad’s monthly salary. I hadn’t been planning on going anywhere that afternoon, at least not until Whitney arrived, and hadn’t brought anything nicer.

  Whitney.

  My balls tightened just thinking about her. All I wanted was to take her in my arms and make love to her, an “I made it” fuck fest to rival any others. My testosterone levels were high, and I could tell in the last few days I was becoming irritable. Jerking off had become a bore — all my moves were old news. I just needed my girl, that’s all, nothing more.

  “Hey, Ace!” A tall man who had to have been of Italian descent welcomed us as we walked through the large doors. He wore a button down shirt, similar to Ace’s but more colorful. His thick black hair was slicked back from his face, and he sported a mustache that twirled on each end like Gomez from the Addam’s Family. “We have your table ready.”

  I was impressed at how everyone seemed to fawn over Ace. It was like he was a local legend, a hero, or at the very least, a celebrity. A beautiful blonde wearing a short black skirt and low-cut top took Ace’s hand, leading him to a table up a small set of steps. I followed behind, feeling slightly rejected as all attention focused on the shortstop. I watched as his hand slid around her waist and over her ass. He gave her a squeeze and a none too gentle pat as he slid into the circular booth.

  “Grab us a bottle, darlin’,” he said to the woman, giving her a long wink. She didn’t ask what kind of bottle. She just giggled and rushed off to follow her orders. “You’ll get used to this, kid.”

  Before I could even get situated in the booth, the blonde had returned with a bottle of Jack Daniels on ice with two glasses, then surprised me by sliding into the booth next to Ace. “Why haven’t you called me?” she whined. Her
voice was squeaky, and her pouting lips were over exaggerated as she leaned in towards Ace.

  “Oh, darlin’, you know spring training started. I’ve been a busy man,” Ace replied, his hand sliding over her leg. I couldn’t help but watch his movements; they were so smooth, so precise. She giggled again as his hand slid even higher up her skirt, then disappeared. Her face went soft and her eyes closed, her tongue sliding slowly across her top lip as she let out a long moan.

  What the fuck?

  I looked around, but no one was paying attention as Ace’s hand started to move and the girl’s moans grew louder. Ace looked at me and winked.

  Holy shit. Was this seriously happening?

  The waitress’ head fell back, and she gripped his arm, biting her lower lip to stifle a cry. Ace’s hand returned to view and her eyes slowly opened. She smiled and leaned over to give his cheek a quick kiss. She seemed to be satisfied. At least for now.

  “I’ll bring you some appetizers,” she said cheerfully and scooted out of the booth.

  Ace lifted his fingers to his nose and closed his eyes as he smiled. “Oh, that’s sweet,” he said, drawing out the words. “You wanna know what success smells like, kid?” He pushed his hand towards my face.

  “No, thanks,” I replied, pulling away quickly.

  He laughed and poured us both a drink.

  “I see you’re getting the royal treatment,” Marty said as he and Frank slid into the booth with us.

  “Only the best for the best,” Ace boasted, motioning for the young blonde to return to the table. “We’re gonna need a few more glasses. sweetie.”

  “You have an incredible arm,” Marty said as he gave my back a few hard thumps. “Not bad at the plate either.”

  “Thanks,” I replied and tossed back half of my drink. Most pitchers couldn’t bat for shit, but I could hold my own, which I knew made me an even bigger asset.

  The blonde showed back up with two more glasses and a basket of chicken wings. She smiled at Ace as he ran his hand up her thigh.

  “Aw, man, don’t shit where you eat,” Frank said, finally speaking.

  Ace grinned and turned to watch the young blonde’s ass as she walked away. He picked up the bottle, poured Marty and Frank a drink before topping off mine and his. He held the glass up high.

  “Here’s to the Beast’s first kickass season.”

  We clinked glasses, and I tossed my drink back. All of it this time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Calvin

  “See those honeys over there?” Ace asked, wrapping an arm around my neck, strong-arming me into looking in their direction.

  “Yeah.”

  Where in the hell was he going with this?

  “You can have any one of them. Ya know why?” He went on without giving me a chance to answer. “I’ll tell ya why. Cause you’re a starting pitcher for the best damn team in the league.” He mussed my hair and finally released me from his grip.

  Trying not to act like a loser, I told him, “I have the only girl I need.”

  Oh shit! Whitney!

  The bottle of Jack was half empty, that was more than just one drink. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my phone – four missed calls and several texts. “I have to make a phone call,” I said, excusing myself from the table. Marty and Frank were arguing over who the better player was, Babe Ruth or Willie Mays.

  No brainer, Babe Ruth for sure!

  Ace had moved on from the blonde waitress to a tall brunette with legs that you could climb for days. “You’re not leaving?” Ace asked, gripping my arm as I walked by.

  “No,” I assured him, jerking away. “I’ll be right back.”

  I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, and with the loud music in the club, I didn’t hear my ringer. Dread clawed at my stomach as I dialed Whitney’s number. “Hey, babe!” I said, overly cheerful as she answered.

  “Where are you?” she asked. God, it felt good to hear her voice. Even her pissed off worried voice.

  “Some of the guys wanted me to have a drink with them here at Home Plate,” I explained, hoping my enthusiasm would be contagious, and she’d lighten up a little. “Ace Newman is on my team, babe, Ace motherfucking Newman!” My enthusiasm was met with silence from the other end. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m at your apartment,” she snapped. She wasn’t pleased.

  “Our temporary apartment,” I corrected her. “So you found the key okay then?”

  “Yes. But Calvin, I thought you’d be here.” Her voice was full of disappointment.

  “Sorry, babe. Time just got away from me. It’s loud in the club and the excitement of my first practice just… I fucked up, babe.” I looked around, making sure no one witnessed me sounding like a pussy. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded for her forgiveness.

  She exhaled loudly, and her voice shifted. I smiled into the phone, knowing I’d been forgiven.

  “I’ve just missed you, Cal. I want to see you. Are you coming home soon?” Her tone was purring through the phone like a little kitten. Yes, I was coming home. I couldn’t wait to hold her in my arms, smell her perfume, and taste the sweetness of her nectar.

  “I’ll tell them I’m leaving now. I love you,” I said, dropping my voice, arranging my jeans and the instant hard on she always gave me.

  “I love you too.”

  “Everything good?” Ace asked with a wink.

  “Yeah, but I gotta take off,” I explained. “Whitney’s been waiting on me for a while.”

  The brunette was on his lap, her arm around him, her head leaning on his shoulder. I glanced at his hand; it was just above knee level. I wondered if he had already given her a hand job or if he was just working up to it.

  “No way, we were just getting ready for shots,” Ace argued and boosted the girl from his lap. “Baby, go get us five shots of Patrón.” He handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “One shot, then you can go.”

  His smirk told me there was no getting out of this. Practice proved he could be a real hard ass, and the last thing I needed was to be on Ace Newman’s bad side. Besides, I’d just had my first ever practice as a professional major league baseball player. Didn’t I deserve a little celebration?

  “One shot,” I agreed.

  Two blondes, both wearing skirts so short and tight you could almost see their pussies, pushed their way through the crowd and towards our table. I had refused to sit down, knowing that Ace would convince me to stay longer if I did, so one grabbed me around the waist, sidling close behind me. Her hands slid across my abs and up to my chest.

  “You’re the new pitcher. Calvin Malone, right?” she whispered against my shoulder. Her friend giggled and stared at Ace with batting eyelashes and pouty red lips.

  “Yes,” I said, pulling her hands away from my body and turning to face her. She was beautiful. Young and tan with a pair of lips that looked capable of sucking the peel right off a banana.

  “You’re much cuter than your picture,” she said, flirting in the same way her friend was with Ace.

  Ace pulled the blonde onto his lap and began whispering something in her ear that made her giggle and blush. He was smooth, that was for sure. Women seemed to flock to him like bees to honey. The brunette returned with a tray of shots, setting them on the table. She glared at the blonde. If looks could kill, that girl would’ve been a goner for sure.

  “There’s plenty of room,” Ace said smugly and patted his left knee. I was waiting for the brunette to sling a drink in his face, or at the very least tell him to fuck off, but no. She sat right down on his knee, smiled, and seemed happy enough to share his attention.

  “To a fucking kickass season!” Ace shouted and held up one of the shot glasses. We each grabbed ours, repeated his chant, and downed the liquor. It was hot, my throat instantly swelling from the burn. My nostrils widened as I shuddered to push away the pain. Ace laughed. “I’ll turn you into a man yet, hot shot,” he boasted.

  “Are you married?” the blonde asked, looking up at me th
rough her mascaraed lashes. She was beside me now, her hands still roaming my chest and stomach.

  “No, but I have a girlfriend,” I replied and took a step back.

  She followed, moving so close her breasts pushed into my chest, her hands moving up to my shoulders. She lifted onto her toes. “No ring, then it’s not cheating,” she whispered in my ear.

  I pried her off of me once again. “I’m not interested.”

  I shot a look at Ace, who was now staring daggers through me. “You need to lighten up, hot shot,” he said, his lip curled in disgust. “These are your fans.”

  “I just need to get home.” I set my glass down on the table and turned to leave. I almost bumped chests with a tall man with slicked back black hair. He wore an expensive designer suit, one that looked custom made, and smiled with a sincerity mixed with mischievousness that left me slightly intimidated.

  “You mean you can’t stay and have a drink with the man who gave you this incredible opportunity?” He spoke with authority.

  Shit, shit. Fucking shit.

  Immediately, my palms began to sweat. I’d seen pictures of our owner, but never actually met him. “Rhett Hamilton,” he said, extending his hand to mine. His handshake was firm and as confident as his presence.

  “Calvin Malone,” I said and felt immediately stupid. Of course he knew my damn name. “Glad to meet you, sir.”

  “Sir? No, you call me Rhett, and I know who you are, boy,” he said with a chuckle.

  The blonde who had been all over me earlier now seemed more interested in the owner of the team. I was relieved for that but felt panic as he insisted I stay and share a drink with him.

  Whitney was going to be pissed.

  “What are you drinking, Ace?” Rhett asked. “Patrón?”

  “Oh, you know it,” Ace replied, seeming very comfortable around the man. “Shots all around,” he announced as he motioned the blonde waitress back to the table. She seemed irritated that Ace had found not only one woman to replace her, but two. “Right away,” she said with full female sarcasm.

  “So, what do you think of the new team?” Rhett asked, directing his question to me. I was dumbfounded, a little star struck, and still nervous that I wasn’t on my way to Whitney.