“Coach gave it to me. He wanted me to practice here whenever I have free time.”
“You come here?”
“I do, yeah.”
“By yourself?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Isn’t that lonely?”
He shrugs. “Tonight it’s not.”
We reach the diamond, and he puts the tee down. It’s nearly a full moon, so the stadium is pretty bright, even though the spotlights are dark. The stars glow. It feels kind of epic for the two of us to be alone in such a massive space.
I hand Jason a beer, and then I take one. We crack them open.
I watch as Jason drinks his, finishing it quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he drinks. He lowers the can and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, then he throws away the empty can. It skitters across the ground.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll pick them up after.”
I finish mine, and throw it away, too. I’ve never drunk beer that fast before. He takes a ball from the mesh bag and puts it on the tee. Then he picks up the bat, twirls it around a couple of times, and offers it to me. I take it.
“Have you ever done this?” he asks.
“Not since middle school.”
“Just do what your instincts tell you. I’ll correct from there.”
“All right.”
I move up to the position and do a practice swing. It feels good, so I pull back, and hit the ball as hard as I can.
It flies a couple of yards, and then drops down onto the dirt.
“Good, right?” I say.
“You’re very cute, but dude, no. First things first, you’re holding the bat wrong. Two hands on the handle, like this.”
He stands behind me, looping his arms around me, so his hands are also on the bat.
“Like this.”
He corrects my grip on the bat. Next, he puts his hand on my chest, straightening me up. Then he nudges my front foot forward. God, these little touches are enough to overwhelm me.
“You want to stride out a little and keep your hands back. That’s steps one and two.”
“Sure.”
He moves his hand down to my hip. I stand very still. “Now, when you go to hit, you explode this out, toward the ball. When you do it, your hands should follow.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Sorry, all right. Like, this.”
He gets into position in front of me, and then swings his hip forward. He does it so fast I know there’s no way I’m going to be able to do it.
“What’s next?”
“Step four is throwing your hands toward the ball. Like this.”
Again, it’s deceptively complicated for such a small movement, but maybe that’s because I’m so freaking untalented at sports. Still, I want to at least try.
“Then swing. That’s five. And six is extension through the ball. That’s how you get lift.”
“Okay.”
“And step seven is follow through.” He finishes his swing, then pokes me in the chest with the end of the bat. “And that, my friend, is how you hit a baseball.”
“Got it. I think.”
He puts a ball on the tee.
“You ready for this?” I ask.
“So ready.”
I get into position, moving my foot forward. And then I swing. The baseball makes a really nice sound, and it lifts off. It doesn’t go much farther than last time, but it felt a lot better.
“You’re a natural,” he says.
“Don’t be condescending.”
“I’m not.”
I give him my best death stare.
“Okay,” he says. “Maybe I was, just a little.”
I laugh. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done, if you’re such a pro?”
“I can do that. Prepare to eat your words, Miller.”
I hand him the bat, and he walks up to the tee. I put down a ball and then stand behind him. His stare fixes, and he goes through the motions once. Then he gets into position, and swings.
Thwack.
The ball goes flying, up and into the darkness. If it were a real game it’d have to be a home run. He’s so good, it’s hot as hell.
I whistle. “How do you do that?”
“Practice.” He strides up to me. “Lots and lots of practice. You impressed?”
“I am, actually.”
We take turns hitting for a while, breaking the hits up by drinking beer. It honestly feels like another perfect night. I’m starting to like the taste. Soon, I’m pretty drunk, and am barely focused on hitting the ball. I’m concentrating on Jason, and how cute and hot he is. He loves baseball so much, it’s infectious. And his shirt fits snuggly against him. His muscles … I must say, they’re so great. He’s sweaty now, making his shirt slightly transparent,