The Ninth Inning (The Boys of Baseball #1) - J. Sterling Page 0,16

not really helpful.”

“Do you think it’s because I’m worried about getting drafted?” I asked and watched him take off his hat and fuck with his hair.

“Do you think it’s because you’re worried about getting drafted?” He tossed my words back at me.

I shrugged with both shoulders, holding them up for a breath or two before dropping them. “I’m not, not worried about it.”

“I know it’s hard. And it sucks being one of the few seniors still here on the team after a draft year. I wish I could fix this for you, but I can’t. You have to get out of your own head and stop trying so hard. You know it doesn’t work like that. Keep swinging for the fences, and you’re going to keep striking out or hitting fly balls. Whatever it is that’s going on in there”—he tapped a finger against the side of my head—“figure it out and shut it up.”

Jack pushed off the wall and hopped down right as Coach Jackson yelled, “Hey, Anders. Plan on joining us on the field today, or do you want to run till you puke?”

Jumping down, I extended my hand toward Coach Carter and gave it a firm shake. “Thanks again, Coach.”

“Anytime. You got this,” he said, and I wanted so badly to believe him, but I’d been struggling since fall ball. “Coach Jackson might still call you a pussy though,” he added with a laugh, and I took off running toward the field and the rest of my teammates.

“Get out there.” Coach Jackson pointed toward center field where Logan stood with a shit-eating grin on his face.

We rotated players during practice, each person taking grounders and fly balls respectively at their shared position, but I went first since I was the starting center fielder.

“How nice of you to join us,” he said when I got onto the grass. Even something as simple as Logan going first in practice felt like I was losing my grip on the position, but I pretended to not give a shit until he added, “You can stand behind me. You should probably get used to it.”

My anger simmered, threatening to explode. Logan was a cocky asshole who barely deserved to cast a shadow on the grass we stepped on.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I said as the ball sailed my way, and I easily caught it before throwing it hard to second base for the cutoff.

“You and I both know I should be starting over you. You’ve had a shitty time at the plate, and I don’t see that ending anytime soon.” He was poking the proverbial bear, and he knew it. Logan knew if he was going to talk shit, to do it where it counted. “Coach will get sick of it and yank you. Watch. I give it two more games. Three, tops.”

My heart spun in my fucking chest. It was my worst fear, being pulled from the lineup and forced to watch the games from the bench, but I couldn’t let Logan know that. I had to make him think I wasn’t worried. “It’s not my fault you’re not good enough to play here. Should have gone to a different school. Maybe a D2 university, so you would have had a better shot at starting.”

Telling someone they weren’t good enough to be playing at the top D1 level was a low blow. It felt like a win even if it was short-lived.

“Fuck you, Anders,” Logan fired from behind me, and I grinned to myself, knowing I’d struck a chord.

“Nah, I’m good,” I said without turning around.

I fielded a ground ball this time and threw it at home plate to Chance. It reached on one bounce, low and perfect at the plate for a potential tagged out. I heard a few of my teammates whistle in response.

“Heard Christina’s done with you. That was fun to watch. I’m thinking about asking her out. She seems feisty,” Logan said as we switched positions, and he stepped in front of me, waiting to take his turn.

The idea of Logan touching Christina made my blood go straight from simmering to a strong boil. I bit the inside of my cheek to stay focused and to stop myself from tackling him to the fucking ground and beating him senseless. No matter what instigating and vile things came of Logan’s mouth, I would be the one who got in trouble if I did that.

Coach Jackson had no tolerance for fighting between teammates, especially over girls. It wasn’t something