ice sleeve. “Don’t make that kind of money yet. Still on a minor-league contract for the next two years until arbitration.”
“Are you really Charlie’s replacement?” Joel asked me. “The new assistant pitching coach?”
“I am. My name’s Natalie Betts.”
“Told you,” Rafael said.
Joel frowned skeptically. Somehow it enhanced his boy-next-door sexiness. I expected him to comment on the fact that I was a woman, but then he surprised me by saying, “Come on. You must be pulling our leg. You’re barely older than me.”
“I’m in my thirties,” I said defensively. It was barely true, since I had just turned thirty a month ago.
Joel shared a look with Rafael. “Listen, Natalie. I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, because I don’t want to seem like a huge fucking asshole. But we’re all a little surprised to see a woman as the new assistant pitching coach.” He quickly held out his hand. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I think it’s super cool. I’m just curious about your experience, is all.”
I moved the container of food from one hand to the other. “For the last nine years I’ve been the pitching coach for Colleyville Baptist. I personally coached Adley Witt, the second pick in the draft. I even taught him how to throw his knuckle-curve.”
I said it with pride, but that’s not what they focused on. “You went straight from high school to the show?” Joel asked. The Show was slang for the majors. “You weren’t down in Nashville or Frisco?”
Nashville was the Rangers’ triple-A team, and Frisco was their double-A team. And rather than work my way up through the organization, I had come straight here. Their surprise was not unfounded.
“I’ve got a very good eye,” I replied stiffly. “My father was a scout for the Dodgers. He was the one who told them to draft Kershaw.”
“Yeah, okay, that’s cool and all,” Joel said with a smile that was so sweet I could have poured it into Coach Schultz’s coffee. “But your dad’s experience isn’t exactly relevant since you are the new coach, not him. Right? Again, not to sound like an asshole about it…”
Rafael was quiet, so I turned to him and said, “I know why you got shelled today.”
He tensed, and furrowed his dark eyebrows. “Think so?”
“They laid off your changeup all day. Even in pitcher’s counts. Several times, you got ahead and then couldn’t put them away.”
“I know. I was there, after all.”
“They weren’t chasing your changeup because you were tipping your pitches.” I put my container of food on the table and demonstrated his windup. “You come set about here when you throw your fastball. Just above the belt. But for off-speed pitches you come set here, a little bit lower.”
Rafael and Joel looked at each other. For a minute I thought I had gotten through to him.
And then they laughed at me.
“Come on, seriously?” Rafael said. “You think you can show up and discover a flaw in my pitching on your first day?”
“Kinda presumptive,” Joel added.
“I don’t think,” I said curtly. “I know. I’ve reviewed the tape from the game.”
Rafael shook his head dismissively. “Coach would’ve noticed it. He’s been doing this for what, forty years?”
“Fifty, probably,” Joel chimed in. “It’d be real embarrassing if you caught something he missed.”
Before I could defend myself any further, someone new came into the room. Someone I really didn’t expect.
Darryl Bryant was the star first baseman for the Texas Rangers. He led the American League in home runs last season, so he should have been over in a mansion Airbnb with all the other stars. And he was looking good tonight. He wore a compression shirt that hugged his chiseled frame like shrink wrap. Tattoos spilled out the top of his neck and down both arms, and a sexy amount of dark scruff covered his cheeks and jaw. In his arms were two boxes of pizza, but he looked at me with hungry eyes as if I was the meal.
“This the girl?” he asked the other two in a deep voice. Before waiting for an answer he put down the food and stuck out his hand. “Hey babe. I’m Darryl.”
“I know who you are.” My stomach twisted with excitement. Darryl Freaking Bryant was flirting with me! Then I remembered what he said, and asked, “Am I the girl for what?”
“No!” Rafael said awkwardly. His olive cheeks were now deep red. “She’s not her. I mean, we haven’t picked one yet. She’s Coach Schultz’s new assistant pitching coach.”
Darryl’s