Anything but Minor - Kate Stewart Page 0,4

my life. The one I believed kept my soul safe but frustrated me with answered prayers in cryptic life lessons and another who fed me a world of information at the palm of my hand.

As I researched, I realized I was at the very first home game, and the Swampgators had an incredible season last year. Even more impressive was all minor leaguers were an affiliate of a major league team, meaning they were all signed with them. I spent a few minutes brushing up on the basic rules of the game while the Swampgators warmed up on the field. I really had missed everything athletic in life and was working overtime to make up for it. The announcers asked us to rise for the anthem, and I quickly put my phone away as I held my hand over my heart and finally looked up.

Jesus, Lord, God help my sin-filled mind and cleanse me, Amen.

I had no idea what I expected when I truly got a look at the players, but I was pretty sure God was making up for my lack of Val Kilmers in my first instruction class. Everywhere I looked, the male form was accentuated in perfect clothes. A sea of solid man-butt swam before me as I stuttered out the words to the country’s most famous song. All of the players were lined up, eyes focused forward as I ogled them shamelessly while they paid tribute to their country. Tan, tattooed bulging arms, thick thighs, and muscular backs all saluted me as I remembered something else I’d never had much liberty to explore: men.

As soon as the short fireworks display ended, and the smoke cleared, I remained glued to my seat as I watched the Swampgators take the field.

“Go get ’em, Bullet!” A woman shouted next to me, obviously seasoned in the sport. She nudged me with her meaty elbow and pointed. “This is his year. I can feel it.”

The woman was dressed in an old team t-shirt and a hat of her own littered with stick pins. Her skin could only be described as leathered from years of sun, but she had kind, pale blue eyes and gave me a small smile as I addressed her.

“Who’s year?” I asked as she kept her sights on the man who had just reached the pitcher’s mound.

“Rafe, that’s who. He deserves it.”

“I’m not following,” I said, looking over at her. I could feel her excitement as she motioned to the mound. A faithful and dedicated fan sat next to me, and I was excited about the possibility of asking a few questions.

“First game?” she asked as if it was a cardinal sin. Her leathered skin wrinkled around pursed lips in distaste.

“I just moved here,” I replied as my only defense.

“Forgiven,” she said as she kept her eye on the field. “Rafe Hembrey, he’s the pitcher. Should’ve been picked up by the big club last year, but for some reason, they haven’t called yet. They’re absolutely crazy for it if you ask me. He’s better than half the big league starters. They won’t pass on him this year. I just know it.”

“Well, then,” I said as I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Get ’em, Bullet!” I gave my attention to the object of my company’s affection and froze when I saw him look in our direction. I stared back with my jaw slightly slack while I took him in. He was impressively taller than most of the other players. Then again, he was on a mound of dirt. Out of nowhere, a ball sped toward me, and I flinched. His pet name was no longer a mystery.

“Jesus, he’s faster than last year!” the lady to my right exclaimed as I realized he hadn’t been looking our way at all but was entirely focused on the catcher crouched a few feet in front of us.

“Sttriiike,” the umpire called out with authority.

“My name’s Beth, but my friends call me Dutch.”

“I’m Alice, nice to meet you...” I left it open-ended because I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to call her.

I studied Rafe’s form as he again wound up and extended his arm and leg in perfect rhythm.

“Strriiiike,” the umpire called out again as Dutch clenched her fists and did a fist bump with herself.

“Last year he pitched a no-hitter.”

I quickly Googled the term. “Impressive.”

I was thoroughly captivated, and I had to give most of the credit to the man on the mound. Even as a newcomer, I knew he was