stood right behind her until she felt heat coming off him all up and down her back. “If I handle you a little while I show you this, is that okay?”
She turned and looked him in the eye over her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
He might have winked. He might not have. It was a tough angle. But he put his hands on her arms and repositioned her with her left shoulder facing the target again. “You have this part right. But then when you throw, lead with your elbow, and before you release the ball, I want you to flop this wrist”—he grabbed the wrist of her right hand—“flop this wrist back like this before you throw. Palm up. Like you’re about to raise the roof.”
“Raise the roof?”
He put his palms up and pumped his arms. “You know.”
“Oh my God, forget I asked. If the kids you coach see you do that, they’re never going to listen to you again.”
“All right, Muscles, are you ready to get serious?” She felt him pull a couple of inches away from her, and she smiled.
“I’m ready, I’m ready.” She cocked her arm behind her.
He was against her back again. His left foot crept forward and nudged her left foot a few inches forward. “You want a little more space here.” He curled his right arm along hers, right up to the back of her hand, where he rested his palm. Five seconds passed. Five more. “What are you doing?” she finally asked.
“I’m hanging out,” Dean said, directly into her ear.
Eveleth had always hated how blushing felt. It was accompanied by such a miserable desire to cease to be, utterly, to turn into a fog that could be waved away. This blush, though, was like blooming, like she might look down and see petals flutter from her own shoulders. She sucked in her breath and they stayed like that. She started to worry that he could feel her pulse in her wrist, because she could feel it in her temples and was afraid her whole rib cage might be going thmm-thmm-thmm. Before she could even try to inch away from him, he reached up and laid two fingers against the side of her throat. “I’m checking your heart rate. You know, making sure you’re nice and relaxed. It’s part of my system.” Thmm-thmm-thmm. “Wait,” he said. And he blew on her neck. He blew right on her neck, which made her whole arm break out in goosebumps. He looked down at her skin and said, with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction, “Huh.”
She looked over her shoulder. “You blew on me.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Because?”
“You had a bug on you.”
“Oh, please. Get back to work, Coach,” she said firmly.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “Next time I see a bug, I’ll let it crawl down the back of your shirt.”
“Great. Next time you blow on me, I’m going to elbow you in the gut.”
He laughed from somewhere in his chest, somewhere pushed up against her shoulders. “So, you’re going to turn as you throw. Like I said, you’re going to lead with your elbow.” He moved his hand up from her hand to her elbow. “That’s going to go first. Then as you throw, you’re going to pick up this foot”—he reached down and tapped her right hip with one finger—“and wind up facing forward, right? So you’re going to turn your body front.”
She looked over her right shoulder again and narrowed her eyes. “I feel like this isn’t how you teach high school boys to throw.”
“It’s not. They smell terrible.”
“You know this is incredibly transparent,” she said.
“Hey, I’m working a method here. Take it or leave it.”
“Carry on,” she said.
“So here, take your glove hand”—he bumped her glove with his—“and put this elbow up. Point it where I’m going to be. Then you’re going to flick your wrist, follow through, come around with this leg, and that’s…that’s throwing a baseball.”
“Now I can throw like you do?”
He stepped away from her. “These days, yes, you can probably throw exactly like I do.”
She scrunched up her face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t.” He jogged away from her a little, then he slowed and turned back. “Okay, hit me,” he said, punching his glove.
She turned so that her body was perpendicular to him. She scooted her feet a little farther apart. She pulled her arm back with the ball in her hand, and she aimed her left elbow at Dean. Weight forward, elbow