Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,66
looking forward to cookies.”
“Trust me,” Walsh said, finally managing me to my feet. “You’ll like this more.”
Chapter Eighteen
“This is better than cookies? You’re insane.”
Since Walsh lived out in the boonies, it took us thirty minutes to get to the place deemed better than cookies: the baseball field.
Yeah. He took me away from cookies to practice. Jerk.
Being team captain, Walsh had a key to the equipment shed that sat behind the bleachers, and he made a beeline for it when we arrived. The sun was setting quickly, but that didn’t sway him from trying to pull some gigantic machine from the equipment shed to the pitcher’s mound. And it didn’t sway him from making me help.
“It’s a ball launcher,” Walsh said through a grunted breath, dragging his end to the field. He managed to hold his corner higher than me, taking most of the weight. “It pitches the baseballs so you can hit them.”
“You took me away from cookies just so you could practice your batting?” I huffed, trying to not trip over an uneven patch of grass as I held up the other end of the machine. I had made an awful decision to wear jeans—even though the sun was almost set, humidity still clung to the air, and I was dying of heatstroke. Dying of heatstroke and about to be crushed by a stupid ball launcher. “You officially suck.”
Walsh wasn’t even dressed to practice, wearing his usual button-down shirt and signature boat shoes. His ghost of a laugh carried a musical tune that ran right through me, easing the tension out of me. “Not me. You.”
Once we set it up at a safe distance from home plate, Walsh handed me a metal baseball bat and helmet that was way too big. It smelled like head-sweat and sulfur.
“I don’t know why you’re dolling me up,” I said as he positioned me in front of the home plate, a straight eyeshot at the machine. The metal monster looked ready to charge me and swallow me whole. Or impale me. “Because I am so not doing this. This is me, not participating.”
The noise echoed as Walsh knocked his knuckles against the helmet. “You’ll do great, Sophie.”
I loosely swung the bat in the air, and Walsh ducked out of reach just in time, my aim nearly knocking him in the shoulder. “And what if I end up being better than you?”
He walked backward toward the pitching machine, grinning the whole way. “Then you can take my spot. Be team captain.”
“I’ll settle with co-captain.”
“So generous.”
I swung the bat again, my grip firmer this time, and a muscle in my arm screamed. Walsh fiddled with the machine for a moment, then loaded it with a few baseballs. “I’m putting on the lowest setting so it won’t come at you fast.”
I mock saluted him, knocking the helmet against my forehead. I guess I could humor him just a little bit. The machine came to life with a whir, and I squeezed the metal bat in my fists, trying to channel my inner baseball star.
If I’d blinked, I would’ve totally missed it. A ball whipped its way past me, the air fizzing as it zoomed by my head, and I jumped back.
“Walsh!” The machine threw another ball, shooting past me and smacking into the chain-link fence. “That’s slow? Are you sure this thing isn’t broken?”
Walsh—the little jerk—was laughing, leaning his hands to his knees and bending over. Even from the distance between us, I could hear him try and gasp in a breath, and it took him a moment to get his words out. “Okay,” he said breathlessly. “Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.”
Even though all I wanted moments ago was to see him laugh like this, I now wanted to throw the baseball bat at him.
I whipped the helmet off, knowing my hair had to be terribly tousled. “Well, I’m glad nearly concussing me with a baseball makes you feel better.”
Walsh turned the machine off. He held up a finger to me, jogging back in the direction of the baseball shed. “I have a better idea. One sec!”
“I don’t trust your ideas!” I shouted back, my voice echoing in the night. “My ideas are way better than yours. They involve cookies!”
The landscape shielded the sinking sun, only a faint flame now that darkness moved in. This moment reminded me of the Fourth of July, sitting in my backyard with Walsh. As soon as the fireworks ended, I made Walsh deflate the float and head home. My