status comes with a price. From tonight until the end of the season, we’ll be tracked more closely than fourteen-point bucks. Come August, we’ll have paid our dues to the baseball gods and then some. We deserve to break out of this place.
I glance over to Brett and Jay, who’re whispering to each other. Brett laughs and settles back in his chair, grinning. Them, I’ll miss like hell.
“Gentlemen! I need your attention.”
What the hell? I turn to see Eric standing at the edge of the dock, a few yards down. The sophomore guys are lined up in front of him, and—wait. Are they…?
Yes. Yes, they are in their boxers. It’s initiation time, fellas.
Eric tips back his beer, chugging it before chucking the can into the grass. “I’m here to officially initiate the new Bulldogs of Lewis Creek varsity baseball.” He turns to the sophomores and holds out his arms, gesturing to the water behind him. “You’re not a true varsity Bulldog until you’ve gone balls to the wall. Or in this case, balls to the water. Luckily, I’m here to guide you.” He twirls his hand, like he’s waiting for a response. “Y’all should be thanking me. Get with it.”
All of us burst out laughing. Every single one of us has landed in that river at some point. It’s a rite of passage. At least Eric’s letting them keep their boxers. Jay, Brett, and I had to let it all hang. And that water’s damn cold in March.
Eric steps to the side. When the others remain still, Eric waves them forward. “Don’t be shy. You heard Coach; we’re your brothers.”
Maybe I’ll miss Eric a little, too.
I cup my hands around my mouth. “It’s family bonding, boys. Get in the water!”
The first guy, Chris, steps onto the dock. He breaks into a run and, with a flying jump, splashes into the river. We clap along with Eric, who signals for the next guy. One by one, they leap into the bone-chilling water. And one by one, they learn what it takes to be a Bulldog: trust, with a healthy dose of humiliation.
chapter thirteen
Marisa’s waiting for me in the parking lot once practice wraps up on Friday night. I have no idea why she’s at the field instead of the shop, which is where she was, you know, hired to be. Not that I’m complaining, but Momma doesn’t even let me out early when I work. Doesn’t make much sense.
The other guys scatter as we exit the field and spill out into the parking lot. Marisa waves to Jay, Brett, and Eric, who all pile into Brett’s Jeep. Engines fire up and tires screech out of the lot as I head toward her.
“Hey,” I say, tossing my gear bag into the bed of my truck. “Managed to escape early?”
She pulls the hair-tie out of her knot, letting her waves spill across her shoulders. “Your mom kicked me out,” she says, ruffling her hair. “She said I was working too hard.”
Yeah, that’s really not like Momma. “What were you doing?”
“Sitting on the stool. Listening to the coolers come on. Shut off. Come on again. Repeat for about three hours. It’s fascinating stuff.”
I laugh along with her, even though I need to ask about this. But again, not complaining about extra Marisa time. I’ll take it whenever I can.
“So you got off work early and then came all the way here instead of going home?” She glares, one of those “I hate you for pointing that out” looks. I hold up my hands. “Can’t a guy ask a question?”
She runs a hand through her hair again. “I was thinking,” she says, playing with the ends, “that maybe we could get an early start on this weekend’s tutoring session. Study both tonight and tomorrow. You have your book, right?”
Folding my arms, I lean back against my truck. She blinks quickly, not quite meeting my gaze. My lips curve up. She’s so busted. “Let me get this straight: it’s Friday night. We have an entire night ahead of us. And you want to study? You’re an awful liar, Marlowe.”
She eyes me up and down. Crosses her own arms. Finally she sighs and says, “Fine. I have ulterior motives.”
“If it involves moonshine and skinny-dipping, it’s so on.”
Her jaw drops. She blushes as she looks around, but there’s no one out here but the two of us. “No,” she drawls. “And what makes you think I’d go skinny-dipping with you?”
Wishful thinking never killed anybody.
“It’s something the one customer