Jesus, if he was going to not think about her like this, he might need to go somewhere more private.
He adjusted himself and tried to get his half-erection under control before he put on his jock. Nothing quite like wedging a boner into a hard plastic cup.
He was grateful he wouldn’t have to worry about her at all once he got onto the field. With the game on his mind, nothing could distract him.
Perfect.
He hadn’t even gotten to home plate when a familiar shock of white-blonde hair greeted him. At first he assumed his mind was playing tricks on him. He had, after all, just been thinking about her. It stood to reason he might see a blonde umpire and jump to conclusions.
Except she was an umpire.
No, there was no way his luck could possibly be that bad.
He was looking at a very short, compact, slightly built male umpire, nothing more.
The not-a-dude turned around, erasing any hope Alex had of getting Alice off his mind today. She stood at least a full head shorter than most of the guys on the field, and gave him a warm smile.
“Hey, stranger.” Her smile faltered, and Alex worried he might have let his uneasiness show.
“Hey. I didn’t know you’d be on this game.”
/> “I call ’em as the rotation gives them to me.” One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug, but her smile was back in full force. He was glad he’d be positioned with her at his back because it lessened his chances of getting distracted.
Lessened. Didn’t do away with altogether, unfortunately.
There was no way he could park his ass within a hundred feet of her and not be hyperaware of her presence. As it was he’d practically be sitting on her shoes. It was a good thing he wasn’t playing a real game because he had a funny feeling he wouldn’t be doing his best work with Alice around.
He passed her, adjusted his kneepads and his black-and-orange custom Nike vest, then squatted in front of her. He smacked his fist into his glove a few times, hoping the sound of skin on leather would bring him back to his senses.
How was it she still managed to be hot with the massive shoulder pads and hideous clothes the umps were required to wear? Even without a lick of makeup she still had a radiant, beautiful glow about her. It wasn’t fair. She should have looked terrible, but instead he was imagining stripping the pads, helmet and polo off her. The curves he knew she had were hidden under the bulk of her uniform and the two big hip pouches she had to hold spare balls.
Miles Cartwright took the mound and lobbed a couple test pitches to Alex, warming his arm up for the game. Miles was a young guy, barely twenty-two, but he showed a lot of promise. It wasn’t a sure thing he’d make it into the starting rotation, but the odds were in his favor. Alex reminded himself Miles would be depending on his calls to look good for the coaching staff. If Alex didn’t have his head in the game, he would be screwing someone other than himself.
With that sobering thought in mind, he settled into the rhythm of tossing a ball back and forth with Miles. Had Tucker or one of the other more seasoned pitchers been on the mound, he might have been willing to let his thoughts trail off. After years of working with those guys it was second nature, and he could do it without as much focus. With Miles it was a different story, and Alex was grateful to be working with the younger pitcher.
The rest of the players made their way out to the field, and once everyone was in place and the game was ready to begin, Alice rumbled a gruff, “Play ball.”
Alex waited until the batter was in position then put down one finger against his inner thigh. Miles shook his head.
Jesus, kid, questioning me already?
He held down one finger, then three against the opposite thigh. Miles nodded and pulled back for the pitch. Alex had called for a slider—a curving fastball—but Miles was off in his delivery and the ball didn’t curve as it ought to, instead lining up perfectly for the batter, who smashed it into dead center field.
One of the new recruit outfielders—a trade from Florida named Anibal—snagged the ball easily and threw it back. One away.
For the first couple of catches, every time Alex wriggled his way up to a high crouch, he was conscious of the fact he was within touching distance of Alice. Yet she maintained a professional distance the whole time. When she squatted behind him to call the plays, she didn’t crowd him, and whenever she passed him a new ball, there was no attempt made to brush fingers.
She was cool and aloof, and everything a good umpire should be.
If she could do her job, he reasoned, so could he.
By the time the third inning rolled around, he’d all but forgotten she was there. Only her feminine inflection when she said ball or strike stood to remind him there was a woman behind him and not any other ump. He had to admit, though, the enthusiastic way she cried You’re out after the third strike was thrown made her all the more endearing to him.
In the fourth inning, things got interesting.
A batter for the Twins, a new, young guy Alex had never played against before, came up for his second at-bat. He swung at the first pitch, an unquestionable strike. The second pitch was a fastball inching over the corner of the plate, Alice called, “Strike.”
“What the fuck?” the batter grumbled, kicking the dirt next to the plate.