Miranda got into a pitcher’s stance, did the wind up, and pitched the ball. It promptly bounced about twenty feet short of the catcher in his crouch. Her laughter rang out and the young pitcher also smiled, a little too interested in her for Lucas’s taste. The kid was young and tattooed and, even though he treated Miranda respectfully, he was skirting the line. Little touches on her arm and back. The teasing glances. The entirely too personal way he spoke to her and invaded her space. Jealousy reared its ugly, green head and he growled at the young guy.
Miranda turned, a surprised look on her face. “Oh, Lucas! This is Cody Patterson.”
“I know. Your star pitcher, who’s struggling a bit and should be working on his own grips and delivery, not teaching you.”
Mel Bridges chose that moment to step up there. “Ms. Callahan. Patterson, don’t you have pitches to practice? We want you to try a two-seamer. Let’s talk with Prosser.”
The cocky punk winked at Miranda. “See you, Ms. Callahan. And don’t worry. My arm will be fine for the season and we’ll bring home a title.”
The kid strutted away with his coach and Lucas scowled. “Damn punk.”
Miranda smirked. “Jealous, Lucas? He’s a sweet kid.”
Lucas stared in disbelief at the tatted up kid who had been looming over Miranda. “Him?”
She laid a hand on his arm. “You can’t always judge by appearances, right? Even beauty queens can be more.”
“Fine.” He grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “I think we’ve distracted the players enough for one day. How about checking in to our hotel and grabbing dinner?”
“I could be persuaded. What did you have in mind?” A car whizzed by with screaming college kids yelling obscenities out the window. “Please, somewhere quiet. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m too old for that shit.”
“Let me worry about that. I know just the place.”