I flexed my foot inside my boot and typed back:Sure.
Same time?Kulti texted back.
Ja.I smiled at the screen before setting my phone on my lap.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” Marc asked from his spot behind the driver’s seat.
The smile eased itself off my face. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
I rolled my eyes as the phone vibrated from between my legs. Bringing it back out, I made sure Marc’s attention was back on the road.
Go make a quesadilla.
I started laughing hysterically.
“Goddamnit, Sal!” Marc shouted. “You want me to get into a wreck?”
Despite Marc yelling at me for bursting out so suddenly, it didn’t stop me from cracking up.
He was waitingon the bench by the time I pulled my car into the park’s lot, headband on, bat leaning against his thigh and a glove on his lap.
I kept my face even, like he hadn’t sent me the most ridiculous text message earlier in the day. “Hi.”
“Sal,” Kulti said my name like he’d been using it forever, standing up with his things in hand. He had on the same variation of an outfit he usually did: white athletic shorts, a plain black T-shirt and black and green RK signature running shoes.
“Ready?” I asked, eyeing his muscular calves for a split second.
“Ja,” he answered.
I looked up at his face and snickered, but he wasn’t smiling at me, he was just watching like always. We walked toward the field together silently. The awkward conversation we’d had during the Pipers game a few days ago seemed forgotten. I understood what he meant and where he was coming from, so I didn’t take it personally.
Not surprisingly, we were split up into two different teams. Most of the players at the park were people we’d played with the last couple of times. One of them was the douche-bag that played whack-a-mole with my foot, who was standing off with a couple of other guys, all of them staring at me.
Weird.
An open palm smacked me in the shoulder. “Watch it.” Kulti leaned over to meet me eye to eye, his index finger pointing low in the direction of my shoe.
Definitely. I stared up into his murky green eyes and nodded. “I will. Good luck.”
Instead of saying anything, he walked past me, bumping the side of his upper arm against my shoulder, lightly… playfully.
“Come on, you punk. I wanna start the game before I turn forty,” Marc shouted, waving me onto the side of the field. Our team was batting first.
“That’s like next week.”
He shot me the middle finger.
We lined up to bat and only made it through four batters before we got three outs and had to switch positions. Six outs later, I managed to get three of six opposing players out, and my team was back playing defense. It was a fast-moving game with a lot of quick inning changes. It seemed like I was going to be able to go to practice the next day without a limp.
At least that’s what I thought until I realized how competitive and petty some guys could be.
Not even two batters in I had one of the opposing players clothesline me, as he ran to the base while I caught the ball to tag him out.
I landed on my ass and back pretty hard because I hadn’t been expecting it at all—because seriously, who the hell plays like that?? Last week should have been an anomaly. I took a deep breath to control how pissed off I instantly became and how out of breath I was from practically being tackled. Once I was calm, I shoved him off and gave the jerk a dirty look. It was one of the guys the idiot from last week had been standing with, also one of the three people I’d tagged out earlier.
I took another deep breath, fighting back a groan as I watched him get up to standing position from his hands and knees.Patience Sal. Patience.