Free Tamed V by Anna

put my duffle bag in the back seat. My meeting starts at ten, but with traffic it may take close to three hours to get there. I’m about to hop in the car when I see Sophie wander out the front door rubbing her eyes.
    “Hey girl,” I say, lowering myself so we’re face to face. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
    “Where are you going?”
    “To a meeting.”
    “Do they play baseball this early?”
    “No, and it’s not that kind of meeting. Well, not really. I’m going to a job interview to be a coach.”
    “Where.”
    “Atlanta.”
    “Can we come to your games?”
    I pull her frayed pigtail. “Of course.”
    “Okay,” she says kissing my forehead. “I’m going back to bed.”
    “Good plan,” I laugh. She shuffles back to the house. Mom appears in the doorway once she’s gone in.
    “So everyone seems okay with me leaving.”
    “Everyone wants you to be happy.”
    Everyone , I think, feeling the wrinkled paper in my pocket.
    I kiss her on the cheek and run to the garage. I grab my favorite bat leaning against the wall.
    “Just in case,” I tell her, throwing it in the back. I climb in the jeep and drive to Atlanta.
     
    *
     
    The parking lot is about half-full when I get to the stadium. Flying into a parking space, I jerk the jeep to a stop. I check the time.
    “Shit.”
    It’s 9:45 and I’ve barely got time to change, sign in and warm up. I follow the signs through the stadium, and duck into the restroom. After changing, I line up behind the other guys.
    I’m last.
    An older man sits behind the table with a Braves cap on and stack of waivers and paperwork piled in front of him. He hands me mine without looking up and asks, “Name?”
    “Jensen,” I say. “Tucker Jensen.”
    He glances up. “What did you say?”
    “Tucker Jensen.”
    “From Columbus?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Hurry up,” he says in a gruff voice. He hands me a numbered sticker to put on my shirt. “You’re late.”
    “Yes, sir,” I repeat. I slap the sticker to my chest and sling my bag over my shoulder I run to the field to join the other players. On the field, I look around the stadium. It’s only five years old and reminds me of Glory Park, but shiny.
    My phone beeps in my bag and I reach to turn it off. The number is local—from Atlanta, and I know it’s the high school looking for me. I know what it means by ditching that meeting. I’ve lost the job.
    No job. No girl.
    I look out at the emerald green grass of the outfield.
    All I’ve got left is this.
    “Thirty-six!” they call and I grab my glove.
    I’m up.
     
     
     

Chapter 9
     
    I slide my bat into the rack and bump fists with the other guys in the dugout.
    “Nice hit.”
    “Thanks,” I say, reaching for a bottle of water and drinking half of it.
    “Jensen.” Coach Dismuke calls me over.
    “Yeah?”
    “You dropped your elbow; make sure you keep it up. That would have been a home run.”
    “Got it.”
    He claps me on the back and I move to sit with the rest of the guys. We’re on game twenty-eight out of one-forty-four. So far it’s been the best nine months of my life.
    We win the game 4-2 with two bases scored from my hits. I’m holding my own out here and even though the road can get lonely, I’m not one to be short on company, even if it’s temporary.
    “Looks like your fan club’s here,” Marcus says, pointing across the bar. We have tomorrow off and the coach gives us time to blow some steam while we’re in Durham. Normally we’d be back on the bus by now.
    “Oh yeah?” I ask, mildly interested.
    “You want to head over?”
    Marcus likes to be my wingman, picking up the girls that don’t make my cut. I’ve gotten pickier since last summer. No green eyes. No filmy sundresses. There’s a type that follow athletes. They know what they’re getting into and so do I.
    “Sure,” I swallow the rest of my beer and leave the bottle on the bar.
    The bar is filled with coeds, which makes it easier because they travel in packs.