Free Love's Little Instruction Book by Mary Gorman

“Let’s see your form.”
    “I’ve got the form of Jell-O.” She grinned, walking a few feet away from the bench. “I didn’t think I should play at all, but Paul Lund insisted that I should because I’m such a visible part of the station. I may be a decent deejay, but I majorly suck as a softball player!”
    Todd took his place a couple of yards away from her. “Okay, let’s see your stance.”
    Dave watched keenly as Todd gave Denise a batting lesson.
    “Nope,” O’Connor told her after watching her take a few swings. “You’re still thrusting your hips out when you swing. Think about keeping them tucked under you. Don’t be afraid of the ball. It’s not going to hit you … Probably not, anyway. Here, try it again.” Another pitch, another thrust.
    Todd shook his head again. “I’ve got it. Dave, come over here, would you? You pretend to pitch while I help Denise with her swing and follow through.”
    Dave frowned, grim. He didn’t want to aide and abet any interaction between Todd and Denise, but he couldn’t see a graceful way out of it. He stood up grudgingly, trying to suck in his gut at the same time but knowing that he really couldn’t compete with Todd’s washboard abs. He smoothed down his own shirt as he walked over, tugging the ends down a little in a futile attempt to emphasize his own bodyline. Yeah, he thought grimly, he was sporting a six pack himself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite the same kind of six pack that O’Connor had.
    Todd came around behind Denise and stood close behind her. “Here, get in your stance,” he told her. As Denise once again hefted the bat onto her shoulder, Todd’s arms reached around her. Dave felt something surge inside him. Todd carefully placed his hands over Denise’s. “Okay,” he told her. “I want you to try to swing again, only this time you’re going to keep your hips in.”
    “I am?” Denise laughed, looking back over her shoulder at him.
    “You are,” came the certain reply. “Either that or we’re both going to get a really cheap thrill.”
    Denise laughed again and turned to face the pitcher, looking at him with sparkling eyes. His heart lurched. She was having a wonderful time. “Go ahead, Dave.”
    Maybe it was childish sprite, but Dave didn’t think anyone would know the difference. He cradled the imaginary ball close to his chest, went through the windup, and then pitched the invisible sphere hard in the general direction of Todd O’Connor’s head.
    He froze in his follow through, watching carefully to see what would happen next. Denise kept her focus — he could see her eyes tracking the trajectory of the non-existent ball. She pulled the bat back just a fraction and then swung hard — and the two inches of space between the soft curve of her behind and the taut denim of the jeans that covered O’Connor’s crotch diminished slightly but remained in place.
    Todd looked down. “Good!” he beamed. “You got it. Now you just have to pretend I’m pressing against the back of you every time you get up to bat.”
    “Now I just have to hope I come within a country mile of hitting the ball, you mean,” she amended.
    “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “You’ll be great.”
    • • •
    They may have looked a bit fluffy, but the Soap Opera Stars played like they meant it.
    A double by their fourth batter drove in the first run for the Stars. It was hit by a puffy haired blond who looked like she was all of twelve years old. Dave watched the play unfold from the bench, feeling a pang of relief when Denise managed to catch the ball at second base, keeping the barely five foot tall woman from advancing further.
    The WMTR team was kept scoreless in the next inning. Todd O’Connor hit a long fly ball in the second inning, and Dave hid his delight when it was neatly fielded by the tiny blond who had hit the double in the first inning. “How old is their outfielder, anyway?” Dave asked Presley, who was sitting