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.
But it wasn’t working.
Rolling up to sit, I bit back the curse words that were molding to my gums.
Patience. Patience.
I swallowed and clung to the tiny bit of patience I found inside myself. “I don’t play like that,” I told him in a careful controlled voice, getting to my feet slowly. I straightened to my full height, still a good five inches shorter than the man who shoved me to the ground. I tipped my head up and looked him right in the eye. He was somewhere around my age and good-looking enough to be an egotistical dick with his gelled hair and trimmed beard. I’d learned early on playing with my brother, Simon, Marc and their friends that as a girl—as a person—you couldn’t back down. Plus, I wasn’t scared of these idiots. Not even a little bit. “Don’t do it again.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Marc’s voice came from somewhere in my peripheral vision before he appeared. Close enough, he shoved a hand between our bodies and moved the stranger back a foot. “Dude, we don’t do that shit. You especially don’t do that shit to her, so watch it or your ass is out of here. That goes for all of you.”
The tension was like a thick mist over the field, as the guy finally took another two steps back and nodded. Anger buzzed through my ears as I watched his stupid head retreat.
A hand whacked me in the stomach hard, and I didn’t have to look down to see that it was Marc, leaning over to get in my face. “I thought we talked about you taking risks,” he hissed.
I blinked and felt my nostrils flare. “His friend stomped on me last week and now this ass-wipe went WWE on me. What did you want me to do? Sit here and take it?”
We both knew he was part of the trio who had taught me as a child that it was acceptable to shove my elbow into the soft spot beneath people’s ribcages and sometimes in their kidneys, if it was needed. It wasn’t until I was a little older playing in a league that my coach had finally explained that it wasn’t right… even if it got the job done.
With a sigh, Marc’s dark eyes stared into mine. “Of course not, but you know the last thing I want is for you to get hurt because these pussies get their panties in a wad.”
“I know, but that was bullshit.”
A strained smile stretched wide across his mouth. “It is bullshit, but sometimes I want to push you to the ground, Sal, and I love you. Chill out. We’ll let the air out of his tires in a couple of weeks, when he isn’t expecting it.”
Bah.
I snorted, and then I snorted again. He was such a great person in my life, more like an illegitimate bastard brother than a friend, really. I kissed the tips of my fingers and followed up by smacking his cheek with them in a light slap. “I love you too, but I don’t know if I can wait a few weeks.”
With a roll of his eyes, he straightened up and scowled. “Try. Keep the anger in check, mini-Hulk.”
I rolled my eyes right back at him, took another breath for control, collected what remained of my patience and held it close to my heart. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kulti at the sideline, one foot forward, his hands down at his sides, those muscular forearms flexed. I noticed even his calves were taut. His jaw was locked as he stood there, ready for who knows what. But he didn’t move. He didn’t say a word, and I was still too pissed to put together his body language.
Was it an accident? I highly doubted it, but I’d played with rough people in the past, and I’d let them get away with maybe an elbow or a shoulder if it let them sleep better.