Rookie Mistake: A Sports Romance Novel (The Beasts of Baseball Book 1) (2 page)

“Lucky throw,” he snorted before taking his position back at the plate, this time not crowding it, leaving me plenty of room for my strike zone.

I nodded towards the catcher as my index and middle finger positioned over the seam for my famous forkball. I threw it hard, and Ace swung just as it dropped diagonally, violently, and without warning. I just got my second strike.

“Not bad, kid,” Ace yelled out, tossing the bat aside.

“If you’re all done playing, let’s get warmed up,” the coach said sarcastically before shooting me a smile of admiration.

It was obvious that Ace was testing me, hoping that I would fail, but I hadn’t. Something told me it wouldn’t be that easy to get on Ace Newman’s good side.

Coach blew his whistle and told us to run the bases. Ace was fast, faster than the others, but I was a close second. He picked up the pace as he looked over his shoulder. His expression displayed the irritation of me being so close behind. Ace was used to being the center of attention, the big man on campus, so to speak. I’d read plenty about his temper and knew he didn’t play well with others, on or off the field, but something about him intrigued me.

Coach Griffin, although seemingly nice when we first met was a drill sergeant on the field. He had us doing calisthenics and agility training for over an hour, then batting practice before another hour of hard exercise. I was exhausted when he blew that final whistle. “Alright, go clean up,” he yelled.

The locker room smelled of sweat and cologne. Since I hadn’t pitched other than the few tosses to Ace, I skipped icing and post-practice rehab to head straight for the bank of showers in the back.

“Impressive,” Ace said, sliding in beside me to the free shower.

I had to admit, I had an “oh shit” moment so big I thought my damn head would explode when I thought my hero was admiring my dick, ass, or both. My mind raced, trying to decide how to handle it. When he added, “Hell of a good arm,” I stuck my face under the water to wash away the panic.

“Thanks, you certainly weren’t taking it easy on me out there,” I said and tossed a glob of shampoo on my grimy hair.

“Would you want it any other way?” he asked in that cocky way of speaking I was quickly getting to know.

I said nothing, just rinsed the suds from my hair and turned to look at him. He smiled his famous asshole grin. “C’mon kid, you’re gonna get it a lot worse than that out there soon enough.”

I knew that was true. This wasn’t college anymore, or even the minors. This was the majors, and some of the players I would be up against had decades of experience.

What did I have?

Ace shut his water off and quickly wrapped his towel back around his waist. He wasn’t much older than me, maybe six years, but he looked to be every bit in as good shape as me.

As I was getting dressed, I heard Ace asking Marty out for drinks. They didn’t exactly strike me as a pair that would hang out.

“Come with us,” Marty said, looking my way.

“Can’t tonight,” I admitted. “My girl is finally coming into town, supposed to be here in a few hours.”

“Don’t be a pussy!” Ace chimed in with a smirk. He held his towel in his right hand, twirling it until it made a tight point at the end. Snap! I dodged, but he whipped it perfectly, the end bringing up a three-inch welt on the cheek of my ass.

“What the fuck was that for?” I yelled, forcing myself not to rub it. Damn it. Thought I was finally out of high school.

“For being a pussy,” Ace replied with another smirk. “It’s just one drink, rookie. You’ll be home in time to please your mommy.”

Pulling on my boxer-briefs and a t-shirt, I considered the request, knowing these men would be watching my back and needing them to
want
to. A good arm helped, but I needed them to pick up anything that hit a bat. Plus, it was one drink. On my first day of professional practice, I could use it. Celebrate being here.

“One drink,” I said sternly, pulling on jeans and sticking my feet into shoes. “And don’t do that shit again.”

Ace laughed as if my orders meant nothing to him. I finished dressing and walked out of the locker room, partly hoping they left without me, and I could just go home.

“You’re riding with me, hot shot,” Ace insisted. He was leaning up against a black Porsche that looked like it had just been waxed. It was beautiful and expensive.

Wow, I was really in the big leagues now.

Marty left with Frank Lewis, the centerfielder from the same Atlanta team where he’d been poached. “So, who is this owner anyway?” I asked Ace as I climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

“He’s a real heavy hitter, lots of money, need for power, and a damn good player,” Ace responded.

“Player?” I asked, thinking about all the players I’d ever heard of. “I’ve never heard of Rhett Hamilton. Which team?”

Ace laughed and pushed his foot on the gas as we tore out of the parking lot. A puff of smoke filled the rearview mirror, and the screeching likely scared any animal within a thirty-mile radius.

“I didn’t say he played baseball, kid,” he said sarcastically. “He’s a player, the kind with a different woman in his bed every night.”

That explains why he chose Ace. They shared a love for that game.

My ass cheeks tightened with every turn, my fists clenched as I held my breath. Ace was a wild man, driving like he owned the road. It was scary. Death defying scary. When we pulled up to the bar, I knew my face had to be pale as a ghost.

“Clean her up while ya got her,” Ace said and tossed the keys to a young valet. The kid scampered to get behind the wheel, thanking Ace repeatedly as we walked towards the entrance.

I checked my phone. No messages from Whitney yet.

“What, are ya worried your momma’s gonna call?” Ace snorted.

I shoved the phone back into my front pocket and smiled, ignoring his sarcasm, which I was quickly learning was just Ace being Ace. “My girl will be here sometime tonight.”

He shrugged and shook his head. “There’re plenty of girls here already.”

A large man wearing a black suit and red vest reached to open the door as Ace and I approached the entrance to the bar. It was a swanky place, like one I’d only seen in the movies. My jeans and tight-fitting t-shirt made me feel out of place, especially next to Ace who wore slacks and a button down that probably cost more than my dad’s monthly salary. I hadn’t been planning on going anywhere that afternoon, at least not until Whitney arrived, and hadn’t brought anything nicer.

Whitney.

My balls tightened just thinking about her. All I wanted was to take her in my arms and make love to her, an “I made it” fuck fest to rival any others. My testosterone levels were high, and I could tell in the last few days I was becoming irritable. Jerking off had become a bore — all my moves were old news. I just needed my girl, that’s all, nothing more.

“Hey, Ace!” A tall man who had to have been of Italian descent welcomed us as we walked through the large doors. He wore a button down shirt, similar to Ace’s but more colorful. His thick black hair was slicked back from his face, and he sported a mustache that twirled on each end like Gomez from the
Addam’s Family
. “We have your table ready.”

I was impressed at how everyone seemed to fawn over Ace. It was like he was a local legend, a hero, or at the very least, a celebrity. A beautiful blonde wearing a short black skirt and low-cut top took Ace’s hand, leading him to a table up a small set of steps. I followed behind, feeling slightly rejected as all attention focused on the shortstop. I watched as his hand slid around her waist and over her ass. He gave her a squeeze and a none too gentle pat as he slid into the circular booth.

“Grab us a bottle, darlin’,” he said to the woman, giving her a long wink. She didn’t ask what kind of bottle. She just giggled and rushed off to follow her orders. “You’ll get used to this, kid.”

Before I could even get situated in the booth, the blonde had returned with a bottle of Jack Daniels on ice with two glasses, then surprised me by sliding into the booth next to Ace. “Why haven’t you called me?” she whined. Her voice was squeaky, and her pouting lips were over exaggerated as she leaned in towards Ace.

“Oh, darlin’, you know spring training started. I’ve been a busy man,” Ace replied, his hand sliding over her leg. I couldn’t help but watch his movements; they were so smooth, so precise. She giggled again as his hand slid even higher up her skirt, then disappeared. Her face went soft and her eyes closed, her tongue sliding slowly across her top lip as she let out a long moan.

What the fuck?

I looked around, but no one was paying attention as Ace’s hand started to move and the girl’s moans grew louder. Ace looked at me and winked.

Holy shit. Was this seriously happening?

The waitress’ head fell back, and she gripped his arm, biting her lower lip to stifle a cry. Ace’s hand returned to view and her eyes slowly opened. She smiled and leaned over to give his cheek a quick kiss. She seemed to be satisfied. At least for now.

“I’ll bring you some appetizers,” she said cheerfully and scooted out of the booth.

Ace lifted his fingers to his nose and closed his eyes as he smiled. “Oh, that’s sweet,” he said, drawing out the words. “You wanna know what success smells like, kid?” He pushed his hand towards my face.

“No, thanks,” I replied, pulling away quickly.

He laughed and poured us both a drink.

“I see you’re getting the royal treatment,” Marty said as he and Frank slid into the booth with us.

“Only the best for the best,” Ace boasted, motioning for the young blonde to return to the table. “We’re gonna need a few more glasses. sweetie.”

“You have an incredible arm,” Marty said as he gave my back a few hard thumps. “Not bad at the plate either.”

“Thanks,” I replied and tossed back half of my drink. Most pitchers couldn’t bat for shit, but I could hold my own, which I knew made me an even bigger asset.

The blonde showed back up with two more glasses and a basket of chicken wings. She smiled at Ace as he ran his hand up her thigh.

“Aw, man, don’t shit where you eat,” Frank said, finally speaking.

Ace grinned and turned to watch the young blonde’s ass as she walked away. He picked up the bottle, poured Marty and Frank a drink before topping off mine and his. He held the glass up high.

“Here’s to the Beast’s first kickass season.”

We clinked glasses, and I tossed my drink back. All of it this time.

CHAPTER TWO

e

Calvin

“S
ee those honeys over there?” Ace asked, wrapping an arm around my neck, strong-arming me into looking in their direction.

“Yeah.”

Where in the hell was he going with this?

“You can have any one of them. Ya know why?” He went on without giving me a chance to answer. “I’ll tell ya why. Cause you’re a starting pitcher for the best damn team in the league.” He mussed my hair and finally released me from his grip.

Trying not to act like a loser, I told him, “I have the only girl I need.”

Oh shit! Whitney!

The bottle of Jack was half empty, that was more than just one drink. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my phone – four missed calls and several texts. “I have to make a phone call,” I said, excusing myself from the table. Marty and Frank were arguing over who the better player was, Babe Ruth or Willie Mays.

No brainer, Babe Ruth for sure!

Ace had moved on from the blonde waitress to a tall brunette with legs that you could climb for days. “You’re not leaving?” Ace asked, gripping my arm as I walked by.

“No,” I assured him, jerking away. “I’ll be right back.”

I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, and with the loud music in the club, I didn’t hear my ringer. Dread clawed at my stomach as I dialed Whitney’s number. “Hey, babe!” I said, overly cheerful as she answered.

“Where are you?” she asked.
God, it felt good to hear her voice. Even her pissed off worried voice.

“Some of the guys wanted me to have a drink with them here at Home Plate,” I explained, hoping my enthusiasm would be contagious, and she’d lighten up a little. “Ace Newman is on my team, babe, Ace motherfucking Newman!” My enthusiasm was met with silence from the other end. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m at your apartment,” she snapped. She wasn’t pleased.

“Our
temporary apartment,” I corrected her. “So you found the key okay then?”

“Yes. But Calvin, I thought you’d be here.” Her voice was full of disappointment.

“Sorry, babe. Time just got away from me. It’s loud in the club and the excitement of my first practice just… I fucked up, babe.” I looked around, making sure no one witnessed me sounding like a pussy. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded for her forgiveness.

She exhaled loudly, and her voice shifted. I smiled into the phone, knowing I’d been forgiven.

“I’ve just missed you, Cal. I want to see you. Are you coming home soon?” Her tone was purring through the phone like a little kitten. Yes, I was coming home. I couldn’t wait to hold her in my arms, smell her perfume, and taste the sweetness of her nectar.

“I’ll tell them I’m leaving now. I love you,” I said, dropping my voice, arranging my jeans and the instant hard on she always gave me.

“I love you too.”

“Everything good?” Ace asked with a wink.

“Yeah, but I gotta take off,” I explained. “Whitney’s been waiting on me for a while.”

The brunette was on his lap, her arm around him, her head leaning on his shoulder. I glanced at his hand; it was just above knee level. I wondered if he had already given her a hand job or if he was just working up to it.

“No way, we were just getting ready for shots,” Ace argued and boosted the girl from his lap. “Baby, go get us five shots of Patrón.” He handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “One shot, then you can go.”

His smirk told me there was no getting out of this. Practice proved he could be a real hard ass, and the last thing I needed was to be on Ace Newman’s bad side. Besides, I’d just had my first ever practice as a professional major league baseball player. Didn’t I deserve a little celebration?