Thrown a Curve by Kate McMurray

Author:Kate McMurray [McMurray, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-06-07T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

MASON LIFTED his bat as Nate fiddled with the pitching machine.

“You sure about this?” Nate asked, stepping away. “I can throw better than this little machine can.”

They were at the Upper West Side Baseball Center, which had batting cages that rivaled the ones Mason had frequented in Florida when he’d been in the minors, and those had been some damn nice batting cages. Scott had been chastising Nate about his swing for the past month, so Nate had finally relented and asked Mason for some pointers.

“National League rules,” Mason had said at the time.

“I know, bro,” Nate had said. “But even then, pitchers aren’t actually expected to hit home runs. If the pros don’t have to, I don’t see why I do.”

And Scott had barked, “Babe Ruth was one of the best pitchers in baseball with the Red Sox before he hit home runs for the Yankees.”

Nate had rolled his eyes.

Now he stepped away from the pitching machine and watched it spit balls toward Mason at regular intervals. Mason concentrated and hit eight out of ten of the pitches into the distant net, decent pop flies.

“All right, Mr. Yankee Show-Off,” Nate said, picking up his own bat and stepping up to the plate. Mason jogged out to the pitching machine and reloaded it from the basket of baseballs they’d rented.

Once the machine hummed to life, Mason said, “Keep your back straighter. Lean forward slightly. Yeah, like that. Now pull your elbows in. That looks good. Okay, here it comes.”

Nate hit half of them. His facial expression alternated between focused and frustrated.

“You’re getting better,” Mason offered when Nate tossed his bat over his shoulder in disgust.

“Fuck you.”

Mason laughed. “No, seriously, you’re getting the hang of it. Your stance looked better each time you swung.”

“Switch.”

Mason picked up his bat as Nate walked back to the machine. “So,” Nate said conversationally, “how are things with you and Patrick?”

Mason tested the weight of his bat and gave it a few practice swings. “Good, I think, although we ran into Odell the other night, and Odell was as much of an ass as I predicted he would be.”

“In what way?” Nate’s attention was on the pitching machine, but his head was tilted in a way that indicated he was listening.

Mason took a moment to examine Nate. Nate typified “average white guy” as far as Mason was concerned, but he had a pretty face, fine light brown hair that had a bit of a reddish tinge, and a soft voice. He was on the thin side, not especially butch but not really effeminate either. He did have a few affectations, mostly gestures, that read as gay. Mason supposed he only tuned in to it because he’d worked so hard to suppress those things in himself.

Well, bottom line, Nate would probably get it. “Odell is only okay with me because I like to fuck dudes but I’m not one of those gays.”

“Ah,” said Nate. “Of course. Poor Patrick. How did he take it?”

“Better than I did.”

“Yeah? Did you tell Odell where he could shove his attitude?”

“No.

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