“Listen up, guys,” I say, giving Braylon’s shoulder a squeeze before I release it. “Hitting is just as much about how you hit the ball as it is how hard. You have to have barrel awareness.”

“I told them that!” Sandbox says from the back.

I smile at him. “You would be right. Does anyone know what this spot on the bat is called?” I point at the barrel and wait. Once it’s clear that no one knows, I continue. “This is called the sweet spot.”

“What does that mean?” Ethan asks.

“The sweet spot is the area on the barrel where it’s most effective to hit the ball. It’s the power source—the key to everything. We’ll work on this at the next practice, but I want you all to be thinking about that,” I say, glancing down at Braylon, “and not trying to kill flies when you swing the bat. All right?”

The team laughs as Braylon grins.

“Okay, Coach,” he says.

I hand him his bat back. “Now, I want to make one more announcement before I let you leave.”

My eyes flip immediately to Palmer. She’s still standing by the fence, where she’s stood ever since getting here late. Her late arrival made it impossible for me to chat with her before practice started, and the fact that she’s been so close, yet so far away, has driven me mad. Every now and then I think I can smell a hint of her perfume in the breeze, and it makes me lose my concentration. I’d be annoyed if I weren’t so turned on by it. By her. And I still sport a half-hard cock every time I think about her text.

It has taken everything in me not to drive to her house and call her repeatedly. I make do with an occasional text and a quick call here and there.

The thing is—I just like being around her . . . and Ethan. I find myself replaying our interactions when I’m alone instead of thinking about Scott’s offers or the email that I finally read this morning.

Dear Mr. Beck,

Please call the office at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Dr. Miigi

The world seems to slow down when I’m with them or think about them. My problems feel lighter. The future looks rosier. I don’t feel as trapped in my own head, or my own life, like I do when I’m alone.

It’s an odd sensation and one that I’m not sure what to do with. But I don’t hate it. Not even a little bit.

I motion for Palmer to join us.

“Guys, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Clark—Ethan’s mom,” I say as Palmer gets closer. “I’m sure most of you already know her. She’s going to be your team mom.”