Behind the Catcher’s MaskBy Jennifer Lane
Why do they have to be in my dugout?
I grumble as I slam my car door and march toward Turpin High School’s softball diamond. Inside the home dugout, two baseball players snicker while juggling yellow softballs. Whoever decided to make this fall’s charity game co-ed should be slammed in the nose by one of my famous fastballs.
Slinging my equipment bag onto the bench, I glare at Manchild One and Manchild Two. “What the hell’s so funny?”
“Relax, sweetheart,” the shorter one says. Tufts of red hair jut out from under his maroon baseball cap, and the freckles spotting his cheeks scrunch when he grins. “Just admiring the size of your, uh, balls.” He fondles softballs in each palm like he’s squeezing voluptuous breasts.
Neanderthal. I refuse to let h
