Page 5 of Just for the Plot

Bower:LOL!! We can’t all be perfect our first time. You’ll get better.

Bennett:Already am.

Bower:Ooo, love the confidence, big man.

Bennett—Twenty-two years old

Bennett:Coach Rowley and Gabby? WHAT THE FUCK?? Did you know?

Bower:Of course I knew. I encouraged it. He’s so hot.

Bennett:Bower! That’s my former coach.

Bower:I know, and he’s hot and apparently has an amazing penis from what your sister has told me. Don’t blame her. She needed a good boning.

Bennett:Jesus Christ.

Bower:What do you expect from her? To close up shop? No way! You’re getting laid every two seconds down there in the minor leagues, and she should get herself some as well.

Bennett:It’s not every two seconds.

Bower:Actually, you’re right. At least not when it comes to your crush. Whatever happened to that?

Bennett:Nothing. She’s not interested.

Bower:Are you sure? Did you even try? You play the shy and innocent, but we both know that’s far from the truth. That’s how you score the ladies. Maybe she’s different.

Bennett:She is different. Different from everyone I’ve ever met.

Bower:OH MY GOD! Then you need to go for it. What are you doing?

Bennett:Waiting.

Bower:Waiting for what?

Bennett:For the right moment.

CHAPTER 1

BENNETT

Bennett—Twenty-four years old

“Breakfast burrito. Chorizo, potatoes, eggs,and refried beans,” Nolan says as he tosses me a wrapped burrito and then takes a seat next to me in the locker room. “Said to be the finest out of all the ballparks, but I’ll be the fucking judge of that.”

He kicks back his recliner, propping his legs up, and then starts unwrapping his breakfast burrito.

Nolan joined the team last year, during my first full year with the Bombers. He was traded from the Chicago Rebels after one year in the majors. A fast-as-fuck right fielder, he’s fast becoming a fan favorite among the Bombers fans for his gives-no-shits attitude on social media, prominent breakfast burrito reviews, along with his combination of crop tops and dirty mids during warm-ups.

And for those who might not know what a dirty mid is, it’s the styling of his baseball pants, tight as fuck, reaching just below his calf muscle, a capri length. There are very few, and I mean very few players who can pull off the look, but Nolan with his burst fade, curly mullet, sleeve tattoo, and friendship bracelets he tends to wear…well, he pulls it off.

With a giant bite in his mouth, he examines the burrito as he says, “Shit, this is pretty damn good.”

I chuckle and then start unwrapping mine as well. “Would you say the best?”

“Can’t make that kind of assessment just yet.” He takes another bite and then moans. “Fuck, this shit is so good, though.”

I join him and have to admit it’s pretty fucking good.