Miller tucks the too-long sleeves of my jersey into the bra straps at her shoulders as she positions her feet into the dirt, gaining traction.
I’m accustomed to being the one out there in her place, but she looks damn good on this field, especially while wearing my last name.
With the glove on her left hand and the ball tucked in it, she practices her mechanics once before going full-in on her first pitch. The glove delivers a loud smack against her thigh, but not quite as loud as the sound the ball makes, slapping into my gloved palm and coasting right over home plate.
Well, fuck, that was a pretty pitch.
“I think I’m ready,” she says, opening her glove for me to toss the ball back.
“Yeah, no shit, Mills. I thought you were going to be rusty.”
She simply pops her shoulders and catches the ball, retaking her position to pitch again, hell-bent on making sure she doesn’t have to tell me what’s wrong with her.
About ten minutes later, the count is three and two. The pitches her dad called as balls instead of strikes have barely been outside of the plate, and if there were an actual batter playing with us, there’s no way in hell they wouldn’t have swung.
I’m not ashamed to admit that watching my competitive girl is getting me hard. She looks so good out there with the empty stadium behind her, the sun setting in the distance, and a small sheen of sweat building on her forehead. I want to lick it off her, but the problem with crouching behind home plate with a raging erection is that a handful of my teammates have all gathered to watch us.
They’re really killing the mood here, but at the same time, it’s a summer evening on my home field. I’ve got my son, my girl, and my brother as well as Monty and all the other guys from my team. My whole family is here, and tomorrow, everything is going to change. So, I’ll soak it all in while I still can.
“Full count, Millie,” Monty says as I toss the ball back in her direction.
“That last call should’ve been a strike,” she calls out. “You need glasses, old man.”
Monty chuckles behind me, playing umpire. He’s being much tougher on his calls than he probably would if this were anyone other than his own daughter.
Miller digs her toes into the dirt, repositioning herself. She pulls her elbow back, simultaneously rocking back on her heels before running through her mechanics, her arm swinging in a full circle. Her movements are so fluid, so practiced, even though she hasn’t done this in years, but I understand what it feels like to have that muscle memory. To have a pitch so ingrained in your body.
The neon ball soars, pounding against my palm as I catch it. It’s a close one, just on the edge of the plate, so I hold the glove closed exactly where I caught it, waiting for Monty’s call.
I’d call it a strike and not just because I run the risk of not getting laid tonight if I didn’t, but because that was a nice fucking pitch.
“Ball,” he declares. “That’s a walk.”
“Bullshit!”
“Let’s go!” I cheer, shooting my arms above my head in celebration as I stand, keeping my taunting smirk right at Miller, where she stands in disbelief.
Monty laughs in a teasing way, and you can see how much he ingrained this competitive nature and work ethic into his daughter.
“Those last two calls were terrible, Dad.”
Isaiah’s got Max’s hand in his. “Killer Miller! You’ve got a hell of an arm, Hot Nanny.”
Charging at her, I heave her body over my shoulder like a sack of sand. I take off towards first base, running the bases like I just hit a grand slam, one hand cupped to the back of her thigh, the other raised in a single fist.
“Put me down, Rhodes. You haven’t run the bases once in your entire career. Stop acting like you know what you’re doing.”
I can’t help but laugh. Competitive Miller is a feisty little thing.
“A walk?” I taunt. “Kind of embarrassing, Mills.”
“I hate you. You had the ump in your pocket!”
Chuckling, I continue my jaunt to home plate. “God, I love winning so much.”
“Put me down!” Miller smacks my butt. “Jesus. I forgot how hard your ass is.”
“How the hell did you forget? I’ve still got your nail marks there from last night.”
That finally pulls a genuine laugh from her.
“Gross.” Isaiah covers both of Max’s ears, turning him back towards the rest of the team’s families and friends. “C’mon, Maxie. Miller and your dad are being annoyingly happy. We single men don’t need to hear about that.”