Inside Out by Ashley Ladd Page B

middle of a game annoyed him. Something about the person, maybe the way she moved, nagged him. More than nagged—his nerves coiled so tightly they were about to snap. He felt as if he knew her. So why couldn’t he place her?
    When Trey’s teammate and sponsor, Sandy, came up to bat next, he led a foot off the base, then two. When Chad whirled around and hurled the ball to the first baseman, Trey dove back to the plate. He got a mouthful of dirt that he spat out. Then he wiped his face on his shirtsleeve but wished he hadn’t when he rubbed in more grit. Distracted, Trey got a late start when Sandy hit a double to centre field.
    Drew, the third base coach, yelled, “Run!” and waved his arms wildly for Trey to run to third even though it looked like too close a call. As Sandy was already sliding into second, however, Trey had no choice but to continue to third base. Knowing the ball was close, fearing he wouldn’t make it, he threw himself feet first at the base.
    The third baseman swooped down with the ball to tag him, but the dust flying in the air was blinding. It wasn’t until the outfield ump called, “Safe!” that Trey exhaled.
    Next up was Ryan, Drew’s significant other. Ryan was a pretty boy who looked as if he was too prissy to get dirty. The few times he’d come to the field in his office attire, he’d had a sweater draped over his shoulders in the old eighties’ preppy fashion. He always had a perfectly pressed white shirt, expensive tie and a pen protector in his shirt pocket. Yet, he transformed into a real fiend the moment he stepped onto a baseball field.
    Even the best pitchers trembled when he came up to bat. Often, they deliberately walked him. When he batted in Trey, he made it look as easy as tossing an underhand toss. As Trey loped across home plate, he tried to get a better look at the ump, however, her mask hung low over her face.
    “Good job, Kincaid,” the blue said in a husky, feminine voice.
    Trey stopped in his tracks and turned to face the woman. Her voice rang in his head, touched something deep inside him. He stared at her long and hard, and wished she wasn’t wearing the mask. He replayed her voice in his head, came close to grasping at the ephemeral memory.
    Then his heart did a crazy little flip and he froze.
    The voice was so like his ex-partner’s, yet not his, that Trey tripped over his feet. He turned and stared, wondering if Eric’s little sister had grown up to become an umpire.
    Poison, the old ache, stabbed his heart and spread through him slowly. Despite the heat of the evening, he grew cold. The more he told himself to stop thinking about Eric, the more he pondered what should have been.
    He plopped down in the dugout, leant against the fence and stretched out his legs. Wishing for X-ray vision, he narrowed his eyes at the ump. “Do you know who the home plate ump is?”
    A couple of his teammates leant forward to look then shook their heads. One said, “Nope. Never saw that blue out here before.”
    “Are you sure? She seems very familiar.”
    Another teammate stared at her for a few seconds then mumbled, “No.”
    Trey slumped against the bench but kept his eye on the official. Although he was bisexual, he’d not been with a woman in a long time. He’d begun to think he was completely gay. This sudden interest in a female, however, made him wonder.
     
    * * * *
     
    Erica cursed the darned words for popping out. Then she chided herself for worrying. Angry that anyone could make her feel inferior, she puffed out her chest.
    Then she deflated almost as quickly. Why was she a jittery mess over Trey?
    Once she and Trey—that is, Eric and Trey—had been very close. They’d lived together for two years. They’d talked marriage. However, Eric, unhappy and dissatisfied with himself, had been a lousy partner. Eric had crawled into a bottle and Trey hadn’t been able to put up with a full-blown alcoholic.
    Erica didn’t blame Trey, but missed him like