What I like about you

29

Blake's POV:

Ryder.

She's with that douche?

I grab the ball from my glove, throwing it with barely any force. It flow through the air, landing just before the catchers stance.

"Come on Daniels!" Valdez, the catcher, yells.

"Alright, alright." I mumble to myself.

Danielle's face pops into my head. The way she looked when she saw me with Molly.
The pain in her eyes.

I throw the ball once more, missing Valdez's glove another time.

"Daniels!" Coach stomps towards me, anger flashing across his face.
"Get your head out of the gutter and actually throw the damn ball!"

"Yes, Coach." I get into a stance, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, slinging my arm back.

Danielle.

I propel the ball forward, the effort much more weak than the times before.

I look over at my coach to see him already eyeing me, steam practically blowing out of his ears.

I get into the stance again, this time not even bothering to breath.

Another image pops into my head.

Ryder with Danielle.
His hand touching her.
Him being in the place that I should be in.
The way he looked at me.
That stupid look that I wish I could punch off right now.

I throw the ball one more time, and this time, actually hitting the glove. The sound of the baseball smacking against the leather rings through my ears. I throw ball after ball, pitching with all my strength.

Frustrated from my thoughts, I continue to use throwing to blow off some steam.

Pitch after pitch.
I begin to breath hard. Sweat drips off of my forehead and nose, falling to the ground into puddles in the dirt.
One last pitch.

My arm feels like a noodle. Almost numb.

And all because I'm jealous.

Valdez stand up and yanks his hand out of the glove, shaking it in pain.

Coach claps from beside me.

"That's my boy." He claps me on my back.
"Way to throw the ball." He laughs, shaking his head as he walks away.

I hear Valdez groaning in pain from my pitch hurting his hand.
I snap my gaze to him, a scowl still placed on my face.

"You good bro?" He grimaces as he holds his hand.

I ignore him, storming off the field and to my car.

I swing my car door open and violently throw my baseball stuff in the back seat, hopping into the driver's  seat and turning it on.
I rush home, running up the stairs and slamming my door as soon as I step foot into it.