Storm, Meet Raine

You Gotta Kiss the Girl.

HER.

Day 1 of Training with Carson

Carson didn't even bother waiting for me outside after he kicked open the shower doors, yelling for me to be at his car in 't-minus seven minutes' or he'd leave me stranded here. Mind you, I was covered in dirt from the field, and my workout clothes were drenched in sweat. It was a very, very hot day today, and we spent most of practice running. I'm exhausted, but nevertheless, here I am with my hands on my hips, staring viciously at the tall man before me.

     "Thanks for waiting on me, you dirty dick." I drop my bags on the ground in front of his Nike shoes, the pissed off look almost permanent on my face.

     "When I say seven minutes, I mean seven minutes, Carter." He said plainly.

"Yeah, that was clear when I came out fifteen seconds later and you freaking left." I cross my arms over my chest, huffing. "Just tell me what we're doing today." I shook my head, more than annoyed with him. I knew he was a dick, but leaving at seven minutes on the dot? I was outside in the parking lot walking to his car when seven minutes hit, and he pulled off before I could reach him.

     I'm already starting to really dislike Coach Speros.

     He licked his lips absentmindedly, but it drew my curious eyes to them because they were refilling with color once they were visible again. He chuckled at my words, not my eyes being on his lips lustfully. "You'll see. My training techniques are quite similar to Gardner's, so I'm sure you'll catch on very quickly." He brought a whistle to his lips that I didn't even know he had hanging from the chain around his neck.

     And he blew it three times.

     "Fuck you." I grind out before breaking out into a run, beginning my journey to three miles. The field was nice and big. The clay on the infield was still a bit soft, as if they watered it earlier today; the normally tan-ish, brown dirt was a reddish brown, like the clay they have in Georgia.

The bases were a crisp white, no smudges from the clay—it was new looking. The turf on the outfield was lush, too, which led me to believe that they had just fixed this field up. There must be a game going on some time soon for it to look this nice. It was as nice as the fields in the MLB.

Not that I remember exactly what they look like, for the last time I was at a field was my senior year in high school. My dad took my brothers and I to a Nationals game. I had a crush on Harper's tight ass that was well shaped in his pants, so I convinced my dad to let me see him and his team in person. Of course, all my brothers wanted to go because they love baseball just as much as I do.

     When I reached Carson again after finishing my three miles, I hunched over, bracing my arms on my thighs as I gasped for air. My lungs were expanding just as much as they did whenever I had sex. He grinned down at me, tilting my chin up with his index finger, watching me catch my breath. "That...was fucking great. I never knew you could run so well."

     Slapping his hand off of my face, I stretched to my full height, which was still shorter than his, but hey, I'm above average height for women. "What are we doing?"

"I'm glad you asked," he steps away from me, "Grab your shit." My hand wrapped around the strap of my backpack that had my baseball bats sticking up from the side pockets, and yanked on it, throwing it over my shoulder and looping both my arms through each strap before wiggling my body to position it right. I then grabbed my second backpack and placed it on my front, letting the straps overlap with the ones from the backpack on my back. Lastly, I grabbed my duffle bag, placing the long strap across my body.