Wild Pitch
A prequel to Benched

Notes:The ɸ symbol is meant to stand in for the common "at" Twitter symbol , which is not recognized by fanfiction-dot-net. *double eye roll*
I'd recommend reading "Benched" first if you're new to the saga. Enjoy!

XXX CHAPTER 1 XXX

Badass Major League pitcher Emmett McCarty was grouchy as hell, and he was doing a lousy job pretending not to be. But then, he'd never been great at forcing himself to feel something he didn't. He'd pitched his heart out tonight, seven flawless innings, well on his way to the elusive perfect game when the shit call snatched away his chance to join the greats.

You're young; you'll have another chance. Your team swept the series three-zip against the White Sox, and the Mariners are in first place. Yeah, none of that was helping. Still pissed.

All around him, his teammates laughed and celebrated and enjoyed their victory like normal people while Emmett sat there, still as stone. The charm of the team's favorite hangout was missing for him tonight, sucked up by a heavy gloom that made him feel as if the walls were closing in on him. Clutching his Redhook with a grip so tight he'd probably cramp up later, Emmett watched absently as a single bead of sweat rolled down the neck of the bottle and dripped onto the tip of his thumb.

"Hey, you okay?"

Emmett turned his head toward the girl wedged in under his outstretched arm. "Hmm? Yeah, fine."

Tammy chuffed. "Liar."

Despite himself, Emmett grinned. "Okay, I'm pissed."

"Don't blame you. Seaver even admitted he bobbled that ball. Everyone knows it was an error. Stupid scorer."

"Stupid scorer." Emmett sighed.

"You had that perfect game, Em."

"Numbers aren't everything," he said, knowing damn well Tammy would call him out again.

"They're the only thing." She delivered her line with a gentle nudge to the ribs and managed to pull a smile out of him. "Thank God. You were starting to scare me."

Emmett shook his head and brought the beer to his lips. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around," he told her.

Tammy burst out laughing. "Um, I don't think that's the reason."

Leaning in as if to kiss her, Emmett dragged his nose along her cheek and delivered an overly breathy "shhh" before nipping at her ear.

"God, you're a horrible tease," she whispered back.

Emmett pulled away and searched his friend's face before concluding she was okay. "You know I love you, right?"

Tammy gave him a brave smile, yet he couldn't help but read the tinge of pain behind her "Sure."

"Hey, Mac!" yelled Fuller from across the table. The Mariners' best closer, a boisterous rookie with a nasty curveball, waved his phone in the air. "You seen Twitter lately?"

Emmett scowled. "Does April third count?"

Social media was a double-edged sword. Did he read what the sports writers said about him? Sure. Their so-called insights were wildly entertaining. Did he love being adored by the fans? Who wouldn't? Without popularity, there were no endorsements. Had he Googled himself on more than one occasion? Hell, yes—anyone who said he didn't was a damn liar. Bottom line? Fame didn't bother Emmett, but it wasn't what drove him either. Emmett McCarty cared about being a great pitcher. And greatness wasn't measured by anything but stats. Pure and simple. Objective.

Emmett's general philosophy was to assume that everything written about him was good, and he was happy to ignore any evidence to the contrary. Besides, there was nothing to gain from encouraging intrusion into his private life. He had no secrets in his baseball life, but the kind of pitching Emmett did far from the baseball diamond . . . that was nobody's business. So, when Fuller bounced around the table, leading with his cellphone, a chill went down Emmett's spine.

"You have to see this. You've got yourself a crusader. Oh my god, seriously?" Fuller chuckled. "Look at the screen name!"

"Give me that!" Emmett grabbed the phone and read the tweet from ɸ69fanatic: ɸbigmac69 Mariners Error by Seaver 2nite - ERA 2.53 #MacPerfect

"Holy shit!" Tammy said, peering at the screen. "He's recalculated your ERA."

Passing the phone back to his teammate, Emmett muttered, "Wonderful."

"Jesus Effin' Christ! Look how many retweets and favorites there are," Tammy added.

"Come on, Tam. You know as well as I do that a zealous fan won't change the official records."

Tammy leveled Emmett with one of her no-bullshit glares. "That's not exactly the point."

"You should at least favorite the tweet," shortstop Brad Tomlinson said, pulling out his phone. "We all should."

"Are you sure we should encourage this guy?"

". . . Hashtag MacPerfect," Tomlinson recited while typing.

Emmett shook his head as, one by one, each of his teammates followed Tomlinson's example. Seaver hopped on the bandwagon with the rest of them, offering Emmett a salute while pulling out his phone. "Fine. I know who I'm taking down to the station with me when I need to file a restraining order."

"Remember when you told me to let you know when your head started to get too big for your cap?" Tammy's lips curled into a smirk. "Consider this your official notice."

"Oh, is that right? I'm an egomaniac because I have my first stalker?"

"No, you're an egomaniac because you think crunching a few numbers and sending one little tweet is stalking."

There were exactly three people in this world who had the balls to tell Emmett like it was—the woman who had birthed him, his brother-in-law Jasper, and Tammy. Over the years, Tammy had mastered the art of ego surgery, but once in a while, even her sharply-honed scalpel nicked a little too close to his pulsating vulnerability for Emmett's liking. "You do realize recalculating a person's ERA is not something you do in one night. That's a season's worth of stats he has lying around." Yeah, that was lame.

"A, it's the middle of May, and you've pitched eight times."

"Nine." He could hardly keep a straight face now.

"I thought we agreed to expunge that spectacular start in Oakland from our memories."

"Hey, it's not my fault I got the flu."

Tammy smirked and shook her head. "And B, they have these things called spreadsheets now. You may have heard about them on the worldwide web?"

"C'mon, Tam, he's tracking my stats, wearing my jersey, calling himself '69fanatic.' That isn't just a wee bit creepy?"

"Maybe he really likes oral sex. Ever think of that?" She crossed her arms with a now-I've-gotcha finality.

Emmett gave her a long stare, then rubbed his hand along the scruff below his mouth. "You know," he said, leaning in so only Tammy could hear him, "I think my beard is getting a little coarse. Maybe it's time for a shave."

Not missing a beat, Tammy nodded. "I think that's a great idea. That way you'll be all clean and smooth and exposed at the Foundation Gala in two weeks."

Fuck! She had him by the short hairs, and they both knew it. "On second thought," he said, "I'm pretty attached to my facial hair."

"As it, I'm sure, is attached to you." Tammy tugged playfully at a couple of Emmett's whiskers. "Yep, they're stuck."

"Ouch!" Emmett chuckled and sucked down the rest of his beer, counting his lucky stars to have a friend like Tammy. There was no denying the two of them truly were a picture-perfect couple—tall, dimpled, green-eyed muscle-bound pitcher and brown-haired girl-next-door with a killer smile and soft hazel eyes that spoke volumes whether she was wearing contacts or her sexy turquoise frames. Emmett would have felt guilty using his friend as a smokescreen if not for the fact that she honestly loved being on his arm. They were the very definition of symbiosis. Tammy got to run with the big dogs, and Emmett had the perfect date for local events and an excuse not to sniff out new women at every away game. And honestly, she really was his best friend.

Of course, there was "The Pact": If, at any time, for any reason, Tammy wished to end their arrangement, Emmett would instantly release her from their fake relationship, no hard feelings and no questions asked. At some point, he figured—hell, he hoped—she'd meet someone she liked better, someone who could follow through when the spotlight turned away, someone who could love her the way she deserved to be loved.

You're a coward. The truth chafed worse than jock itch at the height of the summer, but Emmett was a pro at pushing it away. What he couldn't push away was the urge to check out his statistical gladiator, this self-proclaimed fan of his. Tammy didn't say a word as Emmett whipped out his phone, but she couldn't quite bite back her smile in time.

"Shush, you," he said, failing miserably at sounding stern as the retweets multiplied like sex-starved bunnies right before his eyes. "Ho-lee shit."

Author's Note: And away we go! I'm planning to post weekly so I can stay way ahead of you guys!

I have several people to thank for their help with this one. First, my friend Tammy, an enthusiastic reader of Benched whose consistently entertaining comments about wanting Emmett for herself (and exactly how!) got me thinking maybe she should have a role in this one. Thanks for being a good sport, Tammy! (See? You never know what might happen when you leave interesting reviews!) My back office team on Benched agreed to renew their contracts, and I am ever so grateful to two of my favorite reader/writers, Ladyeire and Shadow Masen, for their eagle eyes and enthusiasm for the story. I brought in the birthday girl, whose son's tee-ball stories got the whole thing started, the lovely and talented Shell Taylor, who will ensure that these two suffer a bit more than I would have done if left to my own devices. *grins* And special guest star baseball (and boys) consultant, Jayme Tyzane, who always offers her know-how with a generous dose of cheerleading. I'd be nowhere good without my sweet, wonderful gift, Chayasara, editor plus plus plus. I'll thank my hubby here too, for helping me with some of the baseball things while Jayme was off having a life, but he doesn't always read my boy stories. *Hi, honey!*

It truly does take a team, especially when writing about a topic one knows so little about. How did I get myself into this again? OH! I remember now. It's because I LOVE YOU GUYS. MWAH! xxx ~BOH