Three outs away. Three damn outs.

I think I’d bitten off my all my nails this week, the chipped black polish jagged and missing on portions of the enamel. My feet and legs were jiggling so hard that I think I’d scared Marnie off. She’d been hiding under the couch since the sixth inning.

My eyes had been glued to the TV for three excruciating hours, where Grover was duking it out on ESPN for the College World Series title. Every time the camera panned to Clint, I half-swooned, half-shouted. He looked so damn edible in the brand new uniforms the college had shelled out money for.

Those white pants were practically painted onto his bulging thighs and ass, and reminded me just what I’d been missing this week while he was gone. I was a complete walking boner looking to get off.

Not that I couldn’t have this week. I had my trusty left hand, which I had used once or twice. But it just wasn’t the same. Orgasms were so much better with another person, and when their junk was involved. All of the sweaty, heavy breathing just added to how sweet it was when you reached that final awesome peak.

Or I could have gone out and found a very willing participant. There were more than enough hanging around Sammy’s. But I rationalized with myself that Clint and I had just started being amazing at sex. I’d trained him, and he’d become a star student. He could read my body, we knew each other’s flow during sex. To try and start over with someone else, I would probably be disappointed.

It had nothing to do with an emotional attachment. Or the fact that just Clint’s intense blue stare could sometimes send my climax over the edge. That was just the latent silly-female buried deep inside of me being dramatic. And I never let her dictate what I thought or felt.

I’d slipped when I told him I wished I was there. I shouldn’t have told him that, because immediately I knew he knew I’d really meant I wished I was there for him. Not to see and hang out with everyone else, but that I actually really missed him.

Because I had missed him. When I hadn’t heard from him much in those first four days, I was distraught. I acted like one of those needy, clingy stereotypical chicks who texted their man about 39 times if he didn’t respond. But I couldn’t help it. I was alone at home, and even before we were getting it on like rabbits, he was always the person I talked to. He knew my favorite movies, what I sounded like when I laughed so hard I wheezed, and the way I liked to eat my eggs. I didn’t know when he’d made the transition to the most important person in my life, but he had.

Grover was up by six to Arkansas’ four runs, and the game had been back and forth to the point of insanity. Parker had driven in a two run double in the second inning, only for Arkansas to come back in the fourth with their best hitter whacking a grand slam off of Owen.

Owen had been so mad after that inning that he’d thrown an entire Gatorade cooler on the ground and almost been thrown out by the umpire. I don’t think I’d ever seen Owen so mad, he was usually the picture of golden boy grace. The commentators made small talk as the cameras had followed Clint pulling Owen aside. I knew he was whispering calming sentences to his pitcher, trying to cool his best friend off. That was Clint, always cool in the midst of the storm. You could put the guy in the middle of a hostage situation and he’d walk out whistling promising the criminal a cup of coffee.

In the sixth, Arkansas’ catcher took a pitch to the stomach and was temporarily on his back. My heart had completely stopped. Not for that poor schmuck, but because in my mind, that was Clint laying in the dirt. I didn’t know what I would do if he ever got hurt and I wasn’t there. It was then I started to realize I was in over my head.

Now our offensive part of the game was over. The only thing standing between Grover and the championship trophy were three measly outs.

I shoved a handful of popcorn in my face trying to calm my nerves. Glancing around the house, I knew I had to go into full maid mode after the game was over. The gang arrived home tomorrow, and let’s just say my style of a clean house and theirs definitely did not match up. I could practically smell the sugary milk in the four dirty bowls in the sink. There were two empty pizza boxes sitting on the stove and my various items of clothing were strewn across the living room. Whoops.

Marnie jumped up onto the back of the couch and curled into my neck like she was some mink stole. She was such a goofy cat and I couldn’t imagine Clint picking one out that fit my personality more than her. It made me smile, but then I remember Minka’s words. I hated to accept it, but he’d surely bought this cat for me. And then I smiled again. I was allowed, no one was around to see it.

The camera panned to Owen, who was still somehow in the game. Here I thought they would have taken him out, Minka had explained to me a while ago about the closing pitcher when I’d accidentally booed at a game when the coach took Owen out.

Then the shot moved to the batter, with Clint behind him. Even through the screen and his mask I could see those magnificent turquoise pools, so honed in on the goal. He shot his left finger down between his legs, and I couldn’t help but stare at the spot his hand rested on. I missed what lay just between those really hot pants in between his legs. I should dress up in those at some point, see if Clint thought they were as hot on me as I thought they were on him.

Owen wound up, rocketing a speeding curveball at home plate. The batter swung for the fences, only to be duped when the ball connected with a loud smack in Clint’s glove. Clint took it out and tossed it back to Owen, all of the muscles in his arm tensing and contracting. Who knew baseball was such great foreplay? I was ready for marathon sex right about now.

The ump ruled the next two pitches balls, but Owen came through in the clutch and eventually sent the batter packing with all three strikes. One down, two outs to go.

On the first pitch, the next batter hits a line drive right the hole where Parker stands on the between second and third and makes it to first safely before Parker can throw him out. Owen sighs, shaking his head out of anger and annoyance.

“Come on boys, you got this.” I say to no one but myself. I can only think about how freaked out Minka must be right now.

Clint lifts his mask to nod at Owen from where he kneels at home plate. It's a “you can do this” nod. My heart jack hammers in my chest.

Owen sinks a strike on the first pitch, causing a giddy yelp from me. On the second pitch, the batter swings and catches a piece of the ball, but it ricochets off his bat and ends up hitting hard in the dirt, which causes it to bounce up and hit Clint squarely in his catcher’s mask.

I gasp and shoot to my feet, throwing Marnie off the couch, as I watch Clint tumble backwards. The coach and trainer spring from the dugout, but a flood of relief and adrenaline wash through my body as Clint waves them off. He rises to his feet, dusting himself off and taking a few steps. After being checked out by the ump, everyone gets back into place.

I slowly lower to the couch, picking up Marnie and holding her to my heart.

Clint does another hand motion, signaling a pitch to Owen, who waves it off. He also waves the next suggestion off. Finally they settle on a pitch, and Owen winds up. But the batter is quicker.

He anticipates the throw and hits the ball hard, sending it careening toward second base. Parker grabs it out of midair, stepping on the bag and forcing the out. Then, he hurls it towards first, hoping to make the double play. The runner is advancing on the first baseman, it’s going to be so close I can practically feel my lungs burn I’m breathing so hard in anticipation.

“You’re OUT!” The first base umpire cries.

And then the Grover team is running out of the dugout towards the pitching mound, where Clint and Owen have met in an epic bro hug. The pile collides into them and players fall over, chest bump, and cry. I can feel the tears streaming down my own cheeks. They did it. They fucking won the College World Series.

And I wish I was there to celebrate. I look around the empty house, nuzzling Marnie in congratulations, and can’t wait until Clint and the others return.