Dugout Discipline for Bad Decisions

“It wasn’t just Bea,” the recording continued. “It’s never just Bea. It’s every time Carmela walks into a room and acts like she doesn’t know what she does to me. It’s five years of sharing a home and pretending I only want her to stop leaving her cleats by the door.”

Nati closed her eyes.

“I want her in my bed. I want her at breakfast. I want to know if she likes me back, and I’m scared she’ll say no. Worse, I’m scared she’ll say yes and I’ll ruin the one good thing I already have.”

The recording stopped.

Carmela let the silence stay for a moment. The rice cooker sat dark on the counter. A motorbike passed below their window. Nati still had not looked at her.

“You should have told me,” Carmela said.

“I know.”

“You could have told me five years ago.”

“I know that too.”

Carmela pushed back from the table. “I don’t know if I would’ve been ready five years ago.”

Nati finally faced her. “Are you ready now?”

There it was. No game plan. No order from shortstop. Just the question.

Carmela walked closer until Nati had to lift her chin. “I want to try,” she said. “Not pretend Tuesday was a weird accident. Not act casual because I’m scared.”

Nati’s shoulders lowered. “I want to try too.”

“But I need us to be smart.”

“That sounds like a threat coming from you.”

“It is.” Carmela folded her arms. “We live here. We play together. If something feels wrong, we say it. If either of us wants to stop, we stop. No sulking. No making another recording instead of talking to me.”

Nati’s mouth curved. “That last rule feels targeted.”

“Captain, you put your feelings on a tablet beside the photos.”

“Fair.”

Carmela reached for Nati’s hand. “You can stop anything. Kissing. Touching. Talking. Whatever. And so can I.”

“Yes,” Nati said. “No arguing. No punishment.”

“Good.”

Nati squeezed her hand once. “Can I kiss you?”

Carmela considered making her wait. Nati’s face was too open for that.

“Not tonight,” Carmela said. “Tonight, I want noodles and an actual conversation.”

Nati gave a short laugh. “You’re cruel.”

“I’m disciplined.”

“That is my word.”

“Get used to sharing.”

Nati picked up the container of pancit and two forks. Carmela carried the tablet to the counter, then deleted nothing.

The following Tuesday, Nati made the Queens turn double plays until dirt covered every pair of knees.

“Again, Sison,” she said.

Carmela fielded the ball at third, flipped it to Nati, and watched Nati send it to first. Clean. Fast. Good enough for any game that did not have Nati pacing behind second base with a clipboard.

“Was that good enough?” Carmela said.

“Again,” Nati said.

Carmela’s mouth tightened. She took her position.

The next feed came high. Carmela snagged it, made the turn, and sent the ball straight into Liza’s glove. Nati still called for another rep.

Rosita walked over from first base. “Pangan, she fixed it.”

“She rushed the first two,” Nati said.

“And she fixed it.”

“Playoffs don’t give us extra tries.”

Carmela planted her glove on her hip. “Cute. I thought we were practicing softball, not your personal issue.”

Nati looked at her. “Get back in position.”

“See? Personal issue.”

Rosita took the clipboard from Nati’s hand. “Water break. Both of you can decide whether you want to act thirty or thirteen.”

Carmela walked toward the dugout without waiting for Nati. She did not look back.

Nati spent the rest of practice calling drills through Rosita. It was cowardly. It was also safer than hearing Carmela say Captain with that flat, annoyed tone again.

The drive home passed in silence. Carmela parked beneath their building, grabbed her gear, and went upstairs before Nati had her glove bag over one shoulder.

Nati found her in the kitchen, chopping garlic beside a pan of oil. Carmela had changed out of her uniform but still had dirt under one thumbnail.

“You’re mad about the drills,” Nati said.

“I’m mad that you made me repeat a clean play four times because you were busy having feelings.”

“You missed two feeds.”

“You gave Liza one retry after she threw past you.”

“Liza wasn’t—”

“Don’t.” Carmela set the knife down. “Do not give me the captain routine when we both know why you did it.”

Nati rested her hands on the counter. “I’m trying to keep things separate.”

“Separate from what?”

“From Tuesday. From this.” Nati pointed between them, then dropped her hand. “We share a home. We share a team. If I start treating every practice like a date, I’m not fair to you or anybody else.”

Carmela folded her arms. “You think wanting me means you can’t tell a bad throw from a good one?”

“No.”

“You acted like it.”

Nati wanted to argue. Carmela was right, which made it worse.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Nati said. “Trying. I don’t know where the line is.”

“The line is not you making every decision alone.”

“I’m trying not to ruin our home.”

“And I’m trying not to date a woman who disappears behind a clipboard the second things get real.”

That landed clean.

Oil snapped in the pan. Carmela turned off the stove. She faced Nati with both palms on the counter.

“You want rules?” Carmela said. “Fine. I do not want sex because one of us is mad after practice. I do not want surprises. I do not want you using a nickname like it gives you control over me. I do not want you shutting yourself in your room and talking to your phone instead of talking to me.”

“Okay,” Nati said.

“And I want you to tell me your rules.”

Nati looked at the floor tiles. “If I say stop, you stop.”

“Yes.”

“If you say stop, I stop.”

“Yes.”

“No pretending we’re fine when we aren’t.”

“Yes.”

Nati looked up. Carmela waited.

“What do you want tonight?” Nati said.

Carmela’s face changed. Not softer. More certain.

“I want you to kiss me,” she said. “I want us in your room. I want you to use your mouth on me. I want your hands on me. I want to touch you until you come. I want us to ask every time something changes.”

Nati’s throat went dry.

“And?” Carmela said.

“And I want that too.”

“Good.” Carmela stepped closer. “Captain.”

The nickname had always been a needle. A jab after a field call. A way for Carmela to remind Nati that she bossed everyone around.

Now it sounded like an invitation.

“Captain, take me to bed,” Carmela said.

Nati held still. “You want me to lead?”

“I want you to lead. I want you to ask.”

“Every step.”

“Every step.”

Nati took Carmela’s hand. “Okay.”

Her bedroom looked exactly as it had that morning. Black sheets. A stack of folded shirts on the chair. Two framed tattoo sketches above the desk. Carmela stood beside the bed and watched Nati like she expected a play call.

“Can I kiss you?” Nati said.

“Yes.”

Nati held Carmela’s face in both hands and kissed her slow. Carmela opened for her, one hand curled around the back of Nati’s neck. Nati kissed her again, deeper this time, until Carmela made a low sound into her mouth.

“Can I take off your shirt?” Nati said.

“Yes.”

Carmela lifted her arms. Nati pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it onto the chair. Her hands moved over Carmela’s sides, her ribs, her waist. She stopped beneath Carmela’s breasts.

“Here?” Nati said.

“Yes. Touch me.”

Nati cupped both breasts. She rolled Carmela’s nipples between her fingers, watching her face for each change. Carmela pressed closer.

“More,” Carmela said.

Nati bent and kissed one nipple, then the other. Carmela’s hand tightened at Nati’s shoulder.

“Bed,” Carmela said. “Put me on the bed, Captain.”

Nati guided her down. Carmela lay back against the sheets, hair spread across the pillow. Nati knelt at the foot of the bed.

“Can I take off your shorts?” Nati said.

“Yes.”

Carmela lifted her hips while Nati pulled the shorts and underwear away. Nati ran her palms up Carmela’s calves, then her thighs.

“Can I touch you?” Nati said.

“Yes.”

“Tell me if you want something different.”

“I will.”

Nati kissed Carmela’s inner thigh. Carmela opened her legs farther.

“Please,” Carmela said.

Nati tasted her slowly, then pressed her mouth over Carmela’s clit. Carmela’s hips rose. Nati held one hand over her stomach, firm enough to keep her from chasing the pressure too fast.

“Good?” Nati said.

“So good.”

“Do you want my finger?”

“One.”

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

Nati eased one finger inside her. Carmela’s eyes closed. Nati kept her mouth where Carmela wanted it and moved her hand in a patient rhythm.

“More?” Nati said.

“No. Stay there.”

Nati stayed. Carmela’s sounds turned sharp. Her hand found Nati’s hair and held on without pulling.

“Captain,” Carmela said. “Don’t stop.”

Nati did not stop.