Текст книги "Third Base"
Автор книги: Heidi McLaughlin
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
“Do you think the elevator is working?”
“You don’t have to come up,” she says, standing on the first step. Even now, with her heels on, I still have the height advantage.
“It’s not that I don’t want to walk you to your door, I just thought we could make out in the elevator.”
Daisy laughs and pulls me up the stairs. It’s nice to see the tenants are quieter now than they were when I came to pick her up earlier.
“Our luck, we’d get stuck and the fire department would have to come. If they showed up, we’d be all over the news and the BoRe Blogger would have a field day with you.”
“Ugh, don’t get me started on that site.”
“That bad, huh?” she asks as we reach her floor.
I shrug and lean my arm against her wall as she unlocks her door. “Like I said before, some of the shit that gets posted isn’t accurate and it’s hard to have a life when he’s always lurking. I’d like to meet him and give him a piece of my mind.”
“He? What makes you so certain it’s a guy?”
“Because all the women love me,” I tease, pressing my lips to hers. The kiss is chaste, but lingering. I cup her face with my hand and hold her as long as possible. When she pulls away, she covers her lips briefly.
“I need to go,” she says as we hear rustling behind the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams and Happy Birthday, Daisy.” I brush my lips against her cheek and turn away. Each step is more difficult than the last, and while part of me wants to turn around and go back to her, the other part wants to nurture whatever this is between us and see where it goes.
Boston’s beloved Renegades are falling!
What the hell happened?
We’re five games into a nine game home stand and things are not looking good, people. It’s time to put your rally caps on and start yelling at these guys. Come on, we pay good money for our tickets. At least they can show up!
Of course with the Yankees in town, the Renegades cower in the corner. Listen guys, the “curse” is dead. It’s long gone! Stop letting them win. Maybe Curt Shilling needs to remind us what the bloody sock looks like… that is if he weren’t suspended from broadcasting right now.
Down in the minors, centerfielder, Cooper Bailey, is looking fantastic and batting .393. The prediction is that he’ll be called up soon, rather than waiting for Bainbridge to retire or ask for a trade.
We, in the Renegade community, are thankful that our runs batted in are still (somewhat) higher than the runs we’re giving up – 154 / 139.
Silver lining, folks, we gotta find it!
GOSSIP WIRE:
It took much digging, but I’ve been able to unearth the identity of Mr. Ethan Davenport’s girlfriend. Yes, even though he has yet to confirm that they’re dating, taking her to the Rotary dinner was HUGE and didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. The young woman occupying Boston’s Most Eligible Bachelor’s time is none other than University of Boston’s Daisy Robinson. We wish her luck!
Travis Kidd was spotted at the Chevy Dealership the other day. Why is this news? Well, because his father owns a Ford Dealership. I think Thanksgiving may be a bit awkward in the Kidd house this year.
Manager, Cal Diamond, has been seen going in and out of the Cancer clinic recently. A call to the front office yielded nothing. We hope that whatever’s going on, Mr. Diamond and his family are in good health.
The BoRe Blogger
I hate the Yankees.
Of course, I grew up a Seattle Mariners fan, so it’s what we do. We hate teams that continually beat us and win every possible title that comes their way. When the Renegades drafted me, it basically became law that I not be a fan of the Yankees. Honestly, you don’t find many people in Boston who are. And if they are it’s because they’re not from here, although, if you go to any other city, chances are, you’ll find Yankee or Braves fans everywhere. We can thank cable TV for that. Another thing you never do once you’ve been a Renegade – leave and become a Yankee. It’s a guaranteed way to lose the respect of your fans.
As a major league player, I have goals: Win a batting title, Homerun Derby title, World Series title, and bat for the cycle... just to name a few. I like to remain optimistic and think that I can achieve each goal with the Renegades, but in order to do so I need to be consistent and right now I feel like I’m not. It’s still early in the season, but that’s no excuse. My off-season training prepares me for these moments. I shouldn’t be failing my team or myself.
It’s the bottom of the fifth and I’m on deck. Preston Meyers is up to bat, ahead in the count and with no outs. Steve Bainbridge is on third after a deep right field pop-up by Kayden Cross allowed him to tag from second.
One look at the scoreboard tells me that if we want to win this game, we need to get some hits and base runners otherwise we’re going down… again. And frankly, I’m sick of losing to the Yankees.
Meyers drills one out to centerfield, scoring Bainbridge easily, and makes it to second, standing up. Bainbridge and I exchange a high-five after he crosses the plate, and he tips his hat to the fans, thanking them. I’ve wanted to talk to him about the rumors that the BoRe Blogger keeps posting, but the time is never right. Personally, I don’t want him to leave. He’s my mentor, someone I look up to on the team.
The closer I get to home plate, the more my eyes are trained on Daisy. The BoRe Blogger asked me to comment on whether or not she’s my girlfriend and I gave the same standard “no comment” tweet back. She’s a girl, and definitely a friend, so the title makes sense, however it means something when you put those words together and label them. In this day and age it’s hard to tell if women want a label, or if they’re too independent for something like that. It’s also an awkward conversation to have, and something I’m not good at doing. Hell, just thinking about bringing it up with her makes my hand twitch with nerves.
Daisy cracks a smile, but shies away by pulling her hat down. The BoRe Blogger published her name, effectively ruining any privacy I thought we’d have, and making her a target of sorts at the game. If I don’t do well, people are saying shit to her and that pisses me off. My game performance has nothing to do with her… okay maybe it does a little bit, but not much. If anything, she makes me want to work harder to impress her more. It’s stupid, I know. I should want to work hard to better myself, not for some chick. But I can’t help it. One look at Daisy and I’m weak in the knees and willing to follow her around like a lost puppy dog.
After adjusting everything humanly possible, I step up to the plate and show my bat. With it cocked back and ready, I wait for the first pitch. This pitcher is taking his sweet ass time, and it’s pissing me off. He looks from me to Meyers – who is just off second, waiting to see what I’m going to do – and back to me before delivering the pitch. I know I’m swinging for the fences on this one. He’s sent me a meatball right down the center. I step forward, rotating my hips and shoulders as my bat comes around. The sweet sound of wood and hard rubber colliding has the stadium of fans up and out of their seats. Someday I want to be so respected that I can wait and see who catches my homerun, but this is not the time. I drop the bat, watching the ball fly into the stands before I start jogging to first to start my trip around the bases. Fireworks go off in centerfield, music plays and my teammates are at home plate to greet me as soon as I cross.
I glance quickly at the scoreboard and see that now we’re only down by three runs. We have a few innings left to score and hold the Yankees to no more runs. More high-fives are given when I enter the dugout. The adrenaline is pumping and I find myself clapping loudly as our designated hitter, Branch Singleton, walks toward home plate. Everyone’s on their feet with their rally rags flying through the air, cheering as loud as they can over Branch’s music.
“Why don’t you move her to the correct side?” Travis Kidd stands on the stairs beside me, cocking his head in the general direction of Daisy and smirking.
Shaking my head, I spit out a few of the sunflowers seeds I’ve been sucking on and continue to lean on the railings with my arms dangling over. “She has season tickets and likes it over there.”
“But if she’s behind you, or with the other wives, she can ogle your ass a bit more.”
“You’re such a dumbass.”
“Just sayin’,” he says as he spits out whatever’s in his mouth out.
“I don’t want her hassled by the wives. You know whose wife is out for blood right now and Daisy doesn’t need to be subjected to that shit, plus we just started seeing each other. I don’t want to scare her away.”
Bainbridge’s wife is on a rampage and hell bent to find out who Steve has been screwing behind her back. She’s texted all of us, asking questions, but the truth is, if he is doing something like that, none of us know about it. Not that we’d tell her either. There’s solidarity in our brotherhood and that pisses her off so she’s been going after the wives.
We all stand tall when Singleton smacks the ball into the outfield. We raise our arms, thinking it’s gone and groan when the centerfielder jumps up and snags the ball out of the air before it clears the wall.
“Shit,” a few of us mumble as Singleton returns to the dugout. He’s pissed and throwing his helmet at the wall with a string of slurs coming out of his mouth. To make matters worse, he was traded from the Yankees to Boston a few seasons back and has held a grudge ever since. The trade didn’t make sense – Branch is one of the most consistent DH’s in the league – once his name hit the trade wire, teams started a bidding war. Even if they didn’t need him, they wanted him. Boston wasn’t even the highest bidder, but they are the archrival of the Yankees, and Branch wanted to stick it to them. Most of the time he does.
There are those moments, when you’re in the lead and the outfielder makes an amazing catch, and you give props to your teammate for hitting it deep enough that the outfielder has to work to stop the run. But then there are times when you don’t speak about the almost homerun that would’ve put your team within two runs rather than three down. This is the time when you just ignore the “what could’ve been” and let your teammate stew.
Jasper Jacobson, our catcher, is up next. He takes the first swing and hits a grounder right to the short stop. Jacobson is fast and has the ability to beat out the throw to first, but not today. Next, second baseman, Bryce Mackenzie, steps up to the plate. The crowd is still somewhat loud, but has died down considerably after the last two outs. Mackenzie takes the first two pitches without even flinching. The third pitch is also a ball, giving me hope that the pitcher is tiring and maybe we can wear him down in the next inning, as long as his relief doesn’t come in.
Mackenzie swings at the next pitch and I’m thinking it must’ve been a damn meatball because he was ahead in the count and now the right fielder is taking a few steps in to catch his pop-up. The inning is over and we’re still down by three runs. We take our sweet time coming out of the dugout as the music starts to play and the Jumbo Tron lights up with the Kiss Cam. I’d love to take Daisy to a game and get on the Kiss Cam. It’ll never happen though, unless we go to a Celtics game, because there is no way in hell I’ll stand out in the freezing cold in Foxborough to watch the Patriots. Checking out the Bruins, on the other hand, would be on my list of things to do in Boston.
After taking our warm-up grounders, the heart of the Yankees line-up steps up to the plate. I take a step back and get into position. My eyes are steady on his bat, watching every wiggle that it takes. He starts the rotation and the wooden weapon comes around, smacking the white leather ball toward me. I move into position, ready to use my body as a shield to stop the ball. It bounces nicely into my glove and in one swift rotation, the ball in and out of my mitt, into my hand and being thrown accurately to first base.
It’s a three up, three down inning; in fact, the rest of game is played out like that with us losing five to eight and dropping yet another home game to the Yankees. This loss puts us even at fourteen and fourteen – a shitty way to start the month.
Our cleats clank as we walk down the corridor to the clubhouse. The press is already there, waiting for interviews. The mood is subdued. It’s not just the fact that we lost, but that we have put ourselves in an early hole and holes in the majors are hard to climb out of.
“Ethan, care to give us a few words?” Yes! I’d love to talk about my homerun or the outs that I made, but I’m not allowed, not yet at least. I want to talk about how well we play together as a team and how I support our pitching staff. I know I can answer simple questions with canned answers.
I smile my normal half grin, half grimace and wave. Media training starts tomorrow at the University of Boston, with a ten a.m. class. I thought about complaining, but it means I can see Daisy earlier and maybe even eat lunch with her while I’m there. That thought, alone, makes me turn in my man card. It should be the other way around. She should be asking me for time, and yet here I am mapping out when I can see her, eat with her and just be near. I’m turning into such a girl.
When we are traveling, I’ll take the class via live feed. It’s not ideal, but I want to be able to give interviews and this is what the GM thinks is best. I only have to take the course for two weeks and let the class interview me before I’m cleared for press interviews.
The vibe in the clubhouse is subdued. No one is talking and the only noise being made is by us when we undress. I suppose there isn’t much to say. We lost, yet again, and have to face the Tampa Bay Devil Rays tomorrow and the following two days before we have an off day and fly to Toronto.
“Do you have plans tonight?” Kidd asks, as he stands next to me in nothing but a towel around his waist, which he is holding together with his thumb and forefinger.
I shake my head and pull off my shirt, tossing it in the laundry bucket. “Sleep.”
“With your girl?” he waggles his eyebrows, and steps away before I can punch him in the shoulder.
“No. I have class tomorrow. I thought it’d be best if I showed up without any bags under my eyes.”
“Man, I can’t believe Stone is making you take media classes.”
“Yeah well, when you tweet out your address like a fool, management starts to wonder how fucking smart you are. Clearly, I’m an idiot.”
“You said it, not me.” He says as he slaps my back. “What are you going to do about your girl back home?” he asks as he waits for me to head to the showers.
“What do you mean?” Truth is, I haven’t even thought about Sarah for a few days, especially after my epic date with Daisy. She’s been the only one on my mind and between the phone calls, texts and seeing her for a few minutes after the game; she’s all I’ve had time to think about.
“Don’t you have, like, a standing hook-up deal?”
His words cause me to freeze. My mother knows about Daisy, but I’m sure Sarah hasn’t read up on it, or saw us online because she’s busy training to become a doctor. Sarah will be expecting to hang out. I’m now in a situation where I don’t know what to do. Any other time, it didn’t matter because I haven’t had a girlfriend since Sarah. Do I call Daisy my girlfriend? Do I give her that label?
If it were anyone but Kidd asking me the question, I’d dodge it, but he’s my best friend. “I don’t know,” I say as I head toward the showers, hoping that the hot water will provide the answer to my upcoming conundrum.
Even after a valiant effort by Preston Meyers and Ethan Davenport, the Renegades came up short against the Yankees, dropping all three of their home games to them with a cumulative nine to fifteen in the runs category. It wasn’t until Sunday’s game that the Renegades were able to get their bats swinging and break out of the two run hold the Yankees had them in by putting five up on the board.
Branch Singleton tried to make the Yankees pay, going deep each time at bat, but the acrobatic skills of the Yankees’ outfielders proved to be too much for Singleton’s long ball game. Better luck next time.
The Tampa Bay Devil Rays are in town for three games followed by an off day.
Thursday, the Renegades will be doing arts and crafts with their littlest fans at Beth Israel Hospital. Sorry adult fans, you must be under eighteen and kicking Cancer’s ass to be a part of this.
On the minor league front, Cooper Bailey hit for the cycle yesterday, paving his way to move up. Even if Bainbridge stays, the front office can’t afford to keep Bailey in the minors. He’ll be demanding a trade before too long. GM Stone needs to make a move... and soon.
Gossip Wire
Ethan Davenport is heading to media training. I guess we now know why he hasn’t given any interviews before or after the games. Apparently, the pretty face can only get you so far and Mr. Davenport will be learning how to speak, act and socialize on television when he takes a two section – not course – at the University of Boston – the same school his current flavor of the month attends. I wonder if they’ll car pool?
There’s still no word on why Cal Diamond has been spotted at the Cancer clinic. Once we find out, we’ll update you.
Bryce Mackenzie is making it official with his girlfriend, model turned designer, Gabby Nolan. He popped the question two weeks ago when she came into town and tonight she was spotted with a four-carat princess cut diamond ring on her finger. I guess the rumors about her and pro-Tennis player, Ralph Amato, is just that – rumors!
The Bainbridge’s were seen heading into marriage counseling. By all accounts, Steve looked like he didn’t want to be there when caught by a photographer being pulled into the building by his wife. She’s gotta hang onto the money!
The BoRe Blogger
Freshman year I was that eager student who signed up for eight a.m. classes because I thought it’d be best to get my day over sooner, even after my six a.m. workouts. That lasted exactly one week until I was groggily dragging my ass out of bed and barely making it to class. “Naps” became my favorite four-lettered word, and a shower turned into something I had to schedule. Second semester I planned a little better, but by the time I was a sophomore, I refused to take any class that started before eleven. The six a.m.’s never went away, but that nap right after my workout was the best part of my day.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been uncharacteristically getting up early so I can spend time with Daisy. The minute my alarm would sound, I’d hop out of bed, shower, shave, get dressed and leave with a damn smile on my face. Today is different. Now, as my alarm is buzzing, my pillow is once again being held to my face by my forearm as I pray that the noise will stop and I can fall back to sleep. Even knowing that I’m about to see Daisy, the knowledge doesn’t rouse my sleeping body. The fact that I have to go to school – a place I’ve already graduated from – is keeping me in bed. The mere mention of class and my body is tired and exhausted even though I got plenty of sleep last night.
I roll over with a groan and slam my hand down on the clock, silencing it before it makes my ears bleed. I let out a cough and quickly convince myself that I have a cold and there is no possible way I can make it to class. It would be unfair of me to infect the student body with any illness.
Reaching for my phone, I rise up on my elbows and type out a text to Daisy.
I have a cold. Can’t go to class.
The conversation bubble pops up immediately making me smile. I know she wasn’t waiting for my text, but the fact that she stopped what she was doing to reply means the world to me.
Daisy Robinson: Well that sucks. I thought we could make out behind one of the dorms today.
My eyes bug out at her text message and sure enough my happy stick likes the idea of making out with her, although not in public.
I’m feeling better
I type back and send before it dawns on me that she just played me. I’m slow to get out of bed, and contemplate going to class looking like the quintessential college kid. No one would really care. Chicks dig the messy, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-look on guys just as much as dudes like the I-just-got-fucked-look on a chick.
Each step I take on my way to the bathroom has me thinking of another excuse as to why I should stay home. I don’t know why I’m being such a baby about taking this class – it’s only for two weeks, two hours a day... and half the time I’ll be on the road. But, I’ll be on campus with Daisy and I think that’s what’s scaring me. I don’t want her to get sick of me because I’m around too much, or worse, act like we aren’t seeing each other to avoid scrutiny in the press, even though everyone knows we’ve been hanging out. The BoRe Blogger made that public for us.
My hair is an unruly mess and standing on end. I run my hands under the water and through my hair but nothing changes. It’s definitely a hat day for me. I finish up the rest of my necessary morning crap in the bathroom before slipping on a pair of sweats with a Nike t-shirt and shoes. The ladies in the front office of the Renegades were gracious enough to buy me a few school supplies which I gather up before heading out the door. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind that I would need a pen and paper.
The drive over to the University takes longer than I had planned and once I find a parking spot that seems far enough away to be in another country, I’m running to class with a map in my hands like a lost freshman. “Official Nerd Alert” should be flashing across my chest right now. I enter what I hope is my class, out of breath and with 100 or so eyes staring at me. There’s clear recognition of who I am as eyes go wide, mouths drop and the eager whispers and texting starts.
“Mr. Davenport, it’s so nice of you to join us,” the professor so nicely announces, pointing out that I’m late. I nod in his direction and take the first available seat, which happens to be between two girls, both brunette and both watching my every move.
They lean toward me in unison as I get comfortable and the one on my right hands me the paperwork that I need.
“Thanks,” I mumble, keeping my eyes focused on the professor.
“You’re welcome, Ethan,” she says dreamily, which really makes me uncomfortable. I’m used to this kind of attention, but something about her and her friend on my left seems odd. I can’t put my finger on it. Tomorrow, I’m going to have to be early so I can pick another seat and maybe pay some dudes to sit next to me.
“Social media is a powerful tool,” the professor starts. “It can be used for just about everything. Many people announce their engagements, the birth of a child, or when they’re in a relationship. It can also be used for bad news, like when you change a relationship status from ‘in a relationship’ to ‘it’s complicated’. Most of you don’t realize that it wasn’t that complicated until you made it such on social media.”
He has a good point. When Sarah and I decided to part ways, she changed her relationship status from “in a relationship” to “single” and her friends posted that I was a jerk, an asshole, and that she could do better. She spent hours defending me, saying that our break-up had been mutual, and that we were still very good friends, just going in different directions in life. We, collectively, had decided it’d be best to part while happy with each other instead of fighting. We didn’t want to end up hating each other.
“Social media is also an avenue for awareness, such as an accident on the route you usually drive, or for a fundraiser. What a lot of people don’t realize is that media and social media are the same thing with the only difference being live footage. For example: I can go on live television and give an interview. Someone sitting at home with nothing to do can take bits and pieces from said interview and mash them together creating something new and the exact opposite of what I actually said during my live interview and post it on social media. My interview has now gone from media to social media. Sadly, this cannot be prevented, but what can happen to prevent this type of thing from happening is for people to utilize their social media pages for the positive. Direct them to the correct interview, even if it’s not yours.”
As I look around, everyone is either typing on their computers, or hand writing notes. I’m doing neither because I thought this class was going to prepare me for what I need to say to the media and what not to post on social media. I don’t care about interviews gone badly – that shit happens all the time – which is why I’m here. The Renegades want to prevent me from putting my foot in my mouth or being labeled stupid due to nerves.
After the first few minutes, I’m zoning out, not focused on class as the professor continues on about the differences and likenesses of all forms of socializing. I can feel my phone vibrating against my leg, tempting me to take it out and see what’s going on, but getting scolded again isn’t high on my priority list. Now that I’m sitting here, staying in bed with that fake cough is becoming more and more appealing. I thought this guy was going to teach me how to give an interview, something my college should’ve taught us. I suppose I could tell Stone that I don’t want to attend and just accept the fact that I’ll never have any television time.
I must’ve zoned out because the girl next to me is tapping me on the shoulder, telling me to pack up. She says something about following her and her friend to the library for an assignment and I figure I better do it since I haven’t a clue as to what just happened. I keep pace behind them as we walk through the busy campus. Instead of looking around at the scenery, I’m looking for a familiar pair of green eyes.
I really wish I had paid attention to what the professor was saying because I don’t want to do homework club or whatever it is that has me following these two girls up the stairs and into the library. I need to be better than this first showing. Right now, I’m showing everyone in that class I’m nothing but a dumb jock.
It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been inside a college library, or any library for that matter. I’ve forgotten how quiet everyone is. That is unless you’re Ethan Davenport and you just walked in and everyone stops, stares and pulls out their phone to take your picture. I wave and break off from these classmates of mine in search of a corner I can hide in. My plan is to text Daisy and ask her to come and save me... only I don’t have to because I spot her sitting at one of the computer terminals. I walk up behind her, thinking I should scare her, but think better of it. Being in the library where you’re required to be quiet and making her scream from shock might not be the best thing for her. The last thing I want is for her to get into trouble.
“Hey, babe,” I say letting the term of endearment fall easily from my lips. My arrival has clearly caught her off guard as I happen to see what’s on her screen before she fumbles to close the window and my heart sinks. I know declarations haven’t been made, but I had hoped she’d respect me where certain things are considered... The BoRe Blog being one of those things. By the look on her face, eyes down and no smile, she knows I’m not happy. I pull out the chair next to her and pull hers so she’s facing me.
Her hair is down, the ends curled, and I find myself playing with a tendril. It’s soft and curves around my finger like it belongs there. Against my better judgment I lean forward and press my lips to hers.
“Please don’t read that shit,” I beg as my lips ghost over hers. The last thing I want is for her to read the BoRe Blogger and assume that anything on there is legit.
Even though her birthday was just the other day, I’ve seen her every night since. After the games she waits for me, we get dinner and then I drive her home. I park illegally in front of her building and we make out like horny teenagers, steaming up the windows of my SUV. It had been years since I’ve reached first or second base in a car, but damn if it doesn’t feel good. Everything is so much more exciting and dangerous when you’re trying to get your girl off with your hand down her jeans, hoping no one happens to walk by and see what you’re doing. And when she moves to straddle you in your seat, pressing against your erection… yeah, your next off day can’t come soon enough because all you want to do is take her back to your place and be deep inside her.
We have three more games until we leave on a ten game road trip, a road trip that is going to include a trip back home, where Kidd so kindly reminded me that my ex is waiting and expecting sex. I haven’t found the nerve to tell her that I’ve started to see someone. I don’t know what’s stopping me. Maybe it’s because I’m waiting for Daisy to introduce me as her boyfriend.
“I’m sorry,” she says, as she pushes her fingers under my hat so she can play with my hair. She deepens the kiss with a sweep of her tongue against my lips and just like that I’m getting hard in a place where none of this shit should be happening.
“Wanna get out of here?” I ask, pulling her up with me as I stand. She nods and reaches over to shut down the computer she was working on. She takes my hand as I lead us out of the building and back through the students, to the parking lot which feels a million miles away.
“Where’d you park?”
“New York,” I say sarcastically, making her laugh.
When we finally reach my car, at least ten minutes have passed. I help her into the passenger seat and move to my side, tossing my notepad, sans any notes, in the backseat. Before I have a chance to start the car, she’s in my lap, attacking me. She grinds against me, bringing me back to life once again. This isn’t the time or place, as its daylight and people can see through my front window. I can’t imagine what pictures will be all over the web when I get home. This probably goes against all the social media training I sat through today.
