Текст книги "Third Base"

Автор книги: Heidi McLaughlin

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

“Daisy,” I say her name, trying to gain her attention as I slightly push her away. “Do you want to go back to my place? I have a couple of hours until I need to be at the field.”

I don’t care if it’s only been a few weeks since we’ve officially met; the cat-and-mouse game of staring at each other for a year has been like foreplay without touching... it’s been mental foreplay.

She pulls her lower lip in between her teeth and nods. My next movement is a blur and I do believe I may have thrown her into her seat out of sheer excitement to finally have my way with her. I can’t be sure because I’m a dude, and she’s fucking sexy and horny which is a really dangerous combination, but who cares? I have a few hours to kill with my smoking hot girl and I’m going to use them to my advantage. The only problem is – it’s lunchtime in Boston so traffic is going to be a bitch.

Fucking Boston traffic.

We would’ve been better off taking the T from the campus to my place instead of driving. I wasn’t thinking with the right head and now we’re sitting in bumper-to-bumper congestion due to what I’m assuming is an accident. Any other city and I could take the side roads, but the narrow streets coupled with on-street parking make maneuvering my SUV a bit difficult. So we sit here and wait.

Reaching across the console, I pick up her hand and interlock her fingers with mine. Gazing at her, I let my thoughts run rampant. Her smile is soft, rewarding, and I ask myself if I’m doing everything I can in this short amount of time to show her how much I like her and want to spend all my free time with her. Or does she just see this as a casual hook-up because the thought of sleeping with her, while at the forefront of my mind, isn’t a be all that ends all. I hate that we’re rushing back to my place for our first time. I’m not even that guy who has to do the whole song and dance either, but I don’t want her to get the wrong impression. She’s too important to me.

There’s something else bothering me...finding her looking at the BoRe Blogger page at the library. She knows that I was ready to give up on even being her friend when she brought up rumors. Stupid on my part, yes, but I don’t need that shit hanging over my head or her questioning my motives because of what some dumbass who doesn’t even know me decides to write about me.

I bring her hand to my lips and place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. She smiles and leans over to kiss my cheek. Acting like this with each other makes us seem legit, but I can’t be sure that’s how she feels and I don’t want to be lame and ask her if she wants to be my girlfriend. Do men even ask that question anymore?

The longer we wait in traffic, the more frustrated I become. I can’t get the image of her looking at that website and quickly closing the window when I walked up behind her out of my mind. Why would she do that when she knows how much that site bothers me?

I decide to take the next exit and risk the narrow streets just to get to my place faster.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her head darting from side to side as we cruise by buildings and brownstones.

“I thought you wanted to go back to my place.”

She cracks a smile and asks, “Are you in a hurry?”

Her question catches me off guard because if my memory serves me correctly, she jumped me as soon as we got in the car. She was the one who started grinding on me. I know I asked her in the library if she wanted to get out of there, but I did so because I didn’t want either of us to get into trouble. The last thing I need is some report being circulated that I was busted for making out in the library while taking media classes.

“Um… why were you looking at that website?” The question is out of my mouth before I even know what I’m saying.

Daisy runs her fingers along the nape of my neck, taking time to answer. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but either way, I don’t like it.

“It’s part of an assignment for my class.”

“What class?” I know I sound defensive but I can’t help it. The BoRe Blogger has been anything but kind to my teammates and me. It’s one thing to post about the game, but to post gossip and rumors is a completely different thing.

“Sports media. It’s for a research paper,” she says and I want to believe her, but surely her professors would require a reputable site and not some random blog that isn’t reporting the facts.

“What’s wrong with ESPN or CBS Sports?”

In a rare occurrence in the City of Boston, I come upon a parking spot that doesn’t require me to parallel-park and I take it. Putting my SUV in park, I turn in my seat to face her. I can’t read her expression because I’m not very good with this girl shit.

“I don’t understand why you don’t like the BoRe Blog. It’s funny and informative.”

Is she serious right now? “It’s anything but, Daisy. He posts rumors, falsifies information and publicly outed you. Nothing about that blog is okay.”

“Are you just angry because you think the blogger picks on you?”

“No, Daisy, I’m not,” I say sharply. “I’m pissed because I asked you not to look at that shit and when I come to surprise you, you act like I caught you doing something wrong. It’s not a lot to request.”

I don’t know what’s happening here, but now I’m fucking pissed. Daisy turns and looks out the window, ignoring me. I know it’s stupid to fight over a blog, but the shit that particular blog publishes is a sore subject with me and she knew that. I thought it was a fairly simple request that she not read it but apparently I was wrong.

When she takes out her cell phone and starts doing whatever the fuck she’s doing, I know the conversation is over. I put my car back into drive, heading back onto the road, and instead of going to my house I take her home.

“I can’t believe you’re pissed off,” she says as we turn onto her street. Truth is, neither can I, but I am.

“If that blog didn’t post about my friend’s failing marriage, or how many times I adjusted my cup, I might take it serious... but shit, Daisy, it’s not fucking news.”

“Yeah, well, my friends and I like it. So what if they post how many times you pick your nose or the fact that Bainbridge is cheating on his wife? It’s newsworthy to the fans. It makes us feel like we know you.”

“Are you shitting me right now?” I stop abruptly in front of her apartment, failing to put my car in park. “Whatever is going on in Steve’s life isn’t news and if they’re getting a divorce they certainly don’t need some half-assed blogger posting inaccurate shit that’s none of anyone’s business. God, why can’t you see it’s wrong?”

“Because journalists support freedom of speech.” She’s out of my car, slamming the door before I can even say anything. My only comeback is the squealing tires of my car which I hope she hears as I pull away from the curb.

The only place I can go to try and get my mind off what just happened is the stadium. Once I’m there, I hit the gym. I want to lift weights and punch the shit out of the bag that hangs in the corner, but I’m too pissed and that’s a bad idea. I can’t afford to tear a muscle right now. My game is the most important part of me. That and my integrity, which is something Daisy doesn’t seem to understand.

The whole “journalists support freedom of speech” thing is bullshit. I’d support it too if it were the truth and not some made up gossip to stir the pot. And where does the BoRe Blogger get his information? There must be someone on the inside that leaks it because we didn’t even know about Bainbridge, his wife and a potential mistress, until we read about it in the damn blog. Guys talk in the clubhouse – there’s a code that it doesn’t leave – and nothing has been said. But again, if I were cheating on my wife, I probably wouldn’t tell anyone. No one can keep a fucking secret anyway.

I step onto the treadmill, put my ear buds in and push the speed button until I’m in a steady run. My heavy metal playlist blasts into my ears, blocking out my thoughts of Daisy and the fucked up conversation we just had. Our weight room looks out over the field, reminding us why we’re busting our asses in here – so we can bust our asses out there for the fans, the town and our team.

The grounds crew is out, mowing and fixing minute holes in the dirt infield. When I was in college, I followed the grounds crew around to see how they did everything. It fascinated me and I thought if I couldn’t make it in baseball I get a degree doing that instead. This way I’d still be with a team, in a stadium and part of the atmosphere. My advisor thought I was stupid for thinking about it and talked me out of it. I ended up with the standard communications degree, guaranteeing me a telecasting job when I retire or become washed up.

Still, watching these guys out there, lying on the ground making sure each blade of grass is the same length, making sure the Renegades pattern is perfect and brushing the dirt in the proper direction amazes me. Everyone who works for a baseball club takes their job seriously, from concession stands, to souvenirs, to laundry. It’s a high-end operation here and if there’s ever any trouble, we never hear about it.

The treadmill next to me starts up. I glance over to find Bainbridge starting a slow jog. I push the button to slow down and pull out my ear buds, but leave the music playing. As far as I’m concerned, he’s my mentor and I feel like a shit for bothering him with the bullshit weighing on my mind, but I need help.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“So you know how I have an issue with that blog?” he nods, so I keep going. “Well, I’ve been seeing this girl and I’ve asked her not to look at it.”

“Why?” he asks, without breaking stride.

“Our second date, or meeting, she brought up something about rumors she’d heard and I told her that not everything she reads online is legit and that if she had questions, she should ask. Then, somehow, the blog came up in a conversation and I asked her not to look at that shit. Today, when I surprised her at school, she was looking at the website and when I asked her about it, she flipped out on me.”

Bainbridge sighs and I have a feeling I hit a sore subject. “I don’t blame you, but that shit is addictive to them. Lisa has emailed that blogger before about crap in our marriage even though I’ve asked her not to. Whatever happens in our house needs to stay there; she knows that, but she loves the attention.”

“Daisy says all journalists support freedom of speech.”

“The first part of the blog is great. I enjoy his critique of the game. He’s a real fan. The gossip part though – that shit has no place in baseball and takes away from the point of the blog, at least that’s how I feel.”

We continue to jog for a few minutes without talking. A few of the other guys come in and out of the gym, but lift weights or hit the massage room, leaving us alone.

“I think that whatever was going on with Daisy is effectively over.” Saying that out loud actually hurts. I really like her, but need to have her respect in regard to something as simple as not indulging in a blog she knows pisses me off. It all seems so petty now that I think about it, but I can’t help how I feel.

“You’re too young to be tied down, Davenport.”

Bainbridge steps off the treadmill and presses stop. He looks at me, pain masking his features. I stop running so I can give him my undivided attention.

“Lisa was a fan. I hit her with a foul ball in college. I felt bad and took her out to dinner and we hit it off. But she’s insecure and freaks out if I don’t answer when she calls or I don’t call her right back. Anything longer than five minutes and I’m screwing the secretary, the cashier or the waitress. God forbid I get up in the middle of dinner and take a shit because she accuses me of texting my girlfriend or looking at porn. If I try to make love to her, she’s accusing me of trying to appease her because I’m having an affair. Frankly, I can’t handle my wife, let alone a girlfriend.

“She wants to move home, back to Indiana – I don’t blame her. She’s alienated herself from the other wives and girlfriends, but I’m not ready to give up on my time here in Boston. I love it here. I love the team. I hear the rumors about Cooper Bailey and they scare the shit out of me. He’s young, has fresh legs and a killer arm. But I’m not ready to quit.”

He wraps his towel around his neck and shuts off his machine. “If I were you, I’d forget the girl. You’re young and chicks are eager to get to know you. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have had a girlfriend when I started playing in the majors. The only things I don’t regret are my kids – the rest I could honestly live without.”

Bainbridge walks off, leaving me stunned. He doesn’t open up much, but when he does he pours it all out. I’ve always asked him for advice, but to hear him say that he wished he never married his wife is a bit of a shock. Now I know why he’s never introduced us, and why he either shows up to events solo or cancels.

I feel like my pleas have fallen on deaf ears!

After dropping three to the Yankees, the Renegades could only pull out one win with the Devil Rays. One would think that playing in Boston, the Renegades would have the advantage over a team who plays in the tropics. Apparently, one shouldn’t assume.

The Renegades are starting a ten-day road trip that begins in Toronto and ends in Seattle (home of Ethan Davenport) with a stop in Oakland on the way.

Seattle is historically bad, although new management is trying to rebuild the team. Let’s hope Robinson Cano isn’t bringing his A-game while we’re in town, even though we love him from ditching out on the Yankees in favor of the Mariners.

The Renegades are 15 / 16 going into the road trip. If they plan to make it to the post season, they need to start winning. Yes, it’s only May, however the clock is ticking.

Our run count is now – 160 / 149. For those keeping count – we scored six runs in the last three games, giving up ten. That’s backwards, Boys!

GOSSIP WIRE:

It seems the romance is over for Davenport and his super fan! Sources say he’s been leaving the stadium by himself these past few games instead of having his number one on his arm. It makes me wonder why it’s over so fast? Maybe she has a thing for Cooper Bailey...

The Renegades put on quite a show for the Children’s Cancer Ward at Beth Israel. Sources close to the team said the guys had their make-up done, fingernails painted, and many selfies were taken.

Hadley Carter, the wife of General Manager Ryan Stone, recently accepted an MTV Music award for best video. Congratulations, Ms. Carter, even if you are a Yankee fan. Ick!

The BoRe Blogger

I love baseball. I love women. What I don’t love is women and baseball together. Since Daisy and I argued, my game has sucked. My batting average has dropped, my on-base percentage is almost non-existent and when I am hitting the ball, they’re foul or I’m dropping my shoulder and they’re pop-ups. Six out of our ten away games are done with a record of three and three. In those games I didn’t drive in one single run. Not even a sacrifice. At least my defensive game is still intact. I can’t imagine how I’d be feeling if I were committing errors and letting my team down by not being present on the field.

My head is all jacked up with thoughts of Daisy. I’ve been trained to block this type of shit out, but apparently it’s not working. The game should be the only thing on my mind. Even now, as I walk along the hot tarmac to our plane at the Oakland International Airport, I wonder what the hell she’s doing. And as I board the plane and see the same flight attendants I have known since I joined the team, my thoughts should be about tomorrow’s game but they’re not. I’m stupidly wondering why Daisy hasn’t called or texted and I need to stop. This was too fast, too soon for me.

Never again will I allow a female to consume my thoughts while I’m working. My focus from here on out will solely be on baseball and the pitchers I’m about to face; about the teams we need to beat to at least be a wild card team this fall. I’m going to close my eyes and visualize myself at the plate, swinging my bat to kill the ball. From here on out there will be no worrying about how someone feels, or whether someone is looking at me… and no more going the extra mile. I don’t need to.

And this pent up frustration, well that’s what Sarah’s for. She has hers, I have mine, and that is why our arrangement works. I should’ve known better than to fuck with a good thing.

The flight from Oakland to Seattle is under two hours and it’s barely enough time to get any shuteye. Instead, Kidd and I take advantage of the free booze and we keep the flight attendants busy. We’re not the only ones drinking, just two of the youngest, but legal is legal.

When we land I’ll be heading to my parents. It’s a luxury that we’re entitled to when we visit our hometowns. My parents live close enough to Safeco Field that it’s only a ten-minute drive. Sarah’s apartment is fifteen and if I have my way, I’ll be spending as much time with her as possible. She’s exactly what I need to get over this sour taste in my mouth.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay at the hotel?”

“Nah, my bed at home is waiting for me.”

When you’re single and on the road you can have a lot of fun. The cleat chaser’s know what hotels we stay at and most know our arrival schedules. We’ll be in town long before the bar closes and they’ll be looking for action.

“Shit, don’t you mean Sarah’s bed?” Kidd shakes his head as he downs his drink. If I hadn’t been so hung up on that certain baseball fan back in Boston, I would’ve had Sarah pick me up tonight, but when my mom called it was an automatic request. If I really wanted to, I could go to Sarah’s after visiting, or she could come over to my parents’ house. My mom may not understand, but she wouldn’t question Sarah’s presence at our house.

When the flight attendant comes back, she has new drinks for us, plus an assortment of snacks. I’m starving, but the short flight makes meal preparation a bit difficult. I’m hoping my mom has the refrigerator well stocked or she at least cooked a big meal today.

“Does she have a sister?”

“Who?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from the window. Even though it’s dark out, I know the vast mountains of the Cascades loom beneath us.

“Your girlfriend?”

I frown at the term girlfriend. For a brief moment I was stupid enough to think that I’d have a girlfriend, but that thought is long gone and a fuck buddy is better suited for me.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I say, shaking my head. I quickly finish my drink and hand my empty cup to the attendant as she passes by.

“What do you call her?”

I shrug. “I don’t know; my ex? Sarah doesn’t have a label.”

“You know most guys label that ‘for a good time, call’ and put her name and number on the bathroom wall.” Kidd is laughing so hard at his joke that he wakes Bainbridge up, who is frowning at us. I grimace, letting him know that I’m sorry, but he looks pissed and will likely yell at us tomorrow in the clubhouse.

“Sarah is completing her residency at the hospital. She doesn’t have time to meet guys, so this is convenient for her.”

“So she uses you for your pecker jammer?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, trying to stifle a laugh, only he can’t and ends up snorting and blowing booze out of his nose. I keel over, laughing, as Kidd scrambles to clean up his mess while putting together a string of curse words that would rival the Urban Dictionary.

We get stares from the other guys, but one look at Kidd and they know he’s done something stupid. It’s typical behavior, especially when we travel. He’s the life of the party. As soon as he’s done and the redness from his face has dissipated, I can finally answer his question.

“No. It’s mutually beneficial. I get what I need without someone demanding a diamond ring, and she gets what she needs without wondering if her hook-up is going to call the next day. She knows I won’t call and I know she has no desire to get married.”

I do fear the day that changes. I’ve often thought about why she hasn’t tried to meet someone new or even someone in her field. She’s always waiting for me to come to town, or flying out to see me when she gets a vacation. Even though she knows I’ve been with other women since her, it doesn’t seem to bother her at all. The first time she asked, I thought she would break down and start crying, but she didn’t. Now that I’m thinking about it, I actually kind of find it odd.

The moment we land I’m scrambling to deplane. I’m anxious to see my parents, my sister and my niece, Shea. I don’t know who will be here to pick me up and it honestly doesn’t matter because knowing that I’m home is a big stress reliever.

As soon as my feet hit the steps, I see my dad waving. It looks like he’s chatting with the bus drivers that will take the rest of my teammates and all our gear to the hotel the team is staying at. Every bag that was checked when we boarded will be taken to the hotel. I packed extra in a carry-on so I can stay with my parents.

My dad’s arms wrap around my shoulders tightly as we embrace. “So happy you’re home,” he says, patting my back. He has no idea how much I need this hug. I don’t care how old you are, hugs from your parents are a necessity.

“Me too,” I tell him, returning the sentiment. This is the only time they’ll see me play unless they come to Boston or pick up an away game along the way. If I had been drafted by a West Coast team, they’d see me more. I know they miss watching me play, and college spoiled that for them. Being close meant they were at most of my games.

“Is mom still up?’ I ask, knowing it’s late, and she takes care of Shea during the day so my sister can work and not have to worry about daycare.

“She sure is. You know she’d stay up waiting for her baby boy to come home.” My dad ruffles my hair and smiles. It doesn’t matter how old I am, or what my profession is, I’ll always be my mom’s baby boy.

The guys all come over and say hi to my dad, shaking his hand or giving him a hug. Last year, my parents came to Boston and my dad hung out on the field with me. The guys treated him so well.

My dad moves his hands to my shoulders, shakes his head and pulls me into another hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He takes my bag and I follow him to the car. It’s the same car we had when I was in high school. I tried to buy them a new one when I signed my contract with the Renegades, but they took the money and started a college fund for Shea, something I was planning to do anyway. My parents won’t take anything from me, and it’s sort of nice, but also a pain in the ass because they’ve done so much for me that I want to help them out and make sure they’re comfortable. They refuse to let me help them though.

The drive to my parents’ house takes about a half hour. Seattle and Boston aren’t all that different when you compare the two. Both are harbor cities, although in Boston it’s called “the harbah”. Both have these amazing waterfronts, along with excellent places to eat and shop. Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market remind me of Pike’s Market, minus the fish throwing. And the weather is similar. I think that is why I love Boston so much; it feels like home and has since the day I arrived.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the car shuts off. “Sorry for dozing,” I say to my dad as I come to and reach for the handle. No sooner do I step out of the car and shut the door than I hear my mother squealing. Her arms are flung around me before I have a chance to gather myself and we fall back against the car.

“You’re home,” she says sweetly into my shoulder.

“I am. I wish it were for longer though.” I set my mom down, and she cups my cheeks.

“Promise me you’ll come home this winter.”

“I promise,” I tell her, meaning it. There really isn’t a reason for me to stay in Boston through the winter. The housekeeping service I use can check on my house, or I can sublet it to someone. Coming home will do me some good.

“Let’s go inside. Shea is sleeping on the couch. She’s been waiting for you. Shana is heating up your plate.”

“The only one missing is Mike.” My mother frowns, turning away to go into the house. She worries about my brother-in-law and knows how much stress my sister is under while he’s gone. Each time he leaves, Shana and Shea move in with my parents because my mom doesn’t want Shana to be alone. Mike’s a great guy and I’m proud of him. I only wish he were home to watch my niece grow up; although I don’t have much room to talk since I’m not home either.

As soon as I step into the kitchen, the smell of home washes over me. My sister is behind the counter, looking as beautiful as ever, with her dark hair piled high on her head. She wears a Proud Army Wife t-shirt and once we make eye contact, she’s sprinting toward me. I pick her up and hold her, telling her how much I’ve missed her. I don’t care if it was last week or six months ago when I saw them last – we’re a close family and being apart from them really sucks.

“Shea is going to be so excited that her Unc is home.”

“I can’t wait to take her to the field tomorrow.” I set my sister down and look her over. She’s seemed to age since the last time I saw her, not that I’m going to tell her that. Mike’s tours must be getting to her. “How are you, Shana?”

“I’m good. I stay busy with work and Mike calls a lot.”

“When’s he coming home?”

“Soon,” she says, nodding. “It’ll be soon.” Shana doesn’t say anything more on the subject and walks away when the microwave beeps.

“Your bag is in your room,” my dad says, returning from down the hall. I was so wrapped up in seeing my sister that I didn’t even know he had come into the house. As I look around the kitchen, nothing has changed and yet everything seems so much smaller than the last time I was here. I’m so used to my open floor plan and how everything is bright in my house. My parent’s kitchen is dated and dark. The cabinets have to be from the seventies, and even though the appliances were replaced while I was in high school, they’re outdated now.

From where I’m standing, I can see into the family room. The cream colored carpet needs to replaced, walls could use a fresh coat of paint and the curtains updated. I know my parents won’t let me buy them a new house, but they never said anything about remodeling.

“You should let me remodel your house,” I say as I sit down. My sister puts a hot plate of food down in front of me, and I instantly dig in, having missed the taste of a home cooked meal. She sits to my left with my mom on my right and my dad across from me. I know they hate it when I try to spend money on them, but it’s something I can afford to do and want to do this for them.

“We don’t need your money, Ethan.” My mom says, putting her hand on my forearm. “You’re going to need it someday.”

“Mom, if I spend that much money in my lifetime, something is seriously wrong with me.”

“Maybe you should take him up on the offer,” Shana says. I smile at her, silently thanking her for taking my side.

“I tried to buy you a car, but you gave the money to Shea.”

“She needed a college fund,” my mom retorts.

“That I would’ve set up for her!” I counter, putting my fork down. I look at my parents, hoping to convey that I’m serious. “You guys worked your tails off for Shana and me. We had the best of everything. Let me do this for you.” I turn to my mom and pick up her hand. “I know you have a Pinterest board full of ideas for the house. Let me make that happen.”

“How do you know about my Pinterest?” I don’t know if she’s surprised I know what Pinterest is, or that I know about her board.

“Shana told me.” I wink at her, earning an eye roll. They may balk and try to change my mind, but deep down they know I can do this for them and will. I look at my sister who is beaming. “You can start making some calls.”

Mom lets out a big screech before covering her mouth, hoping to have not awakened Shea.