I pocket my phone and follow Owen out of our room. We meet up with a bunch of the guys heading to the elevator, ready to go down to the bar to celebrate winning another series.
The lobby is crowded, and as usual, a bunch of girls are already here to swarm us the minute we walk up to the hotel bar. I don’t drink much and I try to refrain the night before a game, even when I’m not pitching. Tonight is our last night in Texas before we head up to Pittsburgh for our next series. Since I only have a day of travel ahead of me, I can indulge in a few.
“I’ll take a blue moon,” I tell the bartender when he walks over. He starts talking to some of the players, congratulating us even though we just beat his home team.
The girls swarm in in droves, offering to buy us drinks, looking for an easy way in and anyone willing to bite and flirt back. One particular girl is getting on my nerves, hanging all over me and not getting the hint.
“Can I get one picture with you? My brother would kill me if I met you and didn’t get a pic.”
I look at the girl; her white-blonde hair is pin straight under a Sox hat, and her shirt is somehow even smaller than the jean shorts she has on.
“Okay, one picture.” I stand and put my arm over the girl’s shoulder. She pushes into my side, presses her chest to my ribs and if I glanced down, I would get an eyeful of cleavage.
“One…two…” Before her friend can get to three to take the picture, the girl pushes onto her toes and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“What the hell?” I step back and the girls giggle together, pleased with themselves.
“Thanks for the pic.” She pushes a piece of plastic into my hand and I notice it’s a hotel card with her room information on it. “That’s my room number. Feel free to join us.”
They leave and some of my teammates whistle and cause a scene. “Damn, Rookie. It’s good to be you, huh?” Ryan, one of our outfielders, says.
I’m not interested in being that guy. I don’t like to sleep around; I don’t want a reputation. I have no interest in partying and hooking up with chicks just because they throw themselves at me. Most of the guys have no problem with it, but it’s not who I am.
“You going up? ‘Cause if you’re not, I might,” Ryan says and I toss him the card.
“Go for it, man.”
The party scene has never been my thing. Before making the big leagues, I was working my way up. I was laser-focused as I climbed the ranks. I didn’t want any distractions. Now I’m here and I don’t want to jeopardize it. I don’t want to make stupid mistakes or get caught up in it all. My career could be over in the blink of an eye and I’m not going to risk it.
I move to the end of the bar toward Jimmy, one of our relief pitchers. He’s older and has a family and not part of these bar scenes much either. He likes to come out to support and celebrate with the guys, but he’s pretty quiet and sticks to himself. It’s a welcome change from the raucous group.
I drink my second beer in near silence while ESPN plays, muted, on the TVs in the bar. I watch the recaps and my phone vibrates in my pocket. I grin when I see who’s texting me.
Lila: I see the Sox won. Congrats.
Hollis: We did. The game and the series.
Lila: Who do you play next?
Instead of continuing to text her, I head outside into the warm Texas air and call her.
“Hey.” Her voice has an edge of panic to it and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Hey yourself. How’s your night? I’m not keeping you up, am I?” It’s a Sunday and she said she has finals this week. I don’t want to distract her from her studies.
“Not at all. I needed a break.”
“Good. So, to answer your question, I’m headed to Pittsburgh tomorrow.”
“Are they a good team?” I wish I could FaceTime her to see her expressions, when she smiles or blushes. Considering her tone of panic with the call, I’m sure she wouldn’t be too keen on video chatting right now.
“They’re all good teams.”
“You could be a politician. You’re so diplomatic.”
I laugh at the suggestion. A career in politics would be my worst nightmare.
“How’s studying?”
She sighs and I lean against the wall, content to stay out here all night to keep talking to her. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I can’t seem to get her out of my head and I have no intention of trying.
“Exhausting. Two more weeks to go then I’m home free.”
“Speaking of which. What are your plans after the semester is over? Straight to Philly?”
“No, we have the apartment through the end of summer and my new lease doesn’t start until August so I’ll stay here until the semester starts.” I’m relieved to hear she’s not moving right away. Not that I’ll be around all summer; I’ll be traveling with the team, but knowing she’s free gives me a wild idea.
“No plans or anything?”
“Nothing special.”
I grin, a plan formulating in my mind, albeit a crazy one. “Good, then I can have you all to myself this summer.” She gives me a fake laugh. She still doesn’t trust that I’m genuine. I understand her hesitance. I just have to prove myself to her—and I intend to.
“I guess we’ll see.” She’s keeping her distance, keeping her guard up and I get it. We’ve gone on one date and I’m creating a dreamland in my mind of a crazy scenario I doubt she’ll even go for.
I probably shouldn’t even bother with her. I’m not blind or naïve. I have money and people know my name. I could have virtually any woman I want.
Yet I can’t stop thinking about her.
It’s more than the chase. I don’t care about the wall she’s keeping firmly planted between us. I respect it. Any girl would’ve thrown themselves at me and tried to get me into bed. Lila is classy and has respect for herself. It’s refreshing in this dating day and age.
“Can I call you tomorrow?” I ask after a beat of silence. The other end of the phone is quiet for a while. She’s thinking and questioning everything.
“Sure.” She sighs, defeated. I’m hoping that maybe, on some level, she has as hard of a time staying away from me as I have with her.
“I look forward to it. Goodnight, Lila.”
“’Night.”
The following day is hectic and flies by. Traveling doesn’t always take up a full day, but it’s especially exhausting when we have to fly from city to city. A bunch of the guys are going out again tonight to unwind from the long day. I don’t know how they do it. I’m staying back since not only do we have a game tomorrow, but I’m the starting pitcher.
I throw my bag on the bed by the window, letting my roommate, Owen, take the one by the door since he’s going out tonight. Since we’re away for back to back series, we all kept the same roommates. I don’t exactly have a problem with Owen, but he’s definitely still young, a hotshot, and he knows it. He lives for the girls and the party scene. I like the guy, we’re just too different.
“You sure you don’t wanna come out tonight? Let loose a little?”
I shake my head. “Nah, man, you go on ahead.”
He leaves and I take the time to decompress. After a long, hot shower to wash the day off of me, I study the Pirates’ players and plan my game for tomorrow. Knowing who I’m up against is crucial. I can plan what type of pitches to throw based on whether they’re left or right handed, what the player usually hits, and where they struggle. Still, I have to incorporate outside information into my strategy for the game, such as how many players are already on base.
Every game is different and the same player can create different obstacles from game to game.
I lose track of time and my eyes hurt from hours of watching game footage. I fall back onto my mattress exhausted, but I make sure to shoot Lila a text before I pass out.
We’ve been talking on and off all day. I wish her luck on her exams and she wishes me luck for the game tomorrow in case she doesn’t get a chance to talk to me. I’m ho
ping she watches my game tomorrow. It’ll tell me a lot about where she’s at with us if she does. It means not all hope is lost.
Unfortunately, I don’t get the restful sleep I was hoping for, thanks to Owen and the other guys. He comes barging into the room without bothering to even attempt to be quiet.
“Shit, man, sorry,” he says, though the apology is half-assed considering he flips the light on and digs into a huge burger. “I got some fries if you want some.” He offers me the bag and I’m quick to decline. I’m pushed over the edge when he turns on the TV.
“Seriously, bro? Come on, we have a game tomorrow. I’d like to not be totally exhausted.”
“Chill, Rookie. It’s not even three o’clock. You’ll get your beauty rest, don’t you worry.”
I throw the pillow over my head and pray he passes out soon.
The rest of the night is restless and when my alarm goes off at seven, I groan. I want to let it ring as payback to Owen, but when I glance to his bed, I see the dude is passed out, not even fazed.
After breakfast, I meet up with Coach McGuire, or Mick as we call him. We go over plays and strategies before our warm up.
“You good to go today, Graham? You look tired.”
“Yeah, I was actually going to talk to you about that. I can’t room with Owen anymore. I know the policy; we all room together at one point or another, but he and I don’t exactly…jive well. Our personalities are too different.”
“I can’t assign roommates, if you’re asking me to. I don’t want you guys to pick your roommates because that can cause problems too.”
“Come on, Coach. Let me room with Jimmy or something.”
“Even if that were fine with me, I don’t think his wife would go for it.” I look at him, puzzled. What does his wife have against me? “She travels with him. They room together.”
“Do all the guys do that?”
“Some of them, but we only pay for the families. If you got a girlfriend coming along, you get your own room on your own dime. Hell, we pay ya enough.” He pats me on the shoulder as he passes by.
Another part of my plan is falling into place. I just hope Lila is crazy enough to go along with it.
FIVE
Lila
A part of my soul dies as I become one of those girls who checks her phone every fifteen minutes waiting on a text. I thought something would’ve at least come through before my final, to wish me luck or whatever, but nothing showed. It’s game day, which means he’s probably in the zone and focused, doing whatever pro athletes do before a game.
Even worse…I’ve started stalking his social media. I will not add him as a friend on Facebook, but I scroll through his professional page. I’m sure it’s not even run by him, but seeing his face brings back the memories of our date, which I’m still half convinced I made up in a dream or psychotic break.
I refuse to google him, knowing nothing good can come out of it, but I search Instagram next to see if he has a public profile there. There’s one account with a ton of followers that might belong to him, but it’s not very active. Then there’s one wildly popular fan page putting up real pictures people send in of spotting him in the wild.
The newest picture is from two days ago, tagged at a bar in Texas. He’s with some pretty blonde, his smile broad, as she kisses his cheek. Ouch. At least it’s not a picture of them having a date on the home plate or something. A part of me also hopes they didn’t reach home base, in the proverbial dating world sense.
I close out of the app, not allowing myself to overreact to a photo. He’s free to do what and whom he wants. He’s single. One date does not a relationship make.
Plus, he’s a ballplayer, and there’s a reason they’re called the boys of summer, after all.
By the time I get back to my place and turn on the TV, the game has already started. It’s the top of the third inning, meaning the Sox are at bat and the score is tied one to one.
Bridget comes out of her room and joins me on the couch to watch the game. “Any word from lover boy?”
“Nothing today.” I pass her my unlocked phone that somehow still happens to be open on the Instagram account where I found his picture with the blonde chick. Weird.
“If he likes chicks like this, you don’t want him anyway, but from the looks of this picture, it’s not like that.”
“What do you mean? He’s smiling. He seems to be perfectly content where he’s at.”
“Look at his eyes. They’re wide, shocked, like I don’t know, he wasn’t expecting the kiss? He’s pulling away from her, ever so slightly, but you can see it.”
I study the photo the way she does. I see the little differences she points out, but I wasn’t there so I don’t know the whole story.
“Whatever. He’s not my boyfriend. I didn’t like, pee on him and mark my territory or anything. He can do what he wants.”
“Yeah, okay, Lila, whatever you say.” She scoffs like she sees through my bluff. She is my best friend, after all, so she probably does.
“If nursing doesn’t work out for you, you should be a detective or something.”
“I know, right? I watch enough cop shows. I got this shit down.”
We spend the next couple of hours watching the game as she tells me all about the hottest players—and no, I don’t mean hottest at bat. I mean their literal physical attractiveness.
The Sox are down by one by the sixth inning. Hollis is pitching and I get lost in conversation with my best friend, but when I look back at the TV, the game is halted. The Sox coach is on the mound and Hollis is holding his shoulder as he rotates the joint.
I glance at Bridget, asking her with my eyes what happened? Which is dumb because she’s the one I was talking to. Of course she doesn’t know what’s going on. I turn up the volume and listen to the announcers. They’ve been raving about Pittsburgh the whole game which is what made me lower the volume to begin with. Now I’m kicking myself and wondering what I missed. All they tell me is they’re pulling Hollis from the game and sending in a reliever. Like, no shit, I could’ve told myself that.
I check my phone, knowing the effort is futile and he’s not going to text me while the game is still ongoing. Still, I can’t help send him a message, just to let him know I’m worried about him.
The rest of the game drags on. The reliever lets two more runs through over the next inning and a half and when a new pitcher is brought in for the eighth inning, the Sox are still down by three.
I turn off the game before the end of the ninth, knowing my team’s about to lose. My brain is still fried from my final earlier and my nerves are even more fried from the game. I really need something to help me chill out.
“Wanna grab some dinner?” I ask.
Bridget turns to me with a broad smile and grabs her purse. We head toward campus where one of our favorite Taquerias is located. It’s bound to be packed, considering it’s a Tuesday, but we’ll risk the crowd for some bomb tacos and endless margaritas.
The drinks are strong enough to almost make me forget about my phone and Hollis.
Almost.
“What is it about him? I’ve never seen you like this before and you’ve only been on one date.”
“You know what they say. When you know, you know.” She chokes on her taco and I laugh at her expense. “I’m kidding. I don’t know. It’s not about his fame or money,” I tell her before she gets any ideas. “He seems like a genuine guy and that’s hard to come by.”
“Just be careful, okay?”
“Why should I? I mean, don’t I deserve to be a little reckless? I’ve been a straight-A student my entire life. I never broke any rules, I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket or been grounded. Isn’t my turn to have a little fun?”
Bridget’s eyes are wide as she looks at me, and I must look slightly crazed. She’s acting like she has no idea who I am right now.
“Okay, obviously I’m not going to do anything crazy. It’s not in my nature. But like, if I wanted to, I should
. I’m due. It’s only fair I get to have a little fun. Right?” The more I talk, the less sure of my words I am. I’m a type-A, OCD-prone cliché.
“I’m all about having fun. I didn’t think you’d have a rebellious streak with a pro ballplayer, but I guess he’s the perfect target. Once in a lifetime type of fun.” Her brows wiggle with what I can only imagine are dirty thoughts.
I let my mind drift and imagine the possibilities. I may be a little drunk and the sexy Spanish music may have me feeling some type of way right now, but my mind goes to my deep, dark fantasies.
The kind I haven’t been able to stop thinking of since I met Hollis.
The dirty kind. The sexy kind. Clothes are being thrown, dirty words are getting tossed around like we’re discussing the weather, the bench in the dugout is hard and cold on my back.
Okay, I may have fallen asleep watching Fast Times at Ridgemont High last night.
“LILA!” I snap out of my daydream and see my best friend holding my phone in her outstretched hand. It’s ringing and Hollis’ name is on the screen. “Take it. I’ll handle the bill.”
I answer the call and mouth thank you to her while I take it outside so I can hear.
“Hey, Ace.” Ace? Who the hell am I? He chuckles, a sound I hear pretty often whenever I talk to him.
“Hey, Lila. I saw your text. I wasn’t sure if you’d catch the game.”
“Yeah, my final ended around five. I caught the majority of it. Is your shoulder okay?”
“Nothing a little ice won’t fix.” At least he has a long stretch between games before he has to pitch again. “How was your final?”
How was your final? It’s an ordinary question, but it’s difficult when it’s asked by an extraordinary person. I can barely remember what I ate for dinner fifteen minutes ago and he wants me to think back four hours’ worth to my exam I pushed out of my brain the minute I put my pencil down? Come on, Hollis, be realistic.
“It was fine. I feel confident.” It’s a miracle I’ve been able to focus on school at all with this man occupying the forefront of my mind ninety percent of the time.
Fastball Flirt (The Boys of Summer Series Book 1) Page 3