The Mascot: A Fan & Player Baseball Romance

by Ana Shay

  The players filtered into the hall, looking downcast because I'm guessing they didn't manage to get the lead off Boston tonight. It's their first loss this year, so I'm sure they're taking it harder than usual. Resting my head back on the wall, I wait for the team to make their way into the locker room so I can leave and head home. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. From the corner of my eye, I could see Tate trudging down the hall.

  Even with my limited view from the mask, I could tell he's perfection in those pants. "Catty." He says, pointing at me. I move my big head around and point at myself in question. "Yes. I'm talking to you." Walking over to me, determination burned in his eyes. "You've been ignoring me." He scowled, staring into the googly eyes with intent. I sweat because for a split second, I think he knows it's me under here. "Ever since that ATV incident, you’re acting like I don't exist."

  Lowering my head, I gave a slight nod. There were two reasons I hadn’t been so forthcoming with him. Firstly, and the main reason was that I didn’t want to embarrass him again. Making him the laughingstock of the MLB isn’t something I want to make a habit of. The second reason is that I melt whenever I’m in Tate’s presence. I’m already hot as it is in this costume. I’m afraid I’ll turn into a puddle if I spend too much time around him.

  "I thoroughly enjoyed our mock romp." He winked, or at least I think he winks; it's hard to tell through the mesh. He could just have a tick. Sitting down next to me, he leaned back. "Just so you know, I like to be part of the jokes. If you want to use me again. I'm right here."

  I didn't know what to do. Should I take the head off and reveal it's me? Would he encourage the mock humping more then? No, wait, that’s not a good idea. I'm a hot, sweaty mess. Even if I’m not going to sleep with Tate, there's no way I want him to see me like this. Instead, I nod vigorously, giving him a thumbs up with my fin, or at least, I think it looks like a thumbs up.

  He blew out a long breath, and now I'm fretting, wondering how long he's going to stay sitting there, swallowing up the air with his mere presence. I might suffocate in this thing if it’s too long.

  "Catty," He says more seriously this time. I turn the gigantic fish head in his direction so that I can see him more clearly. He looks wearily in my direction. The googly eyes staring him down. "Have you ever have had a crush on a girl?" My shoulders tensed. Does he know it's me under here? Raising his hand, he pats me on the shoulder, but it's more of a whack with his strength. I hold back a cough of pain. "Ah, sorry, man. I know it’s tough for you to find someone considering you’re, you know, half fish, half man and all." He chuckled. The sound warmed me from the inside. As if I wasn't hot enough in this thing. Playing with the bill of his cap, he tilted his head, thinking. "Maybe we could set you up with the Miami mascot. He's half fish too." He looks over for approval, and I shake my head. "No?” Tate pursed his lips. “You're right to be cautious. That pointy nose could be lethal. How would you even kiss?” He asked as though I could answer. I shrugged dramatically. “Maybe we need to go outside out of baseball to find you a love match. I'll look into it." He leaned forward, more determined than ever. It was then I realized Tate probably needed a hobby or some friends outside Baseball.

  "I met someone." Is what I think he says, still having trouble hearing him because he got quieter. Taking his cap off completely this time, He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "There's this girl." He starts, and my heart beats faster. Is it me he’s talking about? "I haven't liked someone in a long time." He paused. "But there's something about her, and it's not just that she can probably reel off my stats without batting her eyelashes, although that is a turn-on." Pointing at me. "Take note of that, Catty. If you find someone who knows everything about you, it will rock your world." He stared at me, and I nod diligently. He's not wrong; I can roll his stats off in my sleep. I didn’t think I was so obvious. Then again, he did see my desk.

  "What's crazy, though. As much as she loves me as a player, she wants absolutely nothing to do with me.” He scoffed at his own words. “I think it's because she's worried about losing her job. I don't want to push just in case she doesn't like me, and she’s trying to let me down gently.” That was further from the truth than I wanted to admit to myself.

  He rested his elbows on his thighs, revealing that broad, muscular back, and I couldn't stop my finned hand from reaching out and patting it. "Thanks, Catty," He pouted. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen him do, and I’ve seen him do a lot. "You know, I think it might be her boss. He's an ass, and I think he's trying to convince her that she can't date players." I dramatically shrug my shoulders. "I checked with one of the assistant coaches, and they said it's fine.” A shiver ran down my spine, knowing that he checked. Surely, he would only do that if he really liked me. “But then do I run the risk of trying again with her? What if she really isn't interested, and I'm the one who needs to leave her alone?" He contemplated, leaning back against the wall. Out of all the things to happen today, I did not expect to be consoling Tate as a giant fish over his inability to figure me out.

  He scrubbed his big paw over his face, looking up to the ceiling, letting out a saddened laugh. "I think I've got this infatuation with her, which is funny, right? Because she’s my biggest fan. The stalker becomes the stalkee."

  He waits for me to answer. I don’t know what to do. "Tate? We need you to sign some stuff." An assistant with a mic says, walking down the hallway.

  "Sure, Darren. I'll be there in a second." Tate smiled.

  He clasped my knee, sending zings of electricity up my spine. I hate that I love how it feels. "Thanks for the chat, Catty. While I'm on my away trip, I'll let you know if I find a mascot to match your exacting standards.” He got up, sauntered down the hallway without looking back. I was left sitting there, gobsmacked and slightly lovestruck.

  When I got home, the first things I saw were the bright blue hydrangeas and pink peonies peeking back at me in a greeting. It’s been over a week, and they still look as fresh as the day Tate bought them for me. I sighed, pulling my greasy, sweaty hair out of the ponytail, and walked towards the kitchenette. I threw my jacket over my tiny dining table and dropped my bag on the bed. Too much happened today for me to think straight. I needed a shower before I could fully process that conversation with Tate.

  I groaned as my aching body slogged towards the bathroom, ready to wash the long day off. The hot water soothed my sore muscles as I did my best to massage the knots out. That costume adds around 35 pounds of extra weight, and with all the dancing, my muscles were screaming, along with a straining headache from Josh. Long story short, he stayed late just to yell at me about the fact I tripped up on the stadium steps while with a child. If that wasn’t enough, he then left me three spreadsheets to finish before I could leave the office. The guy’s an idiot. I swear I could poop gold, and he’d still find an issue with the nugget size. I wanted to pretend that the way he treated me didn’t affect me. That it didn’t slowly chip away at my confidence one day at a time. But it did.

  I don’t know how long I stood in the shower, but it was long enough to feel like a crinkled mess. I wrapped myself in my catfish bathrobe and sat on the bed while I mindlessly fiddled with my phone. Tate crossed my mind again as I tried to make sense of all the things he said to me. Well, to Catty. I doubt he would have been that honest if he knew I was the Catty crusader.

  As I brushed the knots out of my hair, a small smile forms on my lips when a bright blue piece of paper catches my eye. Tate’s messy handwriting was scrawled across it, and I could barely make out his number. The note from the flowers sat just underneath it. Playing with my lips, I contemplated programming it into my phone. After everything Tate said today, I feel bad about how quickly I brushed him off. Pushing him aside seemed to have no effect on Josh’s treatment of me, which stung the most. He’s still terrible.

  The flower's scent wafted, and a pang of guilt washed over me. Even if nothing comes of it, I really should say thank you. It was rude of me to not thank him
. I reasoned with myself. If I leave it, and he never contacts me again, I would never get to say thank you. So, I should definitely text him. Just to say thank you.

  Sitting up, I grabbed the paper, typed the number in, and shot off a text before I could talk myself out of it.

  Cali: Hi Tate. Great game today. I’m sorry I was so rude last week. I just wanted to say a belated thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful and make my apartment smell amazing.

  I cringed at how pathetic the message sounded. The blue tick appeared. Tate has read it, and now it’s official. I’ve given him my number. I’ve opened up the communication channel between us.

  Tate: Hey. So, I don't have this number saved, but the only person I've sent flowers to except my mom in the last month is Cali. Is it you? Oh wait, it could be Grayson...

  I laughed at his stupid joke. My heart skipped a beat, knowing it was only me he was sending flowers to and that he was still thinking about me.

  Cali: I don't want to know what you and Grayson get up to behind closed doors. Yes, it's Cali

  Tate: Are you sure? It would probably blow your baseball-loving mind.

  Cali: I'm sure. Let me be the one to create my own fantasies.

  Tate: Fantasies, huh? More like FANtasies.

  Cali: Stop!

  Tate: You started it. Although, after seeing your makeshift work calendar, I’m scared about what your fantasies entail.

  I giggled when I read his flirty message. I wanted to say something cute back, only I didn’t know what.

  Cali: Maybe one day I’ll let you in on the secret.

  Tate: A guy can dream

  I felt myself getting hotter when I thought about all the things I’d do to Tate if we were ever alone. They weren’t decent, but I think he’d be game.

  Tate: Can I ask you something?

  That last message drew my thoughts back to our conversation.

  Cali: Sure.

  Tate: Why did you decide to message me now? I gave you my number weeks ago, and then you brutally turned me down in front of my entire team. It’s something my ego will never forget.

  My body slumped. If I explained everything that was going on in my head, it would be a long rambling message. One that would make no sense. I also felt a little sheepish that I was so concerned about losing my job. I still am. Josh is worse when I’m happy, but it’s not against the rules. Both Tate and Mary confirmed as much.

  Cali: Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have come in so hot. My mind was all over the place that day.

  Tate: Work stressing you out?

  Cali: Yeah, I guess. I thought if you weren’t in the picture, things would be easier.

  Tate: Were they?

  Cali: No.

  Tate: I'm sorry.

  Cali: Not your fault.

  Tate: So, California, is this your way of letting me know I you’re up for a date?

  It took me five minutes of rewriting the message before I was happy with my reply. I didn’t want to come off too strong, but equally, I wanted him to know I’d be interested.

  Cali: Take from that what you will, but we can at least be friends.

  Tate: I'm holding onto the fact that you said at least. :)

  We spent the next few hours texting and talking about our weeks. It was easy to get lost in Tate. He always had a question to ask. It was like he couldn’t get enough of me, and I clearly couldn’t get enough of him.

  I woke up the next morning with a phone glued to my cheek and several unanswered texts from Tate. One of which nearly made me drop my phone when I opened it. Tate sent me a picture of his bare chest to see if I was awake. When he realized I wasn’t, he left me a simple goodnight text.

  Man, I already had it bad.

  Chapter 8

  "Strike Two."

  “Argh,” I grunted, whacking the bat in annoyance, fully expecting it to split from the impact. When it didn’t, I straightened up, cracking my neck, trying to get my shit together. I glared at the umpire, annoyed at how generous he’d been with the strike zone today. Too generous. If I’m not careful, I’m going to get my third strikeout of the day. Something That won’t be good for maintaining my MVP caliber stats. We may still have 120 games left, but I need to maintain them if I wanted to be considered again this year.

  The New York Knaves pitcher, Adam Jeffries, stared me down, hoping to psych me out. Too bad I’ve played him enough to know his tells. His nose twitched. In a split second, he throws; I know it’s a fastball. I lift my front leg, winding the bat back to swing with enough momentum to knock that ball out of the park. The next few seconds are like slow motion as I watch the ball slowly sink. There's no way I'm going to hit it, but I can't stop my body now. It’s already in full swing.

  "Strike Three."

  I hear the leather of the catcher's mitt against the ball as the umpire waves his arms. Well, crap. Adam smiled smugly on the mound, gripping the ball in his hand. Someone must have told him about his tell. Walking back to the dugout, I kicked the wood, feeling defeated. Where's Catty when I need him? He high-fived Austin in the fourth inning, and the guy scored a three-run homer straight after. I need some of that luck.

  “Tate deserved better!” The shrill voice of a fan cuts through the noise, making me jump. It’s not often that I can clearly hear the chants, but she’s close by. The dedication and love from the Catfish fans is something I’ve never seen for another team, and I love it. I looked up to the crowd, fully intending to wave at the fan, and maybe sign a ball if she had one. When I spot her, I’m met with a very pleasant surprise. Standing right above the dugout, looking like she’s about to murder the umpire, is the girl I haven’t been able to get off my mind since I met her. Cali threatened him with a foam fin. She’d look utterly menacing if she weren’t so cute. It takes her a minute to notice me watching her, but when she does, she gives me a bright smile and waves, her blonde hair shining in the dusky light.

  Since she apologized and thanked me for the flowers, we’ve been texting daily. Nothing major, just about our days, and she usually gives me some tips on my game if I’ve played. Something I found annoying with Sam, but with Cali, I like it. Partly because she knows what she’s talking about and partly because I imagine her on the field showing me, in nothing but lingerie. Besides my fantasies, it’s all very plutonic for now, but hey, I’ve got her number, and she’s not ignoring me, so that’s the first step. Patience is the key with a girl like her, and that’s something I have an abundance of. I already know she’s not interested in my fancy car or big apartment. She just wants to talk to me. Tate Sorenson, the guy. Not the brand which Sam so often craved. It makes me like her even more. So much so that I have to remind myself to cool it. Relax and pace myself.

  Not trying to sound like an asshole, but I didn’t have to work for it in High School. Girls would ask me out. It was Senior Year when I first met Sam. We started dating quickly after that. I liked her determined and tenacious attitude to begin with. I thought it meant that we’d be well suited. Little did I know the insidious nature our relationship would take. She was like a leech, slowly taking over minor aspects of my life. Kind of like a little leech that didn’t bother me too much. I didn’t notice how much of my life she’d overtaken until she got so fat with blood it was hard for her to go unnoticed anymore. That’s when I had to get rid of her.

  Cali’s the exact opposite to her in every way.

  Younger. Full of life - not herself. Loves that I play ball but doesn’t care about the fame. In fact, I’m pretty confident that’s the thing that puts her off the most about me. Even though she has enough bobbleheads of me to fill our 40-man roster, she’s still making me chase her. I love it.

  As I raised my hand to wave back, some dude plops down beside her, handing her a hot dog which she takes eagerly. They’re perfectly matched, what with her fin hand and his whiskered baseball hat, like the perfect little couple. I watch the guy follow Cali’s gaze, and his smile brightened, just like hers when it lands on me, waving just as enthusias
tically as her.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  My lip curled, and I have to stop myself from snarling. Rage courses through my bones, and adrenaline takes over. The only way I feel any release is by clenching my fists. If only I were going up to bat now. I’d smash the shit out of that ball. Who is this guy encroaching on my territory?

  “Sorenson! Get in the dugout.” Coach Snider yelled. I stalked down the steps, through the dugout to the locker room, and paced. My fists were clenched and jaw tight. All that relief from seeing her after the lousy at-bat left my body, replaced with annoyance and anger.

  Why am I letting myself get so worked up?

  We’ve only been talking a few weeks. I had no claim on her, and we aren’t dating. It’s just after a few of our flirty messages, I thought we were both heading in the same direction. I thought she wanted us to get to know each other first. She’s never once mentioned another guy before. There was no ring on her finger when I checked the first and second time I met her. I thought she was a free agent, ready for me to acquire.

  Maybe he’s the reason she hasn’t jumped at the chance to go on a date with me. What if I’ve read the whole situation wrong, and she’s only humoring me because she wants to be friends with a famous ballplayer. Maybe her only interest was watching me break wood on the plate and not in bed.

  Kill me now if that’s the case. I want her. I’ve had too many fantasies about her at this point for it not to happen.

  “Dude, what the hell has gotten into you? You need to calm down.” Max, one of the pitchers, followed me in. “You’ve struck out three times; it’s not a big deal. You’ll get up to bat at least two more times this game.”