The Mascot: A Fan & Player Baseball Romance

by Ana Shay

  “Sounds like Penn,” I muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She finally took a breath in, which was good because I was worried she was going to faint. “You were so busy with work,” Her voice trailed off as her eyes looked at me. “And with all that stuff going on with Tate, I didn’t want to add more stress on you.”

  I know she wasn’t trying to blame me, but I couldn’t help but think if I’d been a little more perceptive, maybe I would have seen this coming. “So, you and my brother?” I asked, tasting the words as I said them.

  Her cheeks flushed, and feet shuffled, “I like Penn a lot. But we haven’t had the boyfriend/girlfriend discussion because I wanted him to talk to you first. That didn’t exactly work out.” She huffed out an annoyed breath.

  I was silent for a beat, taking all this in. When my eyes met hers, I could see the hope and optimism in her eyes. “Okay,” I said calmly. Penn’s always liked Mary, and if she wants to forget my brother’s acne-ridden, fart-popping days, then she can have him. There’s no reason I should really push them apart.

  “Okay?” Her voice thick with hesitancy.

  I shrugged, “Well, you’re both adults. I can’t stop you from seeing my brother, no matter how gross I think it is.” She suppressed the smile growing on her lips and kept it to a tiny twitch at the edges. I knew inside she was dancing. It was sweet, if not a little creepy.

  “Really?” I nodded and was met with a squeal that was so loud; a few people on the office floor turned and looked.

  While still in her hold, I said, “Do you remember the time I accidently spat my bubblegum into Daisy Lance’s hair, and she had to get it all chopped off into that ugly bob that lasted a year?”

  “Yes…”

  “Hurt my brother, and that will happen to you, except it won’t be an accident this time.” She hugged me. It felt weird and kind of gross that my boss and BFF was dating my brother, but what could I do.

  “We should go out tonight and celebrate.” Her eyes were darting across the room as she planned the celebration in her head. All the potential weirdness that I thought might linger disappeared with her last squeal. I was happy for her. And I suppose I was pleased for Penn. Even if it did make me feel slightly queasy.

  “You want us to go out and celebrate the fact that you’re dating my brother?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

  She whacked me playfully on the arm. “No silly, that you got Josh fired.” She said the words so casually, as though she hadn’t just blown my mind with that comment.

  “What? Josh hasn’t been fired.” My eyes were shut; I was replaying that entire conversation with Jonah and Josh in my head again.

  She chuckled, “Then what do you call that?” She pointed across the office to Josh’s see-through office. The one I walked out of not long ago. Sure enough, he was packing his stuff away in boxes. He held up a baseball, studying the signature on it before shaking his head and tossing it into one of the boxes.

  “I didn’t do that,” I said under my breath.

  She rolled her eyes, patting me on the back. “Well, no, you’re right. He did it to himself. Someone tipped Jonah off about Josh’s behavior towards you and a couple of the other interns. Word around the office is that he was looked into, and he was taking credit for all your Catty appearances.” She whispered like she was afraid someone would hear us even though we’re in a soundproof glass box.

  My jaw slacked; I couldn’t keep my eyes off Josh while he angrily packed away his belongings. “You’re kidding? He took credit for Catty?”

  Her eyebrows rose as she nodded profusely. “It wasn’t the only thing he took credit for. Basically, everything you did, he claimed was him. You haven’t even heard the worst part.”

  “It gets worse. For who? Him or me?”

  She chuckled, “Kind of both, except yours has a happy ending. His doesn’t. So get this. While you weren’t getting paid anything for doing your job and being Catty, Josh was taking home a hefty bonus because they thought he was the mascot.”

  My brain nearly fried. I knew Josh wasn’t a nice guy. I didn’t think he was inherently evil. “Did Tate tip Jonah off?” It was the only rational explanation. He had enough clout in the franchise to get it looked into. He was the one to donate the money so I could get paid. He is the one with the friendly relationship with Jonah. There he is again, taking on one of my battles when I didn’t even ask him to.

  She tilted her head, “I mean, he might have mentioned something, but I do know someone may have left an anonymous letter on Jonah’s desk, informing him of Josh’s behavior.” The way she said someone, I knew who she was referring to.

  My eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You did that for me?” Her smirk said it all.

  She shrugged, “It was the least I could do considering I started seeing your brother without your permission and all.”

  “Well, I certainly can’t say no to you dating him now, can I?” I joked, pulling her in for another hug. “Thank you.” I smiled into her hair.

  “No, thank you. Are we still BFFs?” She asked as we came out of our embrace.

  I brought my fist up. “BFFs and the best marketing team here,” She bumped my fist, and an unspoken appreciation passed between us.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

  “Is that Tate?” Mary asked brightly, looking down at my phone sitting on the table.

  “Probably.” I picked up the phone, eyeing the message.

  Tate: I have a bet with Grayson that you’ve already eaten all the cupcakes I got you. Let me know. I’ve got 50 bucks riding on this.

  A small smile played on my lips as I turned and looked at Mary, whose broad grin nearly startled me. “Are you and Tate back together now?” I certainly think Tate never thought we weren’t together. She gasped at my facial expression, jumping from foot to foot in excitement. “Oh! What did your parents think of him?”

  I leaned my knee on my chair, spinning around to check my messages. My parents love him. Even my mom, who has no understanding or idea of Baseball, couldn’t stop talking about him and his positive energy. She wouldn’t stop mentioning how much our auras complimented each other after Penn mentioned Tate asked him about me. “I think they thought he was a very nice baseball player,” I said calmly.

  Her body deflated. “That’s it? Nothing else?”

  “I didn’t introduce him as anything else.” I ignored the fact that Penn told them everything they needed to know. Some things I had only told Mary, so it was apparent how he found them out.

  “God, you’re annoying sometimes.” I feigned hurt. “Why can’t you just admit what everyone else sees? That you’re crazy about him, and he’s crazy about you. Why can’t you two just run off into the sunset and be crazy Catfish lovers?”

  I tilted my head, giving her a pandering look to hide my smile. “You know why.” I paused; I didn’t want to go into it. “Because of Sam,”

  She rolled her eyes, “This isn’t about Sam, and we both know it. You’re too afraid to jump into something with him because you don’t want to be the one that cares too much again. If you really stopped and thought about your logic, you’d see you’re already wrong. Tate has put more effort into getting your attention than his batting average. He wouldn’t be going through all this effort with you if he didn’t care.”

  Chewing my bottom lip, I was about to argue when she dropped a few magazines on my keyboard. “I dropped these off for you this morning, but I guess you were too busy with work to notice them.”

  Right there on the front page was Sam’s big perfect, and maybe slightly plastic face staring at me with a ring on her hand. Theo Leitch was right behind her, and the headline read, ‘Finally Engaged!’

  She made a little smug noise as I studied the paper. “Skip to page 18, paragraph three.”

  I took my time reading the words, surprised at Tate's statement to the magazine. He congratulated the happy couple and said he was delighted that they both could move on from their relationship.

 
It was nearly midnight when I got home, the subway taking longer than usual because someone inadvertently pulled the alarm. They thought it could just stop at any point and get off with no issues. It took thirty minutes for the guard to explain the button should only be used in emergencies, adding another thirty minutes to my never-ending journey home.

  Exhausted, I clambered up the steps, cursing myself for not putting Tate’s gifts in my locker because they were so heavy. I had to take short breaks every now and again before finally getting to my apartment block.

  The long and grueling journey motivated me to save up the unexpected paychecks to buy myself a nice used car. Driving to the stadium would be more affordable than renting somewhere closer. Plus, I liked my place. I didn’t want to move. It might be meager and nowhere near as grand as Tate’s, but it’s mine. My little corner of the world. Emphasis on little.

  As the rickety elevator dinged onto my floor and the door opened, I looked up, thanking the elevator gods. It was something I always did when I got in that thing. After the first time, I got stuck in it for an hour with one of my neighbors who had sushi. It would have been fine if it weren’t seventy degrees outside and we had no air conditioning. When I looked ahead, I stopped in my tracks.

  My door.

  What the hell has happened to my door?

  I shuffled forward, dragging the gifts and my bag down the hall. I tilted my head, inspecting the door as I stood in front of it. The peeling green paint with red underneath had gone, replaced with a beautiful shiny blue. Perfectly painted. I lifted my hand to the middle of the door where a silver catfish knocker had been installed. I played with the tail, lightly knocking against the wood. Tate. I hadn’t responded to any of his messages today because I was too busy. Little did I know that he was spending one of his days off sanding down and painting my front door.

  A scurrying noise startled me, and a mouse squeaked as it ran past. I’ll admire the door in the morning when I felt a little safer. When I opened it, there was a lone envelope sitting on the floor. I knew it was from Tate before picking it up and opening it.

  Cali,

  I hope you like your door. From the first moment I came here, I knew I wanted it to reflect your personality. Bold. Passionate… and slightly unhinged. I hope you like it.

  Tate.

  P.S. Don’t worry. I fixed your hinges too.

  I laughed out loud at his stupid letter, still in disbelief that he would take the time to do this for me. I wondered how long it took him and why he would spend an entire off day during the season just to paint my door. Those days are precious and few and far between. Then Mary’s words ricocheted through my mind. This isn’t a game to him. If he didn’t want you, he wouldn’t be trying this hard.

  It left me to wonder why I’ve been trying just as hard to prove to him and myself that he means nothing to me. Was it because I didn’t want to get hurt, or was I too afraid to admit how much I liked him? Since he came into my life as more than just a player I admired, it was like I was on a rollercoaster, never knowing what was going to happen next, but I liked it. No one has ever gone to such an effort, and maybe it was about time I started appreciating it.

  I rummaged through my bag, looking for my phone. Tate had stopped texting me after I thanked him for the cupcakes. I’m assuming it’s because he was busy here.

  Cali: The door. What can I say? It’s fantastic. I love it. Thank you.

  It didn’t take long for Tate to respond. His message was waiting for me after I’d put my PJs on and brushed my teeth.

  Tate: You’re welcome. I’m guessing this means you haven’t tried the bed yet…

  The bed? I looked over to my usual seersucker sheets, and nothing looked different from when I left it this morning.

  Tate: Sorry if it crossed a line, but a girl like you deserves to sleep on clouds.

  Spreading my hand, I flattened it onto the bed, pushing down and groaning when I felt the soft, supportive cushion. The killer spike that I used to avoid was gone, replaced with more memory foam than I know what to do with. Carefully, I edged onto the bed, worried I might break it or that I’m still on the train on the way home, and this is all a dream.

  As my body sagged into the bed, the mattress held firm around me. I felt like I was melding into it. That somehow, I was becoming one with the firm cushioning around me. With every move my body made, my aching muscles relaxed, and that tension headache slowly started to melt away. It almost felt like I was being massaged by the memory foam. The only other time I’ve felt this good was when I woke up in Tate’s bed, and that mattress was expensive. If he bought me the same mattress, it’s potentially the most expensive thing I now own.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  My eyes flung open in surprise. I completely forgot about Tate, too busy deliriously enjoying how the bed soothed my muscles. It was so deep; it took me a second to roll over and get my phone to check his message.

  Tate: Can I assume you’re not responding because you’re enjoying the mattress?

  Tate: Hold that thought. Enjoying the mattress…I’m getting some pretty good images in my head right now.

  I laughed out loud, pulling the sheet over myself and nestling further into the bed. His playful tone made me want to be playful back. Daring even. I typed and re-typed the message out to him countless times, second-guessing myself and if I should do it. He may be trying to win me over, but would that be going too far? I typed out a message and then deleted it quickly. Should I do it? I bit my lip, lifting the sheet, looking down at myself. Before I could send anything, Tate had messaged me again.

  Tate: I got you the mattress with the extra layer of memory foam and may have upgraded your pillows too.

  I giggled, snuggling down into the pillows. This really was a dream. I had to be dreaming. Everything was so comfortable and perfect; it didn’t seem possible. Another buzz from my phone.

  Tate: Please tell me I haven’t offended you.

  The poor guy. I need to respond before he comes over just to check I’m okay. I chewed my bottom lip one last time before building up enough courage to lift the sheet up and take a picture of myself in bed. It was the same angle as the one he sent me before, so all he could see were my PJs in the form of a catfish tank and silky blue shorts to match.

  Attaching the picture to my message, I wrote:

  Cali: Now you’ve done it. I’m never leaving the bed.

  Tate: [Fistbiting Gif]

  Tate: As long as you let me join you sometime. ;)

  Cali: I’ll think about it.

  Tate: Oh yeah? What will you think about?

  I pinched my brows.

  Cali: What do you mean?

  Tate: When you think about letting me stay over again. Will you think about the first time I was in bed with you? When I nudged your tiny panties to the side and put my fingers knuckle-deep inside you? I loved watching the way you squirmed while I moved my fingers inside. Your perfect little pussy glistened, I needed a taste.

  I know I did it. By sending that photo, I’d initiated the potential of sexting, but I didn’t think Tate would walk into it so brazenly. I could feel myself heating from the words. Not from embarrassment. He just had to remind me of that, didn’t he? Pressure builds between my legs. I start to subtly rub my thighs together to try and ease some of that tension.

  Tate: Your pussy tastes delicious by the way. Strawberry champagne. I first realized that’s what you tasted like when you were dripping on your office notes. Do you remember that?

  Cali: That’s not something I could forget.

  Tate: Good because that’s something we’ll need to do again and again. Your pussy is too delectable not to eat on a daily basis.

  Cali: You’re so bad Tate.

  Tate: You’re not stopping me. Is it because you’re thinking about the time you were in my bed, and I was inside you, playing with your clit while your pussy squeezed me tight, That was a good day too.

  I needed air. It seemed now even when Tate’s not around, I have diffi
culty breathing. The pressure felt more intense, and a tingly feeling was growing at my core. My fingers itched because I wanted to touch myself to relieve it, but it felt strange. Not touching myself. But, doing it while Tate texted me and thinking about him.

  Tate: Right now, I’m thinking about the time my cock was in your mouth and your tongue was skating across it before you popped it out to lick up all the precum from the tip. I swear I nearly fainted when you flicked the underside and refused to put me back in your mouth until I begged for it.

  I wanted to write something back. Something that would turn him on as equally as he was turning me on, but I didn’t know what to say. My brain was a little fuzzy because the throbbing between my thighs was making it hard to focus.

  Cali: I was actually thinking about the time you took me from behind, when I was on all fours in nothing but your catfish socks. I loved the feeling of your hands pulling at my hair,

  I pressed send, cringing at my own words, hoping I didn’t embarrass myself too much. I was still hot, thinking about what I should do about it. He sent through another message.

  Tate: God Cali, you make me so hot. I want to touch you so badly, to tease your clit, then roll it around on my tongue until you scream my name so your whole apartment block hears. Then once I’ve done it, I want to do it again.

  There above the text was a picture of his hand stuffed in his boxers. He was holding his clearly rock-hard erection in his hands. My mouth watered, and my body ached. I wanted to touch him just as badly, but tonight, I’d have to settle with touching myself.