Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1) (23 page)

“Who the fuck is Bob?” I ask, seeing red. How the fuck could she have a date knowing I was coming over?

“Bob is my dildo. He’s my go to cock, always hard, always ready. He never lets me down. You didn’t get me off so someone... or some
thing
... has to.” With that she closes her bathroom door, leaving me in her bedroom to listen to her fucking moaning and telling him yes, yes, yes repeatedly while my sorry excuse for a dick laughs at me.

I
n true Sarah fashion, she threw some hard facts at me the other night, reminding me of just how stupid I can be. Even though I spent the night with her, in her bed, we never touched and honestly it broke my heart. It hit me like a ton of bricks that we were finally over, that our relationship had met its end. I hate that my last encounter with her was a quick blowjob in the shower where I referred to her by another woman’s name. She deserved better from me.

Sarah told me that I needed to come clean with Daisy when I see her and not hide what went down in Seattle. It’s really not a conversation that I want to have with Daisy, if she were ever to speak to me again, because in my mind that just solidifies the rumors from the blog.

First thing’s first, I have to get Daisy to speak to me, and right now that’s not happening. As much as it pained me to leave Seattle a day early, I chose to fly back with the team after our last game. I wanted to use the off day to see Daisy and apologize.

The downside of returning with the team means I’m required to attend class, even though this is my last week. The professor is going on and on about the importance of clean enunciation when publicly speaking. He’s right, far too many athletes don’t enunciate when they speak, often times leaving people scratching their heads at what they’re saying. I shouldn’t complain about it though since they’re allowed to be on television and I’m not. Clearly it’s working for them.

Maybe that’s the key to life – never speak clearly. It’ll leave people wondering what you’re saying and often agreeing with you because they don’t want to be rude and ask you to repeat yourself. It’s something I may need to try when I meet with Stone and we go over what I learned. Somehow I don’t think he’ll be impressed.

As soon as class is dismissed, I’m running across campus to the library. That is where I found her last time, and I’m hoping she’s a creature of habit. What I’m going to say, I have no idea, but am hoping that the words will flow once I see her. Except I don’t because she’s not in the cubicle I was hoping to find her in. It’s now being occupied by the Jolly Green Giant who I don’t want to tap on the shoulder to ask if he’s seen Daisy.

Feeling defeated, I start the long trek back to my car, pulling out my phone to text her. It’s one of two or three-dozen texts I’ve sent since I fucked up with Sarah and none of them have been answered. A normal person would start to think that maybe the object of your affections has fallen ill or is in the hospital, but since I stalked the shit out of her and have seen her leave her apartment, I know that’s not the case. I curse the parking in Boston because when I saw her I was looking for a place to park and couldn’t just jump out of my car and chase her down.

I was hoping we could grab some lunch today...

It’s a desperate attempt to get her attention and I’ve failed to tell her exactly how sorry I am because Sarah beat it into me that those words need to be said to her in person and not through text message. I hate it when Sarah’s right, which is more often than not. I wait to see if she’s going to respond before pocketing my phone and getting into my car. I could go home and practice my public speaking in front of a mirror or go to the stadium.

The stadium always wins out for me. It’s my home away from home. My serenity.

After splitting with the Mariners two games to two, we’re hosting the Texas Rangers for three games before the Los Angeles Angels come to town, bringing their power hitter, Albert Pujols, with them. That man scares me when he’s up to bat and can make my hand twitch like there’s no tomorrow. I’ve caught a few of his line drives and have had to hide the fact that my palm was burning from snagging the ball wrong. I could tell he knew, though, as he stared me down on his walk back to the dugout.

As soon as I step into the clubhouse, I’m being called to Stone’s office. The walk can be daunting, but I have a lot of respect for him and the fact that we’re somewhat close in age helps. His secretary isn’t at her desk when I arrive, so I walk in, knocking on his doorjamb.

“Ethan, come on in. Take a seat,” he says as he looks up from his paperwork.

I do as I’m told, burying my hand under my leg to keep it still.

“Hand bothering you today?” I both hate and like that he notices. I don’t want him to think it’ll ever affect my job on the field, but it worries me that he does.

“Sometimes you make me nervous, Sir.” I finish off by calling him sir, hoping to ease the building tension.

“Just worried about you is all,” he says, folding his hands on his desk. “How’s the media stuff been working out?”

“It’s okay,” I say, honestly. “I’ve learned the dos and don’ts of what to post on social media, how words can be misconstrued, and to always enunciate my words when giving an interview.”

“That’s good. I’ve spoken to your professor, and he’s assured me that he’s taught you everything from the course, so tonight after the game you can speak to the media if they ask for you.”

I can’t hide the grin that I know is plastered all over my face. I stand and shake his hand, elated that he has enough faith in me to not screw up. I hope that I don’t make a fool out of myself when given the opportunity and that I do something tonight that will be newsworthy.

“I heard about your secret project,” Stone says, causing me to sit back down.

I run my free hand through my hair, trying to decipher if I’m in trouble or not.

“It’s a nice thing to do – to help out like that.”

I nod and say thank you, hoping that what I’ve done doesn’t cause upset or fall on deaf ears. Frankly, I’m out of options. Stone dismisses me, but not before telling me that his wife’s parents are in attendance tonight. Why he felt the need to say this is beyond me, but he loves taking every jab he can to remind me of who he’s married to and where they sit.

I opt not to work-out, but to start changing for the game. The routine is the same: Socks, cup, jock strap, Under Armor and finally my pants, but not my jersey. I’ll change into that later. I leave my cleats untied and sit on my stool, waiting. My thoughts return to what Stone said, about how it’s nice to help out. I don’t know if what I’ve done is a good thing or not, but it’s the only thing I can think of to get Daisy’s attention. If it’s successful, I owe the ladies in the main office lunch, roses and a day of pampering.

The clubhouse opens for the media and I find myself sitting tall and proud. As soon as the reporter from NESN comes over to me, I know I’m ready.

“Ethan, care to chat today?” That has been their standard question every day since I joined the team. I nod eagerly like a damn buffoon.

“Great. Your batting average is one of the highest in the league and there’s chatter that you’ll be a shoo-in for the batting title. This is only your second season, are you surpassing your personal expectations?”

What the fuck is this noise? Why didn’t media training train me on how to answer these types of questions instead of worrying about my relationship status on Facebook?

I pretend that there’s something fascinating on the floor and bend sideways to pick it up before answering. This sly move gives me only seconds of a reprieve before the microphone is being thrust into my face.

“Each day that I go out there, it’s to win for Boston and my teammates.” The reporter smiles and thanks me for my time. I close my eyes and mentally kick my ass for being so fucking dumb when it comes to this shit. It makes me want to call my college coach and tell him to mandate that a class like this be taken.

As soon as it’s time, I’m out of the clubhouse and onto the field. I find myself looking for Daisy every chance I get, only to find her seat empty. When we start stretching out in centerfield, I angle myself so I can spot her when she starts descending the stairs. My stalking levels know no bounds right now and I’m ashamed of myself.

By the time batting practice is over, she’s still not here, which is late for her. We head back into the clubhouse to change and meet with Diamond and the other coaches to go over the game. It’s hard to predict how a game is going to go. If pitching is tight, but batting isn’t, the game could be a battle. End up with a shitty night of pitching and swift bats – we could be putting up matching runs. Ideally, you want your strong pitcher to out duel theirs and let the bats do all the talking. The guy we’re facing tonight gave me my first grand slam last year. I thanked him by having him sign a game ball since the one I hit over the wall was taken by a fan. It probably wasn’t very nice of me, but I needed the memento.

We come back out to do some more game prep and to start the pomp and circumstance that goes into every game. As I step out, the music is a bit louder and the fans are filling their seats. Looking around I see people stuffing their faces with hotdogs, nachos and popcorn, with beer being the chaser. It’s been so long since I’ve been a spectator at a game. I miss those days.

My eyes finally land on Daisy’s seat and, much to my surprise, it’s empty. I try not to let this bother me but it does. Meyers slaps me on the back as he passes, reminding me that standing here looking like an idiot isn’t doing anyone any good.

I take my spot on the track and take off my hat. Everyone is instructed to rise for the playing of our National Anthem. I keep my eyes focused on the flag while I sing the words in my head. The moment the singer has finished, fireworks go off, signaling the start of the game. I turn away from where Daisy usually sits, unwilling to see her seat still empty, and head to the dugout to grab my glove.

We tell each other good luck and then we all pat Hawk Sinclair on the ass as we go by him. He’s in the zone and doesn’t pay us any attention. Once he gets the first batter under his belt, he’ll loosen up.

The moment my cleats touch the warning track, I’m looking left. My feet halt in their tracks and my heart stops. Sitting in the seat next to Daisy is her grandfather, and it’s my grand gesture, as Sarah calls it that put him there. After my calls and texts to her went unanswered, I had to come up with something to let her know that she’s important to me; so I made arrangements to have the Renegades staff do what they could to bring her grandfather to the game, and it looks like they’ve succeeded.

I should walk over to her and say hi, but I don’t. I need to let everything settle and see if she comes to me. I’ve extended the olive branch - hell it’s a fucking tree - and if she wants to be with me, the ball is in her court now.