The Shortstop (8 page)

“We’ll be on the patio.”

Daphne looks uneasy for a minute. She knows we’re about to talk about her. “Relax, Shelton. I missed my friend.”

“Yeah, okay. And I’m the tooth fairy.”

I motion for Billy to follow me. I haven’t had time to talk to him. He seems happy, and so does Daphne. The two are taking it slowly. They haven’t fought since he got here a week ago. That has to be worth something. They aren’t living together. I completely agree with that decision. The dynamics that occur when those two share a residence are a bit scary. Their entire relationship is scary. He picked up and changed his life for her. That’s a huge move to make because of a chick.

Just as the sliding patio door clicks shut, he says, “Things are good,” without my having to ask my question.

I settle beside him on a chaise. “Glad to hear it. You two seem good.”

“We are.” He takes a sip of his beer, considering something. “It’s like we’re walking on eggshells around each other. You know when you start dating someone and you hold back, not ready to show the real you yet? That’s how we’re acting. It’s weird. We’ve seen each other at our worst. Sometimes I think we’re playing games, other times I think we skipped right over this part and need to experience it to move forward.” He looks at me and shrugs. “I know it’s fucking ridiculous.” After another long swig of beer, he asks, “So how’s the ball playing? I hear you’re tearing it up.”

“It’s been great. Even as the new kid, I’m starting every game. They’re watching closely. I’m ready. I’m so ready I can taste it.”

“That’s awesome. You’ve been ready ever since the day I met you. So what happens next?”

“Well, now I either wait for an opening so I can slide right up…or we negotiate my start for next season. Dad’s been working hard to secure a contract with the Orioles for next year. It seems so far away, though.”

“It’s not that far away. We’re in June already. Season is practically over.”

“Not quite. Then I think maybe it’s for the best if we stay put and I play here for a while. It’ll give Annie the chance to acclimate a bit.”

Billy catches the worry in my voice. “Everything okay with her?”

“Yeah. The first couple of weeks were rough on her, but she’s doing much better.” I distractedly peel the label off my beer bottle. “I think once you two start school, she’ll relax into a routine. Annie needs a purpose.”

“Unlike Daphne.” He laughs at his joke.

“They’re different, that’s for sure. I do appreciate her being here. She’s a good friend to Annie.”

Billy smirks and responds, “Yeah, she’s very lovable when she isn’t a bitch.”

“I’m not touching that one, man.”

Billy and I continue to talk about my team, and I share some funny stories from traveling with the guys. Most are single, and watching them interact with the crazy groupies that follow us around is better than watching TV. Being in a relationship doesn’t seem to stop some from participating in the debauchery. Annie has mentioned she has nothing in common with the other girlfriends or wives. She can count on one hand how many she could see as friends. The majority of them are shallow and oblivious to reality.

If I told her some of the things I’ve seen firsthand, it would send her running. I’ve purposely held back. It has nothing to do with losing her trust. She knows I’d never cheat. The guys I play with are good guys. Their faults lie with their priorities and their disrespect for monogamy. Their mindless cheating does make my life more difficult. Most female fans assume we are all like that.

I may be in love, but I’m not dead or blind. Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of unwanted attention over my lifetime. I know how to handle a pushy chick. The ones I’ve met since moving here are in a class of their own. I wonder if every horny female in a hundred-mile radius moves toward the stadium like zombies chasing their next meal. They’re everywhere. The guys said that during the season they appear in droves. They tend to focus on the IronBirds more than the Orioles because we’re young, horny, and dumb…making their chances of snagging a pro easier at the source.

“Guys, dinner’s ready,” Annie says from the sliding door.

“Smells awesome, Annie. Can’t wait.” Billy moves past her into the apartment.

“I love you, Mrs. Lawson-to-be,” I say as I follow Billy.

“I know,” she says with a confident smile. It lights up her whole face, stopping me in my tracks. I simply can’t help but pull her toward me for a good long kiss.

My girl is the complete package. Besides her stunning looks, she’s kind, sweet, generous, brilliant, and most of all, mine. Along with playing ball, she’s everything I want or need…nothing can change that.

Annie

“Annie!”

I turn to see Quint’s dad trotting toward me.

“Hi, Mr. Lawson.”

It’s not unusual for him to just show up at a game. Being from southern Jersey, it’s just a short drive to Baltimore. Mrs. Lawson’s hours aren’t as flexible. Even though they are both schoolteachers, she’s also a camp director during the summer months. She started when Quint and I attended camp as kids and hasn’t left.

“I didn’t realize you’d be here today.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He pulls me into a warm hug. “I didn’t know myself until this morning. It’s great to be so close. I just got here. I’m not sure Quint knows. He was on the field when I texted him.” He watches as I nervously play with my engagement ring. Nodding at my fidgeting, he asks, “Nervous?”

“You have no idea.”

“Me too,” he admits with a shrug. When he does that he reminds me so much of Quint, they have the same eyes and smile.

From the concession area, we hear cheering break out from the stands. The noise prompts me to start walking toward my section behind home plate. “They must be taking the field. Where are you sitting?”

“Same as you but with them,” he responds uneasily. “It’s not going to be easy sitting there knowing they are watching his every move.”

I laugh at the look on his face. Just like me, Mr. Lawson usually doesn’t get nervous when Quint plays. Playing in the big leagues is a whole new ball game for all of us, pun intended.

He leaves me off at my row, says a quick hello to Daphne and Billy, and makes his way to his seat.

“He looks more nervous than you.” Daphne confirms my thoughts, quickly picking up on Mr. Lawson’s frazzled nerves.

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

We all watch Quint’s dad shake hands with two gentlemen sitting a few rows ahead of us. They aren’t just two men at Ripken Stadium catching a minor-league ball game. They are two Yankees recruiters, and they’re here today specifically to watch Quint play.

The. Fucking. Yankees!

They’ve been closely watching his baseball career. They admitted they came late to the party, and they want him. Even though they’re not in the market for a shortstop, that doesn’t stop them from pursuing “talent such as Mr. Lawson’s.” Their current shortstop isn’t hitting. Having been with them for years, it’s now time to either trade him or force him to retire. Enter Quint Lawson.

I can’t imagine that the Orioles management will be happy with the Yankees’ sudden interest in their rookie shortstop. It’s not unusual for Yankees
recruiters to “poach” players that they know have talent and will be an asset to the team. They have quite a reputation, and a bankroll that allows them to get away with it. Apparently all’s fair in professional baseball recruiting. I almost feel bad for the Orioles. In Quint’s situation, it doesn’t even come down to money. We have no idea what the Yankees will offer. Honestly, Quint would play for them for free.

Their presence here today is making me a wreck. Watching Quint, you’d never know that this game is extremely important to his future. I guess that’s the way it should be. I’ll handle the jitters, and he can play the game he loves more than life itself…possibly more than me. Of course, I know he loves me. But I always wonder if it came down to baseball or me, which would he choose?

Baseball is part of his soul, the blood in his veins. It’s his purpose. You can see it emanating from him as clear as day, an unmistakable aura. It’s orgasmic to watch him play, and it’s one of my favorite things to do. He looks so damn hot in his tight white baseball pants. Even from a distance, you can see the sinew of every muscle in his long legs as he flexes before making a play. He commands his shortstop position with authority. I sit gawking at my guy just like every other female in this stadium is doing at the moment. His smile lights up his whole face. He laughs with his teammates as if this were just any other ordinary weekday game.

“How can he not be nervous? I’d be freaking out right now,” Daphne says while staring at Quint as he warms up. When she senses my stare, she turns and asks, “What?”

“You’re making
me
more nervous. And I don’t get nervous when he plays, ever…unlike today, where I’m freaking out.” As my fiancé goes about with his warm-up without a care in the world, I sit shaking from the importance of this game.

“Sorry,” she apologizes.

“Quint plays best under pressure,” Billy says matter-of-factly.

“I know he does, but it’s the
Yankees
,” I say emphasizing Yankees in an exaggerated whisper.

“Annie, you of all people should know he can handle it. Don’t you remember that game at FSU
when ESPN’s Max Bretos was there for alumni weekend? Quint shrugged it off as if it didn’t matter in the least.”

“I know.” I remember that day well. Max could have easily buried him if Quint didn’t perform that game. He went four for four, including a grand slam. When he needs to bring it, he always manages to do so and then some.

After warm-ups, Quint finds me and winks on his way back to the dugout. Many of the female fans turn to see who’s caught his attention. My proud returning smile is the confirmation they need to throw me their dirty looks. The female season-ticket holders have all come to know me. Their premium seating is a dead giveaway of their relentless “dedication” to the sport. Their disposable incomes enable them to “support” the sport. The varying outfits that are more suitable for a club environment than a baseball game might as well be blinking neon signs above their heads saying: “I’M HERE TO GET ME A BALL PLAYER.”

Daphne stares right back at them, raising her brows and crossing her arms. She doesn’t come to many of Quint’s games, but when she does, she assumes the role of my bodyguard.

“Those bitches are asking for it,” she says while shaking her head.

“Please do not get into a brawl today. I want to see this game,” Billy says impatiently.

“Ignore them. I’m used to it.” I’m quite aware of the looks I receive at every home game. They can’t see my eyes through my sunglasses, but I can clearly see each of their made-up faces judging me from head to toe. They disapprovingly purse their Chanel-painted lips whenever I take my seat. My faded cutoff denim shorts, my Chucks, my number seven Lawson IronBirds jersey, and my hat-wearing-ponytailed-head probably piss them all off.

Screw each and every one of them.

Purposefully tuning them all out, I focus on the field. I’m not even aware that I’m jiggling my legs in tune to the national anthem until Daphne puts a firm hand on my thigh. “You’re driving me nuts,” she whispers harshly.

“Sorry.”

I need some way to channel my energy. The frayed threads of my cutoffs become my next victim. String by string I pull and pluck while the players take the field.

The pitcher watches his catcher flash signs. Quint watches the batter with a trained eye. He wears his hat low over his eyes while crouching in a wide-leg stance. Waiting for that ball to head his way, it’s almost as if he’s daring the batter and the ball itself to just go ahead and try. At six foot three, his reach makes it hard to get a ball past him. I may be biased being his fiancée, but there isn’t a player I know that approaches a game with the same defense as Quint. Deep in concentration, he analyzes every pitch and every hit as if they’re part of a scientific equation needing to be solved.

Inning by inning, my shorts continue to take the brunt of my nerves. Billy blissfully enjoys the hot July heat, watching his favorite sport, beer in one hand and hot dog in the other. Daphne looks bored, staring at her phone more than the field. As usual, my eyes are glued to Quint. As usual, he gives everything he’s got the entire game. I keep alternating my focus between Quint and the recruiters, dying of curiosity and wondering what they’re thinking.

It’s silly how my heart stops every time the ball heads in his direction. I know I’m not worried that he’ll make an error. The same holds true when he’s up at bat. I once told him sometimes I wish the ball never went his way. He laughed at me, teasing that was the point of the game…not to mention he plays shortstop. Most hits are right at him while flying at a hundred miles an hour.

Only during the bottom of the ninth inning do I finally breathe a sigh of relief. The IronBirds won, Quint’s game was flawless, and the recruiters are still here with Mr. Lawson, even after the stadium begins to clear. That’s a telltale sign they are sticking around to chat.

“What now?” Daphne asks what I’m thinking.

“Not sure. I guess we wait and see. We may as well leave. I have a feeling he’ll be a while.”

“I could use a dip in the pool. It’s hot as fuck out here.” She leans toward Billy and whispers something into his ear. Billy grins, and they start making out like I’m not even here.

“I’m heading home. I need air conditioning and a glass of wine,” I say before standing to leave. I’m given no response, so I doubt they heard me.

Making my way out of the stadium, I text Quint to tell him I’m heading back to the apartment. I immediately get a response from him.

OK. Wish me luck
.

Daphne and Billy finally realized I’d left them. They called on their way home, asking if I’d like to grab dinner while waiting for Quint. I declined. I’d much rather be here when Quint gets home. It’s already been an hour since the game ended. My thoughts are spinning with random questions that I can’t wait to ask.

Will he be a Yankee?

Will he start immediately?

Will we have to move to New York?

That last one has me excited and terrified. I’d love to live in New York. We’ve been there many times. I adore everything about the city. On the other hand, if he has to relocate immediately, then every one of my plans for the fall would become null and void. I’d either have to stay in Maryland to complete a semester before I could request a transfer, or I’d drop out and worry about my master’s degree at a later date. The latter would make getting a teaching job impossible until I did. Neither of us would have predicted moving up to the majors could happen so soon.

I can’t worry about all that right now.

Besides, the more I live my new life with Quint, the more I am second-guessing my career. There was a time when all I wanted was to be a schoolteacher. If circumstances were different, I’d no doubt continue with that goal. I’m realizing it’s not conducive to being Mrs. Quint Lawson. I’ve argued with myself his career shouldn’t dictate mine. With all things considered, the argument falls flat. I love him more than anyone, and living apart isn’t an option. So, that means where he goes I go…which makes my backup plan to be a writer that much more appealing.

I’ve researched self-publishing and all its benefits. I’m not sure I can make a living from it. When I mentioned that to Quint, he flipped out. He argued I shouldn’t discount writing as a career because of the money.

He said, “
Annie, financially we’re set. It’s
our contract
,
our future, and our money!”

I get that. That doesn’t mean I can shut off the nagging voice in my head. I’ll never, ever be able to compete with his salary. The whole situation frustrates me.

Hours later, I still haven’t heard from Quint. I decide on a quick shower before getting cozy in bed with my Kindle. The next thing I know, I hear voices in the apartment. I must have dozed off. I feel like I’ve slept for hours instead of minutes. The bedroom door opens slowly before Quint pokes in his head.

“Babe, you sleeping?”

“No, I’m up. Hi.”

“Hey, baby.”

He walks over and sits on the side of the bed and leans in for a quick kiss. I can’t tell what he’s thinking in the darkened room. “Well?” I ask impatiently.

The smile that spreads across his face is unmistakable. “I have to drive up with my dad. We’re meeting with Yankees management in the morning.”

“Does that mean…?” I start bouncing in bed like a monkey. He laughs at my enthusiasm.

“It means they are interested in bringing me right up. No stopping at the minors, going directly to the big leagues. We haven’t gotten into any details yet. Most of the time was spent discussing my current contract and buying it out.”

“Quint, this is amazing! I’m so happy for you.”

“Us.”