20. Smack Me Upside the Head
20
SMACK ME UPSIDE THE HEAD
Tanner
Theoretically, the All-Star break is a vacation. For most players, it’s a couple days off from the grueling daily grind of baseball season.
Even if you play in the All-Star game, it shouldn’t feel like work since the conventional baseball wisdom says don’t try too hard in this one.
But that’s not how I’ll approach the diamond tonight. The fans who pay top dollar for seats don’t want to watch a bunch of rich, privileged guys swing half-heartedly and run half-assed.
The All-Star game is not a vacation, and that’s fine by me. I’m here to give it my all.
But when I wake up in San Francisco on Thursday morning, I feel like my bones don’t fit in my body. I didn’t sleep well, tossing and turning all night, checking my phone foolishly at three in the morning.
That was dumb, not to mention pointless, since I didn’t hear from anyone I wanted to hear from.
Now I’m paying the price, with an achy shoulder and a barking neck.
I peel myself out of bed and trudge to the bathroom to take care of business, then brush my teeth. When I return to the suite, I put on compression shorts and roll through some stretches, loosening up.
When I’m feeling limber again, I grab my phone and pick a pump-me-up playlist. No Outrageous Record allowed. Not a single tune of stupid longing.
I pick a list with classic rock tunes, blue-collar anthems, and the like. I tug on running shorts and a shirt, and once I lace up my sneakers, I take off, heading out into the July morning where cool, wet air slaps me like a wet burrito in the face.
This fog is bullshit.
My first instinct is to tell Luke it’s misty and miserable here and that’s summertime for you in this city. I tap open my texts, but when I look at the thread, the date from the last exchange makes my chest tighten. I haven’t heard from him since the night of the Outrageous Record concert.
Tanner: I’ll swing by your place before the show.
Luke: See ya then.
I’m a sorry sack for having wanted a text when I landed yesterday in San Francisco. Or after the Home Run Derby last night. Or this morning.
He’s not texting you. You’re not his boyfriend .
I stuff the phone in the holder on my arm and run through the fog.
A few hours later, my buddy Zane texts: Get your lazy ass out of the hotel since I’m here to pick up the worst player in the league .
As I text back with I plan to leave the scent of my awesomeness all over your leather seats , I should feel just the momentary pleasure of hanging with a friend on the way to the ballpark.
Trouble is, I don’t feel footloose and carefree.
I still feel like a fucking idiot for having wanted to hear from Luke. Logically, there’s no reason to even expect a text.
He doesn’t normally text me every day when I’m on the road. Hell, he hardly texts me at all when we’re traveling and vice versa. We only text if we feel the need to troll each other.
Just enjoy your last day with him next week and then move on.
But as I bound down the stairwell, I face a hard fact. I’m not looking forward to the Christmas Day of Fucking as much as I want.
I can only trick myself for so long. Luke Remington is not out of my system. He’s in it, but he can’t be.
One more time with him won’t fix that. One more time with him will only hurt.
I reach the lobby, where I tug my ball cap lower, and grab my shades from the neck of my shirt. I put them on as I walk through the maze of guests on the ground floor, feeling like a douche for trying this hard not to be recognized.
But I’m annoyed.
With me.
When I hit the street, I’m fueled by self-loathing as I march straight to Zane’s sweet red ride. I yank on the door too hard and slide in, throwing myself on the seat. “Hey,” I grumble.
My friend on the Dragons jerks his gaze to me like what gives . “Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”
Me. I did. For wanting someone I can’t have.
“No one,” I mutter.
“Then what the fuck is wrong with you?”
I breathe out hard, a racehorse huffing. “That’s a good question.”
“Well, dickhead, maybe next time consider walking to the ballpark when you’re in a shitty-ass mood,” he says, then flicks on the blinker and turns into traffic.
I drag my hands down my face, like I can wipe away my mood. “Sorry. It’s not you.”
“No shit it’s not me,” he says, as he maneuvers into San Francisco traffic. “I literally just picked you up like the awesome friend I am. Course it’s not me.”
“I appreciate the ride,” I say, trying again to fix my attitude.
“That’s a start,” he says.
I can’t take it out on him. I shouldn’t be mad. I heave a sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean to infect your car with my mood.”
He flashes me a we’re good now smile as he slows at the light. When the car stops, he taps the dashboard. “Now, do you need to talk, or want me to do you the honors of letting you hear my favorite comedian’s podcast?”
I smile weakly. “Comedian, please.”
“I got you, bud,” he says, stabbing the button on his playlist. His car fills with jokes at top volume, and it drowns out my thoughts as he drives us to the San Francisco Dragons ballpark, the home of the game.
Once we park in the players’ lot and head inside, I try harder with a genuine, “Thanks again.”
Zane offers a fist for knocking. “Anytime. Always happy to smack you upside the head.”
“Appreciate it.”
He lifts a brow in question. “Was it dude trouble?”
Embarrassed, but a little relieved he figured it out, I just nod. “Yeah. There’s this guy…”
I can’t say anything more. Zane knows Luke. We’re all friends. Hell, Zane’s boyfriend is my agent, Maddox, which makes him Luke’s agent too. They’ll both be at the wedding this weekend. Luke and I agreed to keep this thing just between us.
“But it’s no big deal,” I add.
Zane casts me a doubtful look. “Hmm. Doesn’t sound like it’s not a big deal. Sounds like you’re into him.”
“More than I should be,” I say, with a helpless shrug since that doesn’t give Luke away. “But it’s going nowhere.”
Zane pats my shoulder sympathetically as we head to the clubhouse. We’re in the same league, so we’ll share the home team one. “But I’ve got a surefire way to get him out of your mind,” he says brightly.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Nothing a game of catch won’t cure.”
I laugh, feeling it deep in my soul for the first time today. “Yeah. Baseball is good like that.”
A couple hours later, I’m on the diamond with Zane and Gunnar, lobbing easy throws around. Feeling a little like myself again.
After our impromptu warmup session, Gunnar ambles to me and taps my shoulder with his glove. “A little baseball, a little wedding. Life is good, man,” he says, then stares at the ballpark with an expansive gaze and a grin that says we’re fucking lucky.
We sure are. It’s almost time to give the fans their money’s worth.
We head inside to get ready to play a game.
It’s the bottom of the third. Bases are loaded. I’m at the plate. This is my chance to fix the mess I’ve made of this game so far. I struck out in my first plate appearance. Butchered an easy throw to first base in the second inning.
But I can make up for that all with one fat swing.
I adjust my batting glove then get in the box, resting the bat on my shoulder, ready to do some serious damage with it.
I stare down the pitcher. It’s Sedgwick from the Aces. He goes into the windup. I watch the ball, not his leg kick as he throws a fireball down the middle.
I’m going to crush that motherfucker.
I put an annihilating swing on it, and the sound of the crack is deafening. The ball soars. That bad boy is going to land with a splash in San Francisco Bay, I just know it.
I run to first as the center fielder backs up against the wall. Going, going…
Sorry, sucker. That ball is marked out of here .
But he’s determined as he sticks up a glove, and…
Fuck me .
The center fielder pulls my grand slam out of the air and right into his leather, then thrusts up a victorious arm.
I kick some dirt on the base path. “Fuck that,” I mutter.
When I trudge off the field, having thoroughly disappointed the fans, I barely glance at the stands. But once I’m in the dugout, something catches my attention from the stands.
Or rather, someone waving at me.
My sister.
I knew she was going to be here. I gave her two tickets. But I wasn’t expecting her to bring a handsome blond guy with her.
When the game ends, I reluctantly make my way to Amelia. Normally, I’m happy to see her. But normally, she doesn’t ambush me with surprise setups. When I reach her by the stands, I give my best friendly hello so the guy she’s with doesn’t know my sister surprised me.
Though, now that I think about it, didn’t she text me the other night? Something about traveling and Soren was too? And I guess she did tell me they were both flying here to meet with a client.
But in my defense, I’ve had other things on my mind.
Other men.
Best to put on my polite face. Don’t want them to know I’m all moony for someone else.
“Good to see you,” I say to my sister, then stretch to give her a kiss on the cheek as I put my frustration aside.
“Hey, you. Thanks again for the tickets. And I wanted you to meet Soren,” she says, completely unable to hide her matchmaker enthusiasm.
“Nice to meet you,” I say to the guy who looks a little like Thor, all Norse god, flaxen-haired good looks and a great smile.
“I promise this was her idea,” he says, as we shake. “I was happy to wait for coffee in New York.”
I smile, grateful he’s acknowledged the mini elephant in the ballpark. “Don’t worry. I figured that out already,” I say.
Amelia rolls her eyes, laughing. “And you love me. Anyway, I can see you’re getting along,” she says, then makes a show of waggling her phone. “Oh, look! I need to take a quick call.”
She scurries out of the row.
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a call,” I say.
Soren laughs. “She’s not obvious at all.”
“Not one bit. Did you enjoy the game? I mean, except for the third inning, and the second inning, and the first.”
“What first three innings?” he asks.
Maybe my sister is right. Maybe Soren is what I need. He’s nice enough, at least from what I can tell in these few minutes together as I give it my all, chatting with the handsome, affable attorney. But the clock is ticking, and I need to go do press interviews and put on my post-game face. “It was nice meeting you,” I say, right as Amelia returns.
“Nice meeting you too.”
Amelia grins at Soren, then me. “I’m so glad we ran into you tonight, Tanner.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you just ran into me.”
“And you guys can do coffee in New York,” she adds.
Soren meets my gaze with bright blue eyes. “I’d love to.”
I wouldn’t. But I should want to. “Sounds great.”
Maybe by then I won’t be thinking about some other guy. When I see Luke at the wedding, I’ll need to devote all my energy to returning to the friend zone. I’ll have to tell him, too, that Christmas is canceled.
Later, I return to my hotel and shut the door to my room as my phone buzzes.
When Luke’s name flashes on the screen, my heart beats too fast.
Luke: You up?