9. HOPE
CHAPTER 9
HOPE
T he team won the first game and I have secured a dating coach. No one should blame me for dancing to some salsa in my hotel bathroom while I blow dry my hair. The cord stops me from doing a full spin, but I keep humming an old timey song I remember seeing my parents dance in the kitchen when I was a kid.
My clown of an ex used to make fun of me when I sang or danced from a tune playing in my head. At first either he made it seem like he was laughing with me, enjoying my joy out of the goodness of his heart—or that’s simply what I wanted to believe all on my own. Thinking about that asshole, I dance even harder and work up a sweat even though I just showered.
“Whew.” I shut off the dryer, leaving still a lot of wet hair to just air dry while I watch TV and order some room service.
We travel tomorrow morning bright and early to the next away game, which is going to be in the middle of Kansas. I have no doubt several of the players are going out to enjoy the nightlife of Clearwater, but I have zero desire to join them. What’s in my future is salad and a brownie—a perfectly balanced menu—and HGTV.
I make an Olympic jump and release a little squeal at how much I bounce on the soft mattress. So what if I have the hotel’s tiniest room with a twin bed because I’m the only woman who regularly travels with the team? At least I don’t have to share with anyone stinky. And when Rose is allowed to travel with the team for certain games, where we do share rooms, I have no complaints because she’s not stinky.
I paw around the bed until I find the remote and click the TV on. Right as I find the channel I want, my phone buzzes on my nightstand. After a brief moment of no further buzzing, I figure the text can wait and focus on the show with the cute twin brothers who flip houses. And then my phone buzzes again.
“Ugh.” I drop my hand on the phone and pick it up.
Annoying Cowboy
Evening, darlin’
Would you like to start our lessons now?
I sit up straight, heart hammering in my throat.
Me
What?
NOW?
Annoying Cowboy
No time like the present
Come down to the lobby
Me
What if I had plans already?
Annoying Cowboy
If it was with anyone else you wouldn’t need me
Me
With MYSELF
His three dots come and go several times until he sends a string of texts.
Annoying Cowboy
Oh
You’re right
I shouldn’t have assumed that wasn’t a valid option
Good night
“Ugh!” I slap my forehead. I know I’m right in taking a stance. Even if we have a working arrangement, he needs to be considerate of my time too. But he is the one providing the favor, and I’m privy to his schedule and know we won’t have another fairly chill night like tonight for about a week.
Me
Okay wait
I’ll make an exception
After hitting send, I realize how much of a jerk I sound and I freeze. So does my brain, because apparently I can’t think of a single thing to patch that up a bit.
Annoying Cowboy
See you in the lobby
Of course, this is when I realize that I’m in my sports bra and boy shorts, and I sincerely doubt Starr or anyone else will want to see that.
I bid a heartfelt goodbye to the television and turn it off to go in search of something to wear. I don’t pack a lot of options because I’m not a fan of a heavy suitcase, and most of my clothes are official apparel, but I did bring a pair of faded boyfriend jeans and three basic tops from the GAP. White sneakers, wallet chained to my jeans, some chapstick, my phone and the room card, and I’m making my way down the elevator in record time. I tap my toe against the elevator’s panel wall, urging it to go faster.
My limbs tingle with nerves because I have no idea what Starr has in store. He could either come outright to say that he’s changed his mind and that I’m acting ridiculous and need to grow up—which, fair—or pull a worse move like standing me up just like some of the app dates have.
“Nah,” I mumble to myself. “Starr seems more standup than I thought.”
The elevator dings to signal the arrival and my heart seems to jump in my throat. A busy lobby at seven on a random Thursday night feels odd, like maybe what I expected was to find Cade Starr standing by himself waiting for me.
I step out and almost get ran over by a couple exiting the other elevator. The laughter of some dude bros gets my attention, but they’re not any of the Wild players or staff so I ignore them. I sweep my eyes around, trying to find a cowboy-shaped pitcher, and instead spot our catcher at the reception. He’s explaining something in that calm, measured way of his, but I don’t think the receptionist is paying any attention to his words. She looks completely besotted at the sight of a Korean American baseball superstar with chiseled features and deep eyes. I’m so glad I didn’t strike the coaching deal with Logan Kim, because maybe I’d look just like the receptionist.
“Over here.”
My spine stiffens at the familiar voice with a twang. I veer left and it gets me out of the shade of some tall potted plants, and there’s the cowboy. With the Boricua.
I stop, still with a whole yard between us. “This isn’t an ambush, is it?”
“Of what kind?” Starr’s eyebrows knot in confusion.
“Never mind, but what is the flirt doing here?” I gasp before answering my own question. “Don’t tell me you brought him here to make me practice?”
“No, I was promised a beer in exchange for my presence,” Rivera explains.
I stare at him for a long moment. “Oh yeah? Did the nutrition team approve that?”
“Well…”
Sighing, Starr says, “We’re not in our turf. Anyone who sees the two of us alone might draw the wrong conclusions. Whereas three of us will look like friends.”
“I don’t think that show has held up well,” a different voice adds from behind me. Logan Kim walks towards us, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His jaw length straight hair is half tucked behind one ear.
Rivera blows a raspberry. “Dude, no one’s talking about the show.”
“Then about what?” the catcher asks, standing next to me.
“Nunya.”
“Oh is that your latest girlfriend?”
Meanwhile, Starr takes his phone out of his pocket. “Look at the time, it’s I-want-to-get-the-hell-away-from-these-stooges o’clock.”
I snort a laugh that somehow is what makes the other two stop their nonsensical conversation. Clearing my throat, I answer Kim’s original question. “My uh, two buddies here and I are going out for a non alcoholic drink. Am I right?” And at this I level A Look at Rivera.
“Right.” He jerks his head in a nod.
“Then I’ll join,” Kim declares. “I need to make sure this puppy of a pitcher stays out of trouble.”
“What about me? Is it okay if I get in trouble?” Rivera puts a hand on his chest.
“Puppy?” Starr scrunches up his face but falls into step beside Kim. “Couldn’t you say something more interesting like leopard cub? Or even a baby shark?”
As Rivera walks between them and drops his arms on their shoulders, saying, “I hate that song.”
I rub my temples.
It’s already pretty hard to have a conversation with Starr where I don’t end up humiliated, but now with those two in tow this is a disaster waiting to happen.
“Aren’t you coming, darlin’?”
I snap my head up. At some point, Starr fell back and is just a few feet from me, waiting. Kim and Rivera are already out the door, still visibly arguing about something I’m sure belongs to a comedy skit. Where’s Rose to capture them at their silliest moments like this? As much as they annoy me, fans would love to hear their banter.
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
We walk in blissful silence across the lobby until joining the other two. Rivera is still ribbing the fairly stoic catcher for sport, but Kim lobbies back some dry sarcasm that I can respect.
“So, here’s my idea,” Starr says beside me.
I finally look at him—really look at him. He’s wearing a nondescript gray cap backwards, and a strand of smooth brown hair escapes from the hole to curl over his forehead. He’s in a matching Henley, black jeans, and black high tops with white trims. The guy put zero effort into his look and still looks fresh out of a catalogue.
Oops, he’s still talking. “—To see how you rate on the scale of good to bad.”
“Huh?”
He stops and turns his eyes away from his teammates to me. “You weren’t paying any attention, were you?”
I open and close my mouth. Open it again. “I admit I got distracted.” I’ll never admit that it was by his fashion sense.
“Pay attention or I’ll flunk you.” He flips a strand of my loose hair with his fingers, which somehow makes the hair fly into my mouth. I’m too busy spitting it out to even consider any sort of revenge. “Anyway, as I was saying ever so patiently, we’re going to a bar and I want you to find some dude there to flirt with.”
I stop moving. “ What ?”
All three of them halt their steps too.
Starr rubs his freshly shaved chin. “You thought this was just going to be theoretical with no practical component?”
“I—Well… Kinda?”
“Fess up,” the commanding voice of our catcher says. “What is it that you two are really up to?”
Points to Starr for clamming his mouth right away. But Kim is the nearest one in the team to the human version of a vault, and if Rivera hasn’t told the four winds, Kim won’t either. I wave my hand in the air to signal to Starr that it’s okay to say it.
He jerks a thumb at me. “Garcia here asked for my help with dating.”
“Why your help? You never keep the same girl around for long.” Kim blinks as if confused. “Actually, none of the single guys in the team do.”
“Yourself included?” Rivera nudges Kim with his elbow.
The latter shrugs. “Sure.”
“Listen, beggars can’t be choosers,” I quip with a slow shake of my head.
“Ouch.” Starr puts both hands above his heart.
“Plus,” I add, “he went viral and now can’t get a stick large enough to beat women off with. That is the energy I want, but with guys.”
Kim scrunches up his face. “You don’t want many men around you, trust me.”
“That’s what I said too,” Starr chimes with.
“I know, men tend to suck, no offense?—”
“None taken.”
“Yeah, no. It’s a fact.”
I shake my head and finish saying, “But as a heterosexual woman, I’m shit out of luck.”
“That’s rough, friend,” Rivera says in a heartfelt way as if he wasn’t part of the population that makes dating so miserable.
“So what’s the plan? Let’s hear it.” Kim jerks his chin at Starr.
The pitcher responds with a shrug and, “I just wanted to gauge what kind of game she has, see where I can advise. I want her to find a target, walk up to him, and talk him up until he gives her his number.”
To my surprise, Kim doesn’t shoot down the idea right away. “Not bad. And if the guy turns out to be a douchebag the three of us got her back.”
“And that is the real reason I tagged along,” Rivera says, expression all serious even though I don’t know if I can believe him.
“But…” I desperately grasp at any way I could get myself out of this, and only come up with a flimsy argument. “I’m already not good at this. I’m going to be so much worse with an audience.”
Starr cocks a supremely annoying eyebrow. “Didn’t you admit to needing help? Because the next step is actually doing shit, you know?”
Damn it. It’s like he knows exactly which buttons to poke. I may not be an elite athlete like them, but I sure am just as allergic to being seen as weak or cowardly.
“Fine, let’s do this.”
*
“Anyone yet?”
I nurse my unsweet iced tea closer to my chest and shake my head. The irony of the situation is not lost on me. The second the four of us walked in, half of the pairs of eyes zeroed in on the three tall, well-built ball players, and more particularly on the pitcher with the gem-colored eyes. Literally no one cast a second glance at me.
To add insult to injury, the three of them have stuck like velcro to me, pointedly ignoring the women who would have no qualms with chatting them up, but also ensuring that I don’t run back to the hotel.
However, I am not a coward. I can be a failure, though.
Again, I make an attempt at spotting any candidates, but either the men are paired up or are in groups, and there’s no way I’m walking up to a bunch of people to single one out and express my interest. I would simply become the first registered case of human combustion.
“Nope,” I respond to Starr, popping the p the same way he did earlier.
Something in his expression suggests that he thinks I’m not trying hard enough.
“Cowboy, I’m pretty sure your eyes are way better than mine and can confirm that there are no single men in this place right now.”
“How about red shirt in the bar?” he tosses right back.
All of us turn to the man. Luckily his back is to us, or he’d have freaked out at how creepy we look.
“He’s sitting beside a buddy.” I point at blue shirt next to him with my puckered lips.
“They’re not friends,” Kim says right away.
“Yeah, they haven’t said a single word to each other since we walked in,” adds Rivera.
“Oh.” I bite my lip. “I genuinely hadn’t noticed.”
“Garcia.” The fact that it’s my last name and not his little nickname for me what comes out of Starr’s mouth is what tells me he’s serious. “No one’s gonna force you to do this if you really don’t want to. But you have to shed some of that fear if you want to make this work.”
“I know.” I scratch the top of my head and, taking a shaky breath, I ask, “But what do I even say?”
They all exchange blank expressions.
“Wait, wait.” Rivera shifts his weight to one leg. “?Me estás diciendo que no sabes hablar con los manes?”
Like magic, his question makes me wish for lightning to strike me.
“It’s n-not that I don’t know how to talk with guys.” I clear my throat way too loudly. “After all I’m talking with all of you. Every damn day.”
“Yeah, just not when it’s romantically,” Starr says, fully revealing what I left unsaid.
I’m pretty sure my face is so red that it may be bordering on purple now.
Kim hums from his throat. “I get it.”
We turn to him and I ask, “You do?”
“Yeah, it’s different. The stakes are higher.”
“Thank you.” I open my eyes wide to convey my sincerity.
“How’s this…” Starr twists to place his sweet iced tea on the high top behind him. “You try to strike a conversation, don’t even try to flirt. Just get some response back. I’ll be next to you pretending to order something, ready to bail you out if you screw up.”
“When,” I mumble.
“If,” he repeats with a sigh, then adds, “Or if you’re just freaking out you can just poke my arm and I’ll pretend you’re my long lost cousin I hadn’t seen since aliens abducted you.”
“Solid plan,” Kim deadpans.
My lips twitch. Unfortunately Rivera takes that as a cue to say, “I think she’s ready. Camera, roll, action!”
No one moves.
Starr gives me a literal push. “C’mon, Garcia.”
“Ugh.”
I’m petty enough to stomp my way between the tables. I know the cowboy is somewhere behind me by how people’s heads turn a moment after I pass. As glad as I am that he’s offered himself for possible rescue, I’m mortified knowing I’ll need it. They’ll never let me live it down, and yet I’ll be way harder on myself if I don’t even try.
“Hi,” I say boldly once I stop beside the test subject.
The guy jerks his head up from his phone screen and I’m relieved to note that he doesn’t seem drastically older than me. He’s also normal looking, which should make this easier than if I was trying to chat up some Adonis. The only reason why I’m immune to the baseball boys is because I know how much them and their gear reeks after a game.
“Uh, hi,” the guy says, glancing around to make sure I’m talking with him.
The Texan accent sounds behind me. “Excuse me, sir, could I have a soda water with lemon?”
“Right on,” says the bartender.
Apparently, I’ve taken too long to add anything to the conversation and red shirt shifts his attention back to his phone, where he seems to be watching the news. The news always suck so that’s the last thing I want to ever talk about.
The weather? No, that’s so cliché it’s actually embarrassing. Besides, the Clearwater weather in February is chilly but boring.
“Um…” The sound spills from my mouth before I even find a sequitur, but even then the guy doesn’t seem to even notice.
My eyes follow a line over his shoulder and fall on the figures of one Orlando Wild catcher and a shortstop, both of whom are using the same freaking signals our base coaches use to tell a runner to keep going. I have the strongest urge to signal them back with a bird.
Heat nears behind me and suddenly, a too-warm voice whispers in my ear saying, “Just ask if he’s a local.”
My lips part in a gasp. Of course! How did I not think of that? Then I can ask him for some touristy recommendation or something.
“So…” I hear myself saying with a voice that doesn’t sound like mine. I lean my elbow on the bar, trying to look casual even though I’m shaking in my sneakers. “Are you local? I’m looking for some recommendations.”
That tears his attention from his screen. “Oh, I’m not. I’m just here on business.” And back to his phone he goes.
“‘Kay, thanks. No worries. Bye.” I swivel around and freeze.
Starr is way closer than I expected, and our chests don’t brush by a millimeter. He tilts his face down so I can receive the full blast of his disapproval via the subtle shake of his head. At least he has the heart to rescue me from this awkward situation, and I gladly allow him to pull me back to our group by my elbow.
He takes a casual sip of his new drink and announces, “She sucks worse than I thought.”
“Yikes.”
“Ay, bendito.”
Groaning, I throw myself at the high top table. “Kill me now.”
“No, I would like to keep my clean record, thanks,” Starr says and even though half of my face is smooshed on the table, I clearly see him take his cap off, run his hair through the perfect wave of his hair, and put the cap back on. The picture of exasperation.
Kim claps Starr’s shoulder. “Well, better you than me.”
Okay, he’s officially not my favorite of the three anymore.
“I’ve always said pitchers are patient people.” Rivera nods in a sanctimonious way. “That’s why you’re the right guy for the job.”
“Gee, thanks, guys,” I say, sounding very much unalived.
Said pitcher studies me as if I was an animal trapped in a glass cage. “Yeah… this may be a bit harder than I thought.”
And somehow that’s the comment that hurts the most.