Charlotte
“I hate boys who play with balls for a living.”
“I’m pretty sure you can’t say things like that,” Sage replies from her seat across from me at the taco shop on the corner of Gaylord and Colfax. “You’ll get cancelled, and rightfully so.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I’ve had a lot of success saying whatever pops into my head. It’s usually pure fucking gold.”
Sage shakes her head, her long blonde hair attracting the attention of the three men at the bar. Maybe she’ll get us free margaritas again this week.
Not that we can’t afford our own.
There’s something powerful about a man buying you a drink… and then still going home alone.
“This one was not gold. Not even bronze.” A good-natured smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “And you have to stop calling men boys.”
“Ugh. Okay, I hear you.” I could think for a millisecond before I let words come out of my mouth. “But every professional athlete I’ve ever dated has acted like a manchild,” I say. “So, boy feels appropriate. And it’s alliterative with balls.”
Sage narrows her eyes at me, a sliver of green peeking out. “I think you’re using the term ‘date’ too liberally.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“Fuck buddies?” Sage offers as another round of drinks is delivered, courtesy of the man at the end of the bar. The one who looks like he should be playing squash with my dad at the athletic club. Or if not my dad, definitely Sage’s.
Friends since we attended the same private school for high school, Sage is the one woman in this entire state who understands what it’s like to be the heiress of a major sports team.
Even before we met, Sage had already determined her path would lead her straight to the top of the baseball team.
She tried to talk me into taking over the Stallions so we could show the world what women can do in men’s sports, but after a week of trying, she realized I’d already made up my mind.
Now we’re regularly photographed together, often with some caption about the “sports princesses” appearing underneath. They mean it to be disparaging, but we choose to own that shit.
“We are not fuck buddies,” I disagree.
She purses her lips. “Maybe not. You have to at least know their names to be considered buddies. I don’t think you’ve taken the time to get to know any of them since Dickhead.”
Sage hated Jace, the bass guitar player, the entire time I was dating him, and it turns out, she was actually holding back.
Especially after I told her he suggested I should talk less.
Well, his real words were “sit there and look pretty.” Luckily, it was the push I needed to cut things off with him for the final time.
Since then, well, I haven’t had the time to think about anything serious, let alone actually find someone interesting enough to warrant more than one night together.
“I don’t really find their names an important part of our interactions. Plus, the benefit of breaking my musician streak with athletes is that they typically have their own jersey hung up somewhere in the room, so I’ve got that going for me on the name front.”
Sage grins. “I can imagine you frantically searching the room for a name to scream while some giant of a man is on top of you.”
“Oh, please, Sage. I’m far too petite to ever allow a man to be on top. Cowgirl all the way.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You know they’ve got the strength to hold themselves off you. You want the control.”
I don’t deny it. “I know what I want, and we both know I’m not interested in giving anyone enough of my precious time for them to figure it out.”
“Have you considered simply using a toy?” Sage asks. “We’re blessed to live in a time where silicone exists for a reason.”
I have. I do. The truth is, I’ve slept with far fewer men than I let my friend believe. Sure, I flirt when we’re out. I’m single, and I make sure they are, too. But I like people too much to go solo too often. I want the connection. I need the connection.
“I just… I like being with someone else, you know? Hearing them say my name. Feeling the warmth of their hands on me,” I confess.
Sage shakes her head. “Nope. I do not know. I’d rather stay home alone than have some random man’s hands roaming all over me.”
I swear, the man at the bar, who is apparently eavesdropping on us now, drops his forehead into his hands. Too bad, buddy. Not that he ever had a chance with Sage, anyway.
“Why is a random man touching you?” Finley asks when she joins us at our table.
Sage laughs, and I’m glad to see my friends getting along. This is the third time we’ve all met up for dinner after I decided they both need more smart, powerful female friends.
“Finley! I thought you died. Where have you been?” Normally, I’d let her tardiness slide, but it’s not even hockey season yet.
Her cheeks turn dusty pink. “Ah, Beckett and I—”
“Nope,” I cut her off. “We will not be listening to any stories about you and Beckett fucking like bunnies. It will make me feel lonely enough that I’ll end up going home with my dad’s accountant over there.” I tilt my head toward the man.
“He’s your dad’s accountant?” Finley asks.
“No. Obviously not. Or maybe. I don’t know. And that’s the problem. He looks like he could be. And I’m not interested in that.”
“Okay.” Finley draws out the word. “Clearly a topic change is in order if you’re considering sleeping with a random sixty-year-old. Any news on your dad’s retirement? Hints at a transition plan or anything?”
“No.” I smack the table. “At this point I think the man is only doing it to irritate me.”
“What does Chris think?” Sage asks. “He’s set to inherit the team, right? Is he as anxious as you?”
My twin brother has never been as anxious as me. Coming out of the womb as a wealthy white male, he’s been blessed to have everything go his way. It’d be annoying if he wasn’t one of my favorite people in the entire world.
“No. Of course not. He’s been my counterbalance from day one. And Dad hasn’t questioned every life decision he’s made.”
“Probably because he’s always made the decision your dad told him to.” Sage takes a sip of her drink from the cocktail straw.
“That’s not fair. Remember when he went out for baseball in high school rather than playing football year-round like Dad wanted him to?” Defending my brother comes as naturally to me as breathing. And I know he’d do the same.
Finley lets out a chuckle. “That’s his big rebellion?”
“Well, it was that or a face tat,” I joke. “I mean, do any of us have room to talk? We’ve all followed in our fathers’ footsteps, rarely coloring outside the lines.”
Sage narrows her eyes. “Well, you’re currently wearing red and purple together, so I’d argue you color outside the lines.”
My bright wardrobe is my daily act of rebellion. It’s the one area of my life I choose not to follow the norms I’m forced into.
“I don’t know,” Finley argues. “She works in entertainment. Flashy clothes are probably considered in the lines.”
I glance down at myself. “I don’t think this is flashy.”
Finley looks taken aback. “You’re wearing purple pants with a red shirt.”
“Yes. But I’m not wearing any sequins, feathers, or sparkles,” I defend myself.
Finley rubs the bridge of her nose. “Do you know what the media would say if I wore that outfit to a Yeti game?”
“Thank God she finally realized there is a color other than black?” I volley.
Sage snorts, and I don’t miss the way she takes in Finley’s black joggers and black Yeti T-shirt.
Finley shakes her head, her long ponytail waving behind her. “I know there is a color other than black.” She points to the ice-blue lettering on her shirt. “Blue.”
A laugh rumbles out of me, and I let it keep coming, sinking into the teasing energy of time with my friends.
I needed this. I would never complain about my dad to others, but work has been rough lately.
He questions every idea I bring to him, and keeps saying things like, “let’s think about this,” and “I don’t think we know enough yet. ” I do, Dad. I do know enough.
We stay for another hour, all but closing the place down as we eat, drink, and work our way through the current challenges of the professional sports teams in Denver. There is a new women’s football club in Denver; the Mile High City has never been this excited about soccer.
“They broke the single-match attendance record by almost 23,000 fans!” Sage reminds Finley and me. “It was the first game for the expansion team, and Denver showed up.”
“To be fair, they show up for all of us,” Finley argues. “We had historic attendance last year as well. And don’t people flock to Golden Field even though the team is pretty mediocre?”
“Hey! We’re not that bad. We just need a fucking pitcher.” Sage pops the knuckles on her right hand. “And no one wants to pitch at a mile high… And then there is the damn mile-high hangover when we’re on the road. No one wants to come here to play.”
Finley smirks. “I remain grateful that Denver is a top location for every other sport.”
“Yeah, because you all get to be in better condition than your opponents! It’s literally the most home field advantage. But no, not baseball. Pitches have reduced break and more homeruns are hit!”
“Have you considered blackmailing a pitcher into coming here?” I sit up straighter as the words leave my mouth. “Yes. Okay, hear me out. I’m onto something.”
Finley stares at me in shock as Sage laughs so hard her forehead is on the table, her shoulders shaking.
“What?” I exclaim. “This is good. We’ll start a reddit channel to get dirt on all the best pitchers in baseball, asking the women of the world to help us out. Then, we hire a bunch of private detectives to investigate them all until we have enough leverage on one to get them here.”
“How many drinks have you had?” Finley asks.
“Two. And a half.” I hold up my partially consumed gin martini.
Finley narrows her eyes. “That’s not enough alcohol for you to think that’s a good idea.”
“I feel it’s more like it is an idea. What else is Sage going to do? She’s been dealing with this since she took over the team. We can’t change the altitude of our city.”
Sage takes a deep breath, getting her laughter under control. “I’m not saying no, but let’s put blackmail on the back burner, just for now. And until then, I’ll keep adding more rooftop bars to the field, so fans will at least keep coming for the atmosphere, if not for the team.”
“Want me to help set up a few summer concert series?” I offer. “Dad is still ‘thinking’ about partnering with other venues, but he won’t know if I help you get a few performances.”
Sage shakes her head. “That’s okay. I don’t want you to cannibalize your revenue just to help keep us in the black. Plus, my team has a few acts lined up. They’d be better if you were involved, but it’ll be good enough this way.”
I sigh as conversation flows back to other topics. I have good ideas. I just need my dad to let me start running with them.