5. Will
Chapter 5
Will
Why do I keep letting Adam drag me places? I barely made it in my place before he was knocking on my door telling me we were going out tonight.
There was no way I was going. None. I was ready to fight him on it, and I started to, but when he mentioned he was forcing Callie to go out too, my arguments weakened. We’re not really going to dwell on that fact or that I’ve drank a chai latte every day this week.
Finding a place to park my bike, I’m a half hour later than when Adam told me to be here. The Blues were in charge of getting our vehicles sent over and I didn’t trust them to drop off my Indian Motorcycle at the stadium for whoever to sign for it. So, I had them drop it off at my mom’s. Going to get it from her place gave me a good excuse to see my family…and get some space from my new neighbor—who I definitely haven’t thought about doing the lame “Hey neighbor, got any sugar” bit just to see her.
I head into the bar where Adam texted me to meet them. While this wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of things to do tonight, I get what he’s doing. We might know the major players on this team already, but we don’t know them as teammates, and if I want to make this no-trade clause work I fear it’s going to involve a little more effort than Olsson let on. I don’t think small talk during practices or in the locker room will cut it.
Walking in, the bar is packed but you can still hear the cracking of pool tables off to the side and one fiery redhead’s laugh.
“Damn, Callie, I didn’t realize you were a hustler.” Beck Daines, the Boston Blues star first baseman, stands off to the side with a pool cue in hand.
“I might know my way around a pool table,” Callie says, leaning back down to take what looks to be her final shot. “Eight ball, corner pocket.”
With a simple tap of her cue the ball goes right in. That soft smile plays on her lips as it goes in, and once she stands back up, it breaks into a full-on grin. “I believe I’m the winner.”
“I call for a rematch,” Beck says as I walk up. “Well, well, William fucking Anderson. How are you, man? Welcome to the Blues.”
I’ve always liked Beck. He’s a solid player and seems like a stand-up guy, a little too personable for me, but I’m trying.
“I suppose I could have been traded to a worse team.”
“I believe it’s what they call trading up, actually.” Beck laughs and places his cue on the table. “You’ve got perfect timing because Little Reyer here just kicked my ass in pool.”
Placing her cue down, Callie finally looks my way. Her red hair is pulled back with a loose braid, with strands framing her freckled face.
“I was about to place bets that you bailed on us, Will.”
My smirk comes naturally in response to her playful tone. “It was debated, but then I thought Adam might burst a blood vessel and I couldn’t put you through that.”
She gives me a small chuckle as she puts her cue down. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
A small blush creeps up her face, and she tucks some of the loose stands behind her ears before pulling at the sleeves of her sweater and crossing her arms. In Seattle it felt easier since she kept her distance, kind of out-of-sight, out-of-mind, but she’s so effortlessly beautiful that I don’t know how all this time with her is going to go. It’s barely been over a week here and I’ve already felt like she’s been on my mind more than any potential friend should be.
“So, where’s everybody at?” I look around absentmindedly.
Beck claps my shoulder. “We’ve got some booths in the back.”
I follow them through the bar and feel a little proud of myself that I didn’t check Callie out the whole way back.
“Hey, look who finally showed up.” Adam stands to let Callie slide in beside him. Next to her is the Blues’ shortstop, Mateo Keener, who I know is happily married with a baby on the way.
Adam shakes my shoulder to get my attention. “Did you get lost or something? I was about to send out a search party.”
“I might have taken a detour on my bike.”
Adam takes his seat, and I reach for the empty chair behind me, pulling up to the end of the booth. Taking a glance around, it seems like the majority of the starters are here with some other players I’ve seen but can’t recall their names.
As for my table there’s Mateo, next to Callie, then Adam. Across is Beck and our third baseman, Tripp Pierce.
“Hey, Will.” Mateo gives me a nod. “Ellison decides to retire and then you two get traded. What, were the Mavericks thinking they needed a lineup change?”
“Who the hell knows?” I toss back. “Maybe Olsson just wanted some World Series players on his team again.”
“Fuck off,” Tripp jokes as he reaches for his beer. “You’re on the Blues now. That World Series trophy didn’t travel here with you.”
“Nah, just my annoying ass catcher who barely let me have a damn bathroom break.”
“Hey!” Adam tosses his hands up. “I got us here, didn’t I? You probably would still be in Seattle getting hit with late fines if it wasn’t for me.”
“And Callie,” I add. I could tell from the plane ride over here that she’s way more capable than either of them lead on.
Callie perks up just a smidge at the mention of her name. She might not have thought that anyone had noticed her tuck her head down and let the conversations just happen around her, but I did.
Being more on the loner side in Seattle was my preference, but I know this industry. I know how to be social when it’s required of me, but I don’t think Callie does.
“And speaking of Callie,” Beck starts, turning to her. “Who knew our new team photographer was a damn pool shark.”
Callie rolls her eyes but smiles. “Self-taught during my college years. Which reminds me, I believe the winner is owed some mozzarella sticks.”
“Coming right up!” Beck slides out of the booth and he shakes my shoulder. “What are you drinking, Anderson?”
This is always a fun question. As professional athletes the majority of us don’t typically go crazy at bars anymore—minus special occasions—but I don’t drink. Period. And I don’t do follow up questions about it either. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll grab something in a minute.”
“Alright, suit yourself.”
Letting out a sigh of relief, I feel some piercing green eyes on me. As tempting as it is to see if I can count all the freckles on her face, I ignore her completely this time.
Which proves to be quite difficult because I can feel her studying me.
“I think I might say hi to a couple other players,” I say, sliding my chair back.
Adam’s eyebrows pinch together. I know he expected me to sit my ass in this chair all night until I left, and I’m tempted to, but I’ve got my limits on socializing. Even if this attraction to Callie made tonight’s outing a little more appealing, I’m not sure I should feed into it.
Forcing myself to interact for another hour, I get mostly hung up with the other pitchers on the team. The Blues have been known for having great pitchers, but with their starter, Dex Larsen, retiring this year and the general manager change, I’m curious how our lineup will play out. Starting pitcher was discussed with my agent during the trade but I know not to hold much weight in anything I don’t see in writing.
Feeling like I’ve made enough of an effort I decide to call it a night. Glancing around the bar, I can’t help but look for a certain redhead. I tell myself it’s just to make sure she’s okay and to see that she’s having fun, but she’s not to be seen.
I know I’m not overlooking her because I easily spotted her multiple times tonight. Part of me wants to check in with Adam to make sure he at least knows where she is but he’s her brother. I just need to let him do his job of taking care of her.
Weaving through the crowd a couple people stop me, asking about the season and the trade. I keep my answers light and short. My social battery is beyond dead, and I can’t get caught up in a drunken fan's strategy for a new pitch.
Keeping my head low, I walk out the door and reach for my keys in my pocket. Finally outside, I look up and come to an abrupt stop at the redhead shivering in front of me. “Callie? What are you doing out here?”
Turning around slowly, she’s got her phone in her hands. “Escaping,” she replies under her breath.
“Escaping from what?”
“My brother.” She shrugs as she shakes from the cold. “I’m exhausted and maxed out on socializing. Please don’t rat out my attempt at the Irish goodbye. I swear I’ll text him once I’m in an Uber home. That is if I can ever get one to show up.”
She looks down at her phone again before letting out a small curse under her breath.
I should tell her to go back inside and wait for one to pick her up. For her to tell her fucking brother that she wants to go home, and he should go with her so she doesn’t have to take an Uber by herself. Those should be the words out of my mouth, not, “Come on, you can ride with me.”
“I can wait for a ride,” Callie clips, but runs her hand against her arm to try to warm up.
“Okay, you have two options: ride with me or get your butt back inside where it’s warm and tell your brother to take you home.”
Fidgeting again, she slides her phone in her back pocket. “No, I have three options. I can not ride with you, not tell my brother I’m leaving, and just walk home. It’s what, ten blocks or so? I can do that.”
“Callie.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. If living with three women my entire life taught me one thing, it’s that if she’s made up her mind, me telling her what to do will only make it worse. “I’m going to ask you one time. Will you let me take you home? We’re both going to the same place, and this way you can avoid telling your brother you want to leave and freezing to death while waiting for a ride.” And for good measure I add, “Please?”
She bites at her lower lip while still rubbing her hands up and down her arms. When a cool breeze comes through, she caves. “Alright, fine.”
“Thank you, now come on.” I lead her over to my bike and pull my sweatshirt over my head.
“What the hell is this?” Callie stammers a good five feet away from my bike.
“Your ride,” I say as I walk up to her and with no hesitation, pull the sweatshirt over her head.
“Will!” She tries to fight me on it, but this is nonnegotiable. Pulling it down, she refuses to stick her arms through and if looks could kill, this one would do me in.
“Go ahead, leave your arms in there if you want to be stubborn about it, but you’re going to have to hold on somehow.”
Callie narrows her eyes at me. “You know most guys try to get the girl’s clothes off. I don’t think I’ve ever been forcibly clothed.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the only thing I’d forcibly do.” I chuckle with a small smirk. She’s wittier than I thought, but then the implication of what she says registers. “Hold on. Care to expand on that for me, Callie? Has anyone forcibly done something to you?”
Swallowing, she mumbles, “No, just an observation.” She slinks her arms through the sleeves. “I also didn’t see why it’s necessary.”
She finally takes a few steps closer as I get my extra helmet off the back. “It’s necessary because you’re cold and it will be colder on the bike.”
I motion, asking for silent permission to put the helmet on her and she nods. “What about you?”
“I have another helmet.”
“No, about your sweatshirt. Aren’t you cold?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s like you said, only ten blocks.” It’s very much not ten blocks, but I’m not about to tell her that. “There’s comms in your helmet, so I can hear you when we get going.”
“Okay,” she mumbles. “You won’t go fast, right?”
“I’m going to go the speed limit,” I reply, putting my helmet on next.
“How many drinks did you have tonight? Maybe I should just wait on an Uber. The wait time might be down by now.”
She reaches for her phone and some out of body experience takes over. I reach out, taking her hand in mine. “Callie, I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol tonight. I won’t go fast. I won’t take sharp turns or weave in and out of traffic. You are perfectly safe, okay?”
“I’ve never rode on a motorcycle before.” She keeps her voice low. All night, Callie’s shown nothing but utter confidence, but right now, she seems scared.
I take a deep breath. “I was six when my dad got me my first motorbike. Every weekend, he’d take me out to this dirt track, and we’d ride for hours. And if you tell any of the guys this, I will deny it, but for years I wanted to go pro in motocross, not baseball.”
That gets a small snort out of her. “Could I wager a picture of Little Will in his motocross outfit to get me on this motorcycle?”
“No, but I’ll wager that Adam’s probably going to come looking for you in about three minutes, so your call, Callie.”
I gesture to my bike, and she hesitates for a moment, before letting me help her on. “God, please don’t let me regret this,” she whispers. I’m pretty sure she’s forgot I told her I would be able to hear her through the helmets.
In my mind I know she means regret getting on a bike in general, but when her arms wrap around my waist, I just hope she doesn’t regret me.