2. Beware of Flying Balls
TWO
BEWARE OF FLYING BALLS
ISABELLA
Times like these really make me reconsider agreeing when Mr. Boseman made this transfer to sports.
It’s only April, and yet I’m baking in the sun while standing on a baseball field in Los Angeles, clad in my favorite lilac pantsuit, all because I work in sports now.
I could be on an air-conditioned studio set somewhere in LA, or at the very least, posted up in a trailer on location.
But no.
I’m on the field.
Melting while I wait for the crew to film their pre-game analysis.
How do the players do this on a daily basis? I could never.
Why couldn’t they do this in the studio that I know exists because that’s where they’ll watch the game.
I’m the type of person who likes to be well prepared.
It’s for that reason I got here an hour before I was scheduled.
To give myself the opportunity to get lost and find my way around the clubhouse on my own.
Ideally before it’s my responsibility to get the Sports24 crew moved around the stadium without issue or delay.
And yet, I still got lost four times before we finally found our way onto the field.
A task we only succeeded at because the crew have been here countless times before compared to my zero.
They were all polite enough to brush it off with a laugh because I’m new to the scene, but it didn’t stop the embarrassment that had me praying a sinkhole would open up and swallow me whole.
The bowels of the clubhouse are like a maze, and I’m afraid I’ll never figure out.
I’m angled so I can keep one eye where the sports presenters are preparing to go live for their pre-game coverage.
The other eye is on the growing crowd as they start to fill the stands.
The stadium staff positioned us a bit off-center behind home plate, near the third base dugout, which is where the home team will be set up.
The Los Angeles Suns. This is the first in a three-game series against… Boston?
No, that’s not right. Who were they playing again?
The smell of hot dogs, popcorn, and beer travel to me in the slight breeze, making me wish even more that I wasn’t trapped on this field right now.
I haven’t had anything to eat since before I came to the stadium four hours ago, and the smell of food—even if it is outrageously overpriced ballpark food—makes my stomach grumble.
I catch the floor manager, Jamie, lift his hand for the five second countdown.
Oh, thank God, they’re about to start.
In addition to melting, I’m also bored out of my mind.
This is one of those jobs where nothing happens until the moment it does.
It’s making sure the on-air presentation team get into the compound with the broadcast trucks with no issues and then lingering nearby until it’s time to move out to the field for rehearsals followed by the live broadcast. And a whole lot more lingering until the end of the game when everyone heads home.
I peek at the watch on my wrist and calculate how long we’ll be out here before moving into the on-site studio. Half an hour. I can do half an hour more. I push my shoulders back with a renewed determination.
“You’re watching Sports24, where we follow all things sports, well, twenty-four seven!
Thanks for joining us for this coverage of the first game in the LA-Minnesota series.
” Annie and Jeff, the two presenters, give a hearty welcome to the camera before jumping straight into their predictions for the game and stats that give me PTSD of Mr. Boseman’s crash course.
Minnesota! That’s who they’re playing. It’s Minnesota.
Watching as Annie and Jeff bounce game predictions off each other, I mentally try to connect them with the achievements I found in a quick Google search last night.
I did what I always do when I work with someone new.
Deep dive into learning everything I can about them.
Jeff was an easy one. Former LA Suns player turned sportscaster in retirement.
Annie was the more fascinating one for me to dig into.
She’s a badass beast of a woman who played collegiate softball—which I’ve learned is not the same as baseball, but similar—while pursuing a degree in sports journalism.
She retired from the sport when she graduated and threw herself into the reporting world.
Hopping between written media and TV broadcast, she climbed her way up the ranks before becoming one of the top hosts in baseball sportscasting.
I return to the task at hand, letting my eyes sweep around the stadium just as the players start to pile into their respective dugouts from the clubhouse.
The volume around us increases tenfold between the fans and the roughhousing of the guys.
Someone please tell me why some of these baseball players are so rowdy?
I’m forced to take a few steps back as the catcher jogs out to his spot behind home plate for warmups.
What was his name again? I think it started with an A. Alex?
When Mr. Boseman blocked out the rest of last week for a crash course on all things baseball, I thought he was joking. Spoiler alert: He was not. He even had little flashcards and everything. The first thing he said when he sat me down that first morning was “How much do you know about the Suns?”
I laughed in his face. “Besides the fact that I suffer through the worst traffic of my life trying to get home from the office when there’s a home game?
Not a whole lot.” Which is the exact answer he expected from me.
He spent the next two days going through everything about baseball and the team.
Stats, players, their history. The flashcards even had each player’s headshot to accompany the information he rattled off at me.
I was of the opinion that the crash course was entirely useless, but Mr. Boseman seemed to believe otherwise. He’s under the impression that by knowing about baseball and the team, it’ll help me better understand the broadcast team’s goals.
By the end of his crash course, all their facial features blurred together.
Someone has slightly shaggy blond hair, another has piercing blue eyes.
But I couldn’t tell you who’s who. The fact that I can somewhat recognize the catcher right now should be applauded.
Even if I can’t remember his name. But that could also be because he wears significantly more gear than the rest of the team.
August? No, that doesn’t seem right either.
The good news is that I did at least learn something in the crash course.
For example, I now know the field is called a diamond—because of its shape—and there are four bases, if you count home plate.
Plate, not base. The game is split into nine innings—not quarters, like I had asked.
That was an embarrassing moment if I’m honest.
Besides that, I pretty much zoned out. There’s only so much I could take in while he was listing off different numbers and statistic acronyms that sounded more like a sexually transmitted disease.
I’m so focused on scanning the crowd that I nearly miss the shouts.
“Watch out!”
“Heads up!”
I snap my head in the direction of the shouts in time for a black jersey-clad monster of a man to jump in front of me, body brushing mine in the process, and whipping his glove up in time for a ball to smack into it.
Had he not been there, the ball absolutely would’ve connected with my face instead of the glove.
And yet another reason why I hate sports. Plenty of opportunities for near death experiences for someone as uncoordinated as me.
“I… um, thanks. Good save,” I say with a nervous wobble to my voice.
He lowers the glove and slowly turns his head toward me so he can meet my gaze. Suddenly all I see is blue. Light blue. Like the sky on a cloudless day. I feel like I’m falling without a parachute the longer I gaze into his eyes.
He blinks at me a few times before he lifts a dark brow which brings me crashing back to earth and the fact that I think he was speaking to me.
“Sorry, what?”
A smile kicks up one side of his mouth, causing a little divot to form in his cheek. Of course this man has fucking dimples. Why wouldn’t he?
“I asked if you were alright,” he says, humor lacing every word. Well, I’m glad he finds this amusing.
I shake off my daze. “Yeah, fine. A little startled is all.”
He nods slowly as if he expected that answer, and it’s then I take in the rest of his appearance.
Aside from the crystal blue eyes and dimples, he’s wearing a black baseball cap with the Suns logo on it—a yellow sun with ‘LA’ in the center.
Beneath it is dark hair just long enough to poke out from the bottom of the hat and curl around the back of his neck.
He has a fine dusting of stubble around his chin.
Not enough to be considered a beard, but enough so he doesn’t look baby-faced.
His smile is blinding. Straight, white teeth flash at me as his smirk grows into a wide smile the longer I peruse him.
Shit, I’m staring.
“Glad you’re alright. Now if you’re quite finished checking me out, I should get back to warming up.
” I start to feel even warmer than I was before because of the blush I know is evident on my cheeks now.
“Don’t worry though, you can still check out my ass while I walk away,” he says with a wink before turning and jogging back toward one of his teammates who was watching our interaction.
My jaw is gaping. Opening and closing like a fish out of water.
The audacity of that man!
Ryan
I jog to catch up with our third baseman, a megawatt smile on my face.
“Nice save, Fletch!” Cooper says with a clap on my shoulder and a matching smile.
“Yeah, well if someone actually knew how to throw it to my glove, I wouldn’t need to save her would I?” I jab my elbow into his side.
“Then how else would we meet the hottie with the TV crew? I mean, honestly. She’s a total babe. What’s her name?” His pestering raises my hackles and sets me on edge.
“Absolutely not, Coop. She’s not another conquest for you. Stay away from the TV crew. You hear me?” I give him a death glare.
I would really hate to have to kill Cooper for making a move on her.
We’ve been attached at the hip since we were both drafted into the same minor league team after college.
We played so well together, in sync on every play, that when the Suns were looking to call up players for their roster, they brought us both in.
“Fine, fine. But you didn’t answer my question.” He side-eyes me as he falls into step beside me.
“I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” I say with a shrug, but internally I’m kicking myself.
It takes everything in me not to turn around and look to where I know she’s still standing, staring at god knows what.
“Did she watch me walk back over here?” I can’t help but ask, almost positive I sound like a teenager with a poorly disguised crush.
“Oh yeah, dude. She was totally checking out your ass,” Cooper says with a wide grin.
I can feel the smile overtake my face. Fucking knew it.
She was standing there stunned for so long, I knew she was checking me out.
I mean sure, she probably was stunned at first, but the way her eyes met mine and didn’t let go?
Yeah, she was checking me out. I’m certainly not like Cooper, who thinks he’s God’s greatest gift to women, but I know I look pretty good.
There’s nothing narcissistic or conceited about it.
Just pure fact. She’s so different from the type of women who tend to throw themselves at professional athletes.
She wasn’t starstruck and immediately trying to flirt with me.
It was more like she was admiring and maybe even a little bit shy?
I love it. It makes me want to get to know her.
“Here man, switch sides with me,” I say before shoving the ball into his mitt and pushing him in the direction of the TV crew. Strategically placing him with his back to their setup.
“You just wanna check out the girl,” he says with a knowing smirk as he backs away. “I’ll allow it.”
I roll my eyes but walk a few paces away from him and get into position so we can get some practice tosses in before Coach gives us shit for fucking around.
But he’s right. In this position, I have a clear, unobstructed view of her.
She’s standing away from the crew a bit, facing toward the stands where fans continue to file in.
I wonder what she’s doing with them. She’s much more dressed up than the rest of her crew.
In her pale purple pantsuit, she almost looks like she could be with the on-screen presenters, but the way she’s behaving tells me she’s clearly not.
I bet she’s dying in that outfit though.
I’m sweating already and I’m in baseball pants and a jersey.
Her long chocolate hair with streaks of caramel is tied back into a ponytail, with bangs that brush just above her eyes.
Her hair matches the eyes I suddenly can’t find a way to get out of my head.
A deep, milk chocolate brown with flecks of gold. I want to swim in them. Drown even.
I’m not the biggest fan of sweets, but I’m finding I suddenly have an overwhelming sweet tooth craving for her.