4. The One and Only
FOUR
THE ONE AND ONLY
ISABELLA
I’m ambushed the second I walk through the door.
“How was it?” two voices overlap each other as Jordan and Liz shout the same question at me.
“Can’t you at least wait until I’m actually through the door before you begin the inquisition?”
“No.”
“Definitely not.”
“So, tell us!” Liz is practically vibrating, perched on the edge of the armchair. Her expression is entirely too eager to hear me recount a baseball game. “How was it? Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”
“Ugh, somehow it was worse,” I say as I kick off my shoes, hang my bag on the coatrack, and ditch my keys into the small dish on the entry table.
I pad my way into the living room where they’re both gathered and let myself collapse into the cushions of the couch.
“I swear that might have been the most boring thing I’ve ever had to sit through,” I whine.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, that’s Liz’s job,” Jordan says as she chucks a throw pillow at my face.
“Hey!” Liz exclaims in mock protest. We both look at her with a single raised eyebrow, challenging her to refute the statement. She shrugs and sits back in her seat.
“Seriously though, it couldn’t have been that bad. Otherwise, people wouldn’t watch it,” Jordan says as she scoops her light brown hair into a ponytail before settling back into her seat.
I glare daggers in Jordan’s direction. “It was the slowest game I’ve ever watched?—”
“How many games have you watched?” Liz asks.
“Not the point! As I was saying, it was so slow. It was a whole lot of waiting around for something to happen. I mean that could be because the Suns absolutely murdered Minnesota. Like a final score of nine to zero, murder.”
“Poor Minnesota,” Liz commiserates with a pout.
“No, not poor Minnesota. We root for the home team, Liz! Come on, get it together!” Jordan scolds her.
I roll my eyes at the tangent this conversation has taken. “Guys.”
“Right, sorry. Please continue,” Jordan says, straightening up and looking incredibly serious. “We need the full recap.”
I chuckle before continuing with a recap that will most likely go over their heads.
“Minnesota played like shit. Well, at least that’s what I gathered from the crew.
The Suns never let them make any real progress when it was their turn.
Meanwhile, when it was the Suns’ turn, it looked like a bunch of grown-ups playing against a little league team. ”
“Noooo,” Liz gasps.
I give a solemn nod. “It’s true.”
“Did you learn anything?” Jordan asks.
“A bit actually. Jamie, the floor manager, was gracious enough to let me pester him with questions throughout the game which helped. It was the only bright spot in a game that felt never-ending.”
“Did you make any new friends with the crew?” Liz asks like she’s my mom and I’m home from my first day of school.
I give them a small shrug. “Besides Jamie, not really. But it’s still early.
” As the words leave my mouth, I’m reminded of the way Ryan Fletcher hit on me, which was surprising to say the least. And what was that static shock when we shook hands?
Those baseball uniforms must be great conductors if he somehow built up enough of a shock from the turf alone.
“Hold on a minute.” Jordan slides closer to me on the couch and narrows her eyes as she inspects me. “What’s that face? Why are you making a face? Is there something you’re not telling us?”
And this is the downside to having a friend who knows everything about you.
Liz jumps out of her armchair comically fast before squishing in next to Jordan and analyzing my features as well. “You’re not allowed to hold out on us. It’s in the best friend code.”
“My face isn’t doing anything.” I try to brush them off.
“Nope, it’s definitely doing something. Your nose is all scrunched like you’re thinking. But I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.” Jordan tilts her head as she assesses my face.
I roll my eyes before slumping back against the couch while they crowd around me. “Fine, fine! I got hit on.”
Liz gasps. “By someone on the crew?”
“No,” I groan.
“A fan?”
“Worse. A player.” They hover their faces inches from mine. The way they blink at me has me questioning whether or not they heard what I said. “Hellooooo?” I wave my hand in front of their faces.
Jordan finally backs off and sits back on her heels. “Oh, you poor baby, a hot athletic man hit on you,” she deadpans. “What an absolute tragedy.”
“It is a tragedy! Also, I didn’t say he was hot,” I argue.
Liz already has her phone in her hand and is typing away, no doubt pulling up the roster. “Name, please,” she asks—more like commands, but she’s so polite about it—without even lifting her eyes from the screen.
I sigh, knowing if I don’t tell them, they’ll dig around and bug me with their guesses until I confirm or deny. “Ryan Fletcher.”
Her wide eyes fly up from the screen to meet mine. “Fletcher? The first baseman? He’s the one who hit on you?”
I’m sure I look like the perfect depiction of panic staring back at her.
“Yes, why? Is that bad? Oh, god, is he married?” I groan as I drop my face into my hands.
“Why are they always married?” Not that I care, I turned him down.
It’s disgusting that he would hit on someone so blatantly if he were married.
“Uh, no, Isa. He’s not married.” She chuckles at my distress.
“He’s one of the most eligible bachelors on the team.
He’s Jackson’s favorite player actually.
And don’t tell him I said this, but Fletcher is hot.
Like in a ruggedly handsome kind of way.
And those eyes! What were they like up close?
Were they as blue as they look in pictures? ”
Bluer, is the first thought to jump into my head before I shake it away.
I cannot handle the way Liz has gone full-blown fangirl about this. I can’t date Fletcher. Full stop. No exceptions. And she’s supposed to be the chill one when it comes to celebrities, considering the big names she’s worked with in her career.
“Liz!” I groan out her name as I bury my face in the pillow Jordan threw my way earlier. “I can’t date him. I can’t even think about dating him. You know the rules.” My words are muffled by the pillow as I try to smother all parts of this conversation.
“Not even a little?” she hedges, voice pitching up at the end with hope.
“Not even a little,” I confirm.
“Whoa, he is pleasant to look at,” Jordan finally chimes in, having Googled him on her own phone. “Why can’t we date him again?”
“We?” I lift my head and arch an eyebrow at her in question.
“You. Whatever,” she says, flapping her hand at me.
I sigh. “We just talked about this last week. The no fraternization policy. I cannot be associated with him in a romantic way. I’d lose my job, Jord. You know how important my job is to me.”
She rolls her eyes and flops back onto the couch, kicking her feet up into my lap. Lovely. “Yeah, yeah. I still think you should go out with him.”
“Absolutely not. Besides, I’ve already turned him down.” My declaration results in a loud chorus of boos from the both of them. “Alright, that’s enough! It’s bedtime you hooligans. I’ve got another game to work tomorrow.”
Jordan
have you seen him yet?
Liz
Did he hit on you again?
Jordan
oh wait, answer liz’s question first! hers is more important!!!!
I roll my eyes at the messages swarming my phone’s home screen.
Those two have not let up on the whole Ryan Fletcher asking me out situation since last night’s recap.
They even kept up their scolding over me turning him down.
But they know I couldn’t have said yes. Now they’re hoping he’ll try again.
For his sake, I hope he doesn’t. He looked like someone kicked his puppy when I said no the first time.
But I will say, I’m impressed he tried to shoot his shot.
If it wasn’t for my job, I might have been inclined to say yes.
He’s attractive and seems like he would be great in bed.
I won’t lie and say I didn’t spend way too much time last night thinking about his large, calloused hands and how they would feel on my body.
It also didn’t help that they both took it upon themselves to go on an internet deep dive into everything about his life, so now I know a lot more than I would want to.
Things like he’s from a middle-class family in New York, where his parents apparently still live.
He’s absolutely a mama’s boy. And he’s never been connected to a significant other by the press in his entire professional career.
I shake off my devious thoughts before I fall too deep down that rabbit hole, and then quickly tap out a reply to my friends before the broadcast starts.
Isabella
No and no. Pretty sure he’s still in the clubhouse
Gotta go though. Broadcast is starting
Jordan
ooo i’m gonna tune in. i need to see this beautiful man’s face in action
Liz
I made Jackson turn on the game too!
He checked to be sure I wasn’t feverish for asking him to put on sports
I snort a laugh and slip my phone back into my pocket.
That absolutely sounds like Jackson. He’s so incredibly protective of Liz that if she’s suggested something so out of the norm, of course he would think she was ill.
Hell, people might even think I’m ill for working in sports, knowing my vehement dislike.
“Hey there, firecracker,” a deep voice says softly as Ryan jogs past me.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear it seems.
I raise my eyebrow at him. Firecracker?
He shrugs at me in response, as if understanding my unspoken question, and continues to jog backwards onto the field.
I hate that he’s given me a nickname like we’re friends. He doesn’t even know me. But what I hate more is how much I don’t hate it. It warms me inside, and I need to find a way to escape this feeling before it gets worse.
It’s the bottom of the first inning, so it’s the Suns’ turn to bat.
That’s something I learned yesterday. The away team always bats first during the first half of the inning and then the home team bats in the last half.
Although, when I called the split of the innings halves, Jamie gave me one of those ‘bless your heart’ smiles and set me straight with calling them the top and bottom.
While I hate to look so clueless, I’d much rather we get these blunders corrected now before I really embarrass myself.
As it was at yesterday’s game, Fletcher is the first to go. He heads out of the dugout and takes up his position as I hear a familiar song. It’s the same one I heard yesterday several times, and I’ve just started piecing together it plays every time it’s his turn.
“The Next Episode” by Dr. Dre.
An R&B classic, really.
But, the clean version because they have to at least try to keep it family friendly in the ballpark.
Can’t exactly be playing “motherfucking” over the stadium’s PA system, so this D-O-double-G has to be “the one and only” today.
I wait until the changeover before leaning toward Jamie. “So, Jamie. Tell me something,” I whisper.
“What’s up, Isa?” He quirks a bushy white brow at me.
“What’s the thing with the music?”
“What music?”
“Between yesterday and today, each player had the same songs play when it was their turn. Is that on purpose or what?” I ask.
“Turns,” he repeats with a snort. “You really don’t know anything about sports, do you?
It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” I bristle at the implication.
“It’s called at bat. And the music is indeed a ‘thing,’” he says with air quotes.
“A tradition actually. It’s called a walk-up song.
Every player has their own. They sometimes swap them out based on their moods, but a snippet of that song will play every time it’s their at bat.
But only for home games. It’s usually a song that means something to them in some way.
Or it’s to hype them up. You’ll also notice the pitchers have their own as they get settled into the mound.
” He glances out the window at the Suns moving into their positions around the field. “Here, listen to Anderson’s.”
“Who?”
He rolls his eyes at me, but smiles, taking some of the sting off the action.
“Hunter Anderson. The pitcher. Number 42.” He gestures toward the player walking onto the field below us, and my eyes find the owner of the shaggy blond hair I remember from the crash course.
“He has a walk-up song when he takes the mound, since pitchers don’t typically bat. ”
The PA system kicks in with Hunter’s walk-up song as he heads toward the pitcher’s mound. Lo and behold, it’s a song they played in the first inning.
“Really? ‘Bring Em Out’ is his walk-up song? That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “It really is. He often lands himself on the list of best walk-up songs. His is clearly a song to hype up the team’s defense for this part of the inning.
And it tends to work. We’ve got one of the best defenses in the league, especially when Anderson is on the mound.
” Jamie starts to rattle off Anderson’s stats, mentioning something called FIP and WHIP and ERA, but honestly none of it make any sense to me so I’ve tuned him out at this point.