13. For Love of the Game
THIRTEEN
FOR LOVE OF THE GAME
RYAN
The past month of games has flown by, and I’ve fallen into a new rhythm with Isa. A strictly friendly rhythm, but a guy can dream for more, right?
We’ve had two more away stretches of six games each where we would text or call each other during our free moments. And the times we have home games, we’ve kept up the tradition of hitting up In-N-Out, sharing dinner and more bits and pieces of ourselves.
She told me more about her younger brother, Nico, and how he’s currently playing baseball for his college. He’s looking to join the draft in the next year or two, and I can’t help but think how weird but fun it would be to play against him in the league—or even with him.
I got to tell her more about my family and growing up in New York. How my dad still calls me a traitor for playing in LA and not one of the many hometown teams—a fact that she got quite the kick out of.
I’ve also spent so many of our conversations trying to explain the sport to her so she can better understand it, but she’s still completely lost every game.
I even pull up the highlights after a game—the two of us huddling over my phone—and try to walk her through everything step by step, but no luck.
Which brings us to now. It’s the start of June and if we thought the heat in April and May was bad, it’s sweltering now.
I was drenched in sweat after we beat St. Louis in game two of this home series after losing last night.
The guys are in good spirits and it’s time for me to tap into another resource to see what I can do to get Isa to enjoy baseball.
I mean I don’t need her to enjoy the sport for us to continue to hang out, but it’s so much nicer when I know I can talk about it with someone and not have them completely brush it off.
I like when they have enough of an interest that it’s another piece we can connect over.
At the very least I want her to understand what I’m talking about.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees and hands clasped together, looking over the group of friends I’ve summoned for this conversation.
“Alright guys. How can I get someone, with absolutely no clue about baseball, interested in the sport? Like what’s the secret?
How can I get her to not just learn it, but also hopefully love it? ”
Cooper and Hunter lock eyes, silently communicating something before they both look at me with eyebrows raised. Austin looks flat out confused, his blond brows furrowed and a frown on his face, which almost makes me burst out laughing.
Austin is the youngest of the group of us at twenty-five.
This is only his second season with the Suns after he was called up from the farm team last year.
He still has this wide-eyed novelty about finally being in the pros, but since he’s so focused on his performance, he’s a bit oblivious to the rest of what’s going on around him.
His first day on the team he got stuck right in with Hunter who dragged him into the little friendship trio we had.
Cooper is the first to speak. “Is this because of that girl?”
“What girl?” Austin asks.
“Fletch has been chasing after that new girl with the production crew for months now,” Hunter explains with a smug smile.
“She’s the reason he keeps changing his fucking walk-up song,” Cooper adds.
I drop my head into my hands with a sigh.
“Wait, really? I just thought you were over Dre.”
“First, I’ve not been chasing after her. We’re friends now,” I say with my chest puffed. I point a finger at Hunter. “Second, how the fuck did you find out? Coop only knows about her because we talked on the bus to San Diego.”
“Bro, I’m not blind. You’re always hanging around her whenever you can.
” He narrows his eyes at me with a head tilt, silently asking me if I really thought no one noticed us.
“I’m glad to know you guys are friends now though.
It’s a little less concerning knowing you’re not stalking the poor woman. ”
“I’m not stalking her!”
“Well, we know that now,” Hunter says, emphasizing the last word.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can we get back to the matter at hand?” I think asking the guys for help may have been the wrong move.
“Try a movie or something,” Austin suggests.
I tilt my head at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Wait, no. Austin makes a good point. Those things are made specifically for entertainment purposes. They might not be the most accurate depiction of the game, but it’s probably a good starting point to get her to enjoy it more. Or at the very least start to understand it,” Cooper explains.
“Okay, I see where you’re coming from. Now what movie should I show her? I don’t think she’ll enjoy my favorite. At least not for a first introduction.”
“Ooo, what’s your favorite?” Austin asks, leaning forward like I’m about to share the juiciest gossip, not my favorite baseball movie.
“For Love of the Game.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s such a good one. The drama, the romance. Girls love romances, so maybe don’t count it out just yet,” Hunter remarks. “You could try Moneyball. Who doesn’t like Brad Pitt?”
Cooper laughs and shakes his head. “Uh, his kids for one. Don’t do that one. Too much stats talk. You’ll lose her.” He thinks for a moment before he snaps his fingers at me. “The Rookie. You can’t beat Disney and their heartwarming, based on a true story films.”
“That could be an option.” I nod, considering.
“Wait! What about Angels in the Outfield?” Austin suggests.
The rest of us all whip our heads to look at him like he’s crazy, because well, he kind of is.
“Dude, you’re joking right?” Hunter gapes.
“You can’t be serious,” Cooper says, stunned.
“What’s wrong with it?” Austin asks, his face revealing how serious he is.
“Nope, we’re not touching that one. I’ll think of something,” I say, pushing up off the bench and gathering my things so I can get the fuck out of here and to In-N-Out with Isa.
“You guys are no help, and I have plans. So, if you’ll excuse me,” I say before tossing my bag over my shoulder and heading toward the door.
“I still think you should consider Angels in the Outfield!” Austin calls at my retreating back.
I shake my head with a laugh. I will absolutely not consider that one.
“Tell your girlfriend we said hello!” Cooper teases.
“Not my girlfriend!” I call back without looking at them.
Yet.
Isabella
I’m struggling to focus today. I’m not entirely sure why—I got enough sleep the night before, I’ve had my daily coffee, I actually ate a real meal for lunch for once—but my mind is running off on a million tangents.
And if I felt like being honest with myself, more than half of them center around Ryan.
But we won’t be honest.
So, I’m definitely not thinking about him.
But I’m also not not thinking about him.
Unfortunately.
Especially not while he’s fifty feet away from me doing his post-game interview to chat through the end of this home series against St. Louis.
He’s fresh from the game, glistening with sweat and his uniform is covered in the clay sand from sliding into base a few too many times.
His hair is damp but covered by his baseball cap—on backwards, obviously, because he’s trying to make my heart give out.
The ends peek out from below the hat and curl around his ears and the nape of his neck.
My fingers twitch with the desire to run through the strands, sweat be damned.
The desire also isn’t helped by the fact that I keep seeing him outside of his element.
We continue to grab burgers after home games—yes, I still give him shit about it every time—and we spend the time chatting about the most random things.
And the more I get to know him, the more endearing he becomes.
Which is a problem I foresaw from the start and yet, here we are anyway.
And I’ve started to miss him while they’re away.
Which they’re about to be. Another week-long away trip I’ll spend pretending I’m not counting down the days until the team is back.
He’s not some hotshot baseball player that thinks he can get any girl he wants—although I suppose he’s that too.
He’s a caring guy who loves his family, and his teammates are his second family.
He’s sweet. And it’s not helping me keep the growing attraction I have for him out of our friendship.
Each time we hang out, I eat slower and slower to drag out our time together.
And I find myself staring for a bit longer than would be acceptable.
Like now, for example. I’m once again staring when I should be working.
Not standing here thinking about him all sweaty and mussed up like that, but in a different situation.
One that involves significantly less clothes.
God, Isa. Stop being a fucking horndog over your friend.
I shake myself out from the traitorous thoughts and re-focus my eyes on scanning the crowd, as I normally do. But something feels… off. The hairs on my arm stand on end in an almost sixth sense.
My eyes snag on a middle-aged man in a St. Louis jersey, shouting in the direction of the crew still working and interviewing Ryan. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes as I focus on him.
“Fletcher, you’re shit!” the man yells. It takes everything in me to keep my face neutral, because if any of the stats the hosts love to rattle off mean anything to me, it’s that he’s actually quite the opposite of shit.
He continues to shout obscenities in Ryan’s direction, but every time I shift my focus to him, he’s paying the man no mind, likely used to this sort of verbal abuse.
That’s good.
I mean it’s not good that he’s used to the abuse, because no one should have to be used to it.
But it’s good that he’s able to drown out all the noise and phase him out.
More than half the time that’s all these people want, to be acknowledged.
So, they shout the worst things possible to get some sort of reaction.
I wish he wouldn’t have to deal with these things though. He’s an incredible player, at least from what I’ve learned, and just because he plays for the opposing team doesn’t mean he at all deserves to have these obscenities lobbed at him.
That’s one thing I’ve picked up on throughout my time working with the Suns.
It happens a lot less for a home game than I assume it does for away games, but the aggression that comes out of fans in defense of their team is honestly a little terrifying.
The types of things that are shouted are absolutely uncalled for.
Like telling them they’re shit at a job they’re paid millions to do?
Sure, how about I come to your place of work and tell you that you’re shit.
And telling someone to go die? I applaud Ryan’s ability to block out the haters like that, because I’m not so sure I’d be able to.
“Anna, what are you even doing here?” My head whips around to see him focusing his attention on Annie now, likely intentionally getting her name wrong in some misogynistic power move.
Her eyes flick briefly in his direction but quickly refocus back on the interview with Ryan.
“You’ve never even played baseball! It’s a man’s sport!
What makes you qualified for your job? I can do better!
” Oh, no he fucking didn’t. Her smile shifts from bright and genuine to one that’s forced and brittle around the edges.
I inwardly sigh. Wrong move, man. I make eye contact with one of the nearest stadium security stewards working to slowly clear the stands now that the game is over. I subtly tilt my head in the man’s direction to indicate that he needs to go.
Stepping up in front of him, he looks briefly startled by my sudden appearance before his expression goes back to smug.
I shoot him my widest smile. “Hello sir. Did you enjoy the game?” I ask, my voice laced with as much honey as I can. Kill ’em with kindness and all that.
He rolls his eyes. “Would’ve been better had the Suns not played dirty. But what would you even know about baseball.” He drags his gaze up and down my body, a sneer taking over his features. “You’re a girl.” He practically spits the word girl.
Cool. This man has issues with women in general. Good to know.
“I’m sorry you felt the game wasn’t fair. St. Louis played a great game from what I could see. That homer in the fourth inning was impressive.”
He scoffs. “Don’t try to talk to me about baseball. You don’t even belong in this sport.”
“I’m not actually involved with the sport.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder toward where the crew is. “I’m actually Annie’s security.” That’s oversimplifying my job a bit, but he won’t care one way or another. He’s not worth the wasted breath to try to explain.
He scoffs. Again. “Security? That’s a great joke. A small girl like you couldn’t possibly be security.”
“And why’s that?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my head and blink at him innocently, as if I didn’t understand his implication.
“Well look at you. You belong in someone’s bed, not playing dress up and acting like a bodyguard. Leave that to the men.”
My head flinches back at his harsh words. I’ve dealt with men like him enough times that I wasn’t expecting him to start spewing rainbows and butterflies in my direction, but I didn’t think he’d make it so vulgar.
I open my mouth to respond and diffuse the situation, but I don’t get the chance.
“You would do well to watch your words,” Ryan’s murderous voice says from behind me.