11. TIM
Chapter eleven
TIM
I shouldn’t have done it. I mean, he liked it, and he said I should have, but now I’m lying in the hotel room, listening to Pat lightly snore wondering, was I wrong for kissing Lion?
We were talking and he was saying all the right things, all the things I needed to hear. And I just had this overwhelming need to kiss those big, beautiful lips that were making me feel so good. And then, fuck, did they make me feel even better when they were pressed against mine.
It wasn’t even awkward afterward. We sat for over an hour eating and talking about the food truck. He had heaps of ideas, and he loved all of mine. But is that the only reason I kissed him? Am I only interested in Lion because of how he makes me feel about me? And if I am, is that a bad thing? Isn’t that part of why anyone starts a relationship with anyone else, because they make them feel good? Shit. I’m already thinking about relationships. It was one kiss. One incredible kiss. And it’s true that I really wanted to do it again when he walked me back to the hotel, but I didn’t because there were a few of the players still hanging in the downstairs bar.
“What’s making you smile so big?” Ryan asks, leaning across the aisle of the bus on our way to Orlando.
“Lion,” I reply, and Duckie shakes his head a little beside me but doesn’t say anything. I know he has his concerns about Lion, but he doesn’t know him. He doesn’t see how adorably sweet he is. Him starting as a fan doesn’t mean that it’s a terrible idea. I bet Ian is Duckie’s biggest fan now, so why does it matter that Lion was a fan first?
“I thought I saw him at the game, it was cool of him to come down. Is he coming to Orlando, too?” Ryan asks.
“Yeah, he has one of those Big Banana season tour passes, so he’ll be at every game this year.”
“Nice. You said he posts stuff about the games online all the time, do I follow him already?”
“Not sure, his handle is Kittyball100.”
Ryan does this weird smirk-frown thing with his face, and I laugh before going on to explain.
“He’s a huge cat fan. Has four of his own.”
“My handle was Ryan out of water until I joined the team and closed that account to set up a new one that just focused on Banana Ball.”
“Ryan out of water?”
“Yeah, like fish out of water, because I was always at the pool or wishing I was in the water.”
“Oh, I get it now. That’s actually pretty clever.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, I found him,” Ryan says and starts scrolling his phone through Lion’s feed. “He’s posted a lot. And he has heaps of comments and people liking and sharing his posts, too. Wow, this is great.”
Duckie coughs and mumbles, “Misery.”
“Dude, you gotta let that go. He’s a sweet guy, I swear. Look, he’ll be in Orlando for the weekend. How about he comes to dinner with us one night, then you can see for yourself he’s not a stalker?”
Duckie pulls his cap down over his face a little and rests back against the window to get some sleep.
“Alright, deal.”
I open the group chat with the guys and send off a quick message.
TIM: Dinner after game one. Venue and time TBC.
***
Lion was back in Savannah all week working while I was with the team rehearsing and training for the next set of games. While The Funky Monkeys only played in one game last weekend, we play in two this weekend, and now that I hit a home run and used my down under celebration, I’m trying to think of something else I can use next time. I know it’s probably bad luck to be thinking about the next home run when some players never get a homer, but I can’t help it. Lion has been messaging me ideas and sharing every video he can find online of the home run. His belief in me is really boosting my belief in myself. One of the videos is a close-up of my face as I swing and hit it, and then the pure unbridled happiness when I realized it was going all the way. I message Lion.
TIM: The guys want to know if you are keen to join us one night for dinner?
Okay, I want to know. It was my idea. I just want them to see him the way I do. To see that behind the rolling mountains of muscle, he’s just a sweet guy. Nothing stalkery about that at all. And now I’m wondering, am I doing this to convince them or me?
It’s Friday afternoon, and instead of replaying the opening number in my head, all I can think about is whether or not Lion is already in town. He doesn’t drive, and it’s far too long of a push-bike ride, so he caught the train just like with Jacksonville. He’s also got three different guys joining him for the games this weekend, too. Set-ups his sister Mouse has arranged even though he told her to choose women. She could at least choose them based on their excitement to go, not how likely they are to want to date her brother.
LION: Oh wow, that’s nice of them. Sure. Okay. Are we trying another barbeque place? I hear there is really good seafood in Orlando. You could barbeque seafood in your food truck. Or gator tail. They do that there, too. I was looking up a few places to eat just before. I can find a place near the hotel you are all staying at if you want. Where are you staying?
“Sage, phone away or you won’t see it for the rest of the weekend,” Coach Miles says, and I immediately slip it onto the shelf of my cubby in the locker room.
“Sorry, Coach.”
You don’t want to mess with the coach. If he says you’ll lose it, he means it. Calvin found that out the hard way a few weeks back. His brother even tried to get it back for him, pretending it was his and trying to prove it by unlocking it with his face. Dumbass is a fucking twin. Like the coach was going to fall for that shit. Tony lost his for two days, too, and his own coach had him running stairs for ten minutes after every training that week. So, as much as I hate having to put it away without messaging Lion back. The alternative is I won’t be able to message him for days, so I do as I’m told.
“I want to see another game like last week. You really showed the crowd and the other teams you’re here to win it all this year.”
The guys cheer and start chattering about different plays that were awesome last game. My home run is mentioned by more than just one of them and it feels great hearing them acknowledge the contribution.
“The crowd will start arriving soon, you’ve got game duty on the field today, so try to keep the little ones off the diamond and have fun,” Coach finishes, and we get dressed. As soon as the coach is out of the room, I grab my phone and quickly text back Lion.
TIM: We’re at the Hyatt. See you at the game.
LION: Almost there.
***
I spot Lion right away. I was looking for him from the moment I got in the field. He wasn’t that hard to spot, though, when he towers over the crowd and is twice as wide as most guys. His hair is swooped back, and he’s wearing the same Funky Monkey jersey he wore last game. It hugs every bulge of his thick arms and looks hot as hell. The guy beside him is big, too, and judging by the way he’s looking at Lion, he likes the way the jersey fits, too.
Heat rises in my gut, and my fingers tighten against the glove in my hand. This guy can’t seriously think he has a chance. Would he? Duckie slaps his hand down on my shoulder.
“What’s got you all rage monkey?”
“What?”
“You look like you want to go all Steve Irwin on that guy.”
“Steve Irwin was a pacifist.”
He snort-laughs. “Please. He wrestled crocodiles.”
“So?”
“Soooo, why do you look like you want to rip that guy’s head off? Oh, wait, is he Lion’s date?”
“No. He’s just a guy his sister sold the extra ticket to. They got him the passes for his birthday, it was the full tour pack thing that came with two tickets to every game. So his sister has been selling off the other seat, just for what the regular price of the ticket would be, then that money pays for his hotels and travel and stuff so he can fund coming on tour with us.” I don’t know why I felt like I needed to tell him all that.
“They don’t upsell it?”
“Fuck no. Lion said he wanted to give it away, but his sister insisted on at least selling it for cost. You can ask him all about it at dinner tonight. He’s picking the place.”
“Oh, Ian will be in, too. He’s back on Banana Ball after filling in for the tool on hockey last week.”
“The more the merrier,” I say as the kids in the latest sack race jump and fall over the line. I hope it’s not a horrible idea subjecting Lion to the guys all at once.
Bart comes out onto the field in his yellow suit. You would think he would change it up once in a while, but no. It’s the yellow suit and shoes at every game and the crowd loves it.
“Who’s ready for an amazing night?” he calls into the mic, and the crowd cheers. We start to guide the spectators back to their seats, and the OG teams strut onto the field, spinning and bobbing to the music.
“This looks like it might be one of the best crowds we’ve seen, am I right, guys?” he asks and we all nod and clap, and the crowd grows even louder. “But this music is a bit much, can we cut it? Come on, guys. Cut the music. Cut it!”
The music stops with a crackle of the speaker and the crowd falls silent, too. The OG players are looking back and forth, frowning and shaking their heads. A few of them shrug like they have no idea what’s going on. You can tell these guys have been doing this awhile because their acting is on point. I can tell from a few faces of people near me that not everyone believes this is part of an act. They really think Bart just shut their shit down.
Taylor Blackstone, pitcher for the OG’s, throws a nod toward his teammates, and someone tosses him a mic.
“Yo, Bart. Come on, man. Please don’t stop the music,” he asks, and then the whole team pulls mics from behind their backs, forming a triangle on the field before they repeat “ please don’t stop the,“ three times , players joining in each go, just like in the movie Pitch Perfect . The crowd erupts on the word music, and the team do their thing, dancing the same choreography the Treblemakers do on stage in the film. It’s fucking awesome.
We’re all dancing in the crowd with the fans, and I keep glancing Lion’s way. He’s on his feet, too, dancing and cheering with everyone else. The guy beside him is just as into it. That pang hits my gut, the unease that used to swell around me before every game. I try to shake it away but seeing him having so much fun with someone else makes me want to jog over there and take his place.
But I’m playing in this game, and I’ll need to get on the field if I am going to be in position when the first pitch is thrown. I force myself to look away and regain focus as I jog out onto the field, but my gaze moves back to Lion over and over.
The first few pitches go by, the balls never coming close to where I am but then the OG’s Billy Hall steps up to bat and he points out in my direction, calling where he thinks he’s going to send the ball out of the park. My eyes flick to Lion. I made sure to find him in the crowd before the game started so I would know right where to look when I needed him. He’s leaning forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, and he’s watching me. Only me. I know it. I can feel his eyes on me, and an energy buzzes through the grass up my legs and over my whole body. It’s just like when he coaxed me to hit that home run last week. The rush spreads through me, and I’m focused. Determined. I want to be better. I want to be amazing. For him.
The bat connects, and just as he predicted, it comes flying my way. But I see it. And in two seconds I’m under it, ready for my backflip catch. It’s perfect. The whole crowd cheers, but my eyes go right to Lion, and he’s on his feet, hands in the air, smiling, just for me.