10. Chapter 10 #2
Grayson squeezes my shoulder. “You’re good. Tate had to deal with something, and he hasn’t come back yet. There’s no way we are leaving without that man.”
“Yes!” I pump my fist. I’m not late, and I spent the night pleasuring Whit. Could my life get any better? Maybe with some in-air hot dogs.
When I get to my usual seat across the aisle from Grayson, I stuff my bag in the overhead compartment, and just as I’m about to take a seat, Grayson asks, “So, a tall, skinny birdie told me that you and a certain hot golfer might be a thing.”
A tall, skinny birdie?
My gaze falls straight onto Max, because Austin doesn’t match that description. He’s more of a stout baby goose. He's thick in all the right places, a little clumsy, and weirdly adorable. Definitely not a gossip.
No, that’s Max.
He’s standing near the front of the plane, drinking a bottle of water, and... surprise, surprise, Sienna is just on the other side, talking to Jeff. Maybe I should rat his obsession out to the biggest playboy on the team and see how he likes it.
I turn to Grayson. “There’s nothing going on with me and Andy Weiss. What would make you think that?” I joke. Let’s be real, even if Whit wasn’t the best golfer on the planet, I’d still think she was the best.
Grayson's lips pull into a smile. “Dude's hot, but we all know Whit Marlow is hotter.”
When he drops into his usual seat, I follow suit, moving to the aisle seat next to him and beside Max.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry,” Grayson says before I can offer any more wisdom. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, just as Max makes his way over. I move my knees so the big bird himself can get through.
“And obviously, I think it will help your game,” Grayson says.
I whip my head to look at him.
He shrugs. “What? You have tight hips. This will loosen you up.”
Loosen me up?
Do I need... loosening?
Am I tight? Is that the team note on me? The guy with the tight hips? Because Whit pointed that out inside the first hour of meeting me and I am going to spend this entire flight—
“We talking about Whit?” Max asks, looking between us.
“Yeah. JB’s being surprisingly quiet about it.”
“I’m still trying to figure out when my hips got tight,” I answer honestly.
“Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to tell everyone about Whit, but they started getting worried. You're usually the first one on the plane, passing out candy so our ears don't hurt.”
Dammit. I forgot the candy.
“I'm good.” I wave him off, more concerned about Dalton's waxy ears, and my tight hips, than anything.
Max raises a brow. “Yeah? You sure?”
“It’s all good, Max. We talked this morning, and I think we’re kind of... dating.” I don’t say girlfriend in case that’s a little premature, but it’s not as bad as loml, which is also a possible description for the wonderful Whit Marlow.
Max’s gaze shifts for just a second, straight to the little reporter before he turns his attention back to me.
Is he down bad?
Yes.
Do I mention it to Max?
No. Not yet. Max is a silent assassin kind of pitcher. Where I’m open and like to talk to people, he’s quieter. More thoughtful. If he hasn’t said anything, there’s a reason for it, and I don’t want to force anything out of him.
“I’m happy for you, man,” Max says, relaxing back in his seat. “I knew she liked you that first day when you were talking to her dad. I could see the glint in her—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence because Tate comes waltzing through the airplane doors with his phone pressed to his ear and his jaw tight.
“No. No. Please listen to me,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “The plane needs to go. I need to go.”
His brow is creased, there’s clear anger in his voice, and the only time I’ve ever seen him this annoyed is when we lost a spot in the playoffs last season because of the Atlanta Armadillos.
He looks up, clocks the whole plane looking at him, and mouths sorry to the coaches. “I'll be five minutes,” he says, before turning and walking right back out of the plane.
The coaches let out a few grumbles, and you know it’s bad when even they are getting annoyed at him.
Tate is the golden boy, the face of the franchise, the workhorse who hardly ever gets injured. The only other player with a consecutive games played streak as long as his is Holden Fox. People don’t get angry at him unless it’s something serious.
It takes the cabin a few seconds to get back to the usual chatter. Once it does, I lean into Max and whisper, “Everything all right with our Tater Tot?”
Max takes me in with surprise. “You’ve really been living in a bubble this weekend, haven’t you?”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.
He laughs and shakes his head. “During the press for the All-Star Weekend, Emma told a reporter that Tate proposed.”
“Did he?” I gasp in complete and utter shock. I never really thought he and Emma were that serious.
“No. Of course not. It's her way of trying to pressure Tate into agreeing to it.”
“What?”
“Come on, Catch. You’ve got to be better at deduction than that.” Grayson leans over from my other side, inserting himself into the conversation. Not that I mind. Grayson has known Tate longer than anyone.
“Tate’s with a girl who wants attention. She’s tired of just being ‘Tate Sorenson’s girlfriend’ when she could be his wife.”
“I heard she’s been in talks with the producers of Baseball Wives.”
“What? Why on earth would Tate agree to all of this? He doesn’t seem like the type of player who would be into that.”
“You know Tate,” Grayson says. “He's too nice to say no to shit.
That's why he's the one who ends up doing all those weird half-naked photoshoots.
It's also why Emma thought she could get away with it again.
She assumed she'd be able to talk him into a proposal like she does everything else. This is the first time he's said no.”
“Wow. That’s shitty.”
“Tell me about it,” Grayson says.
A minute later, Tate slips back onto the plane, nods at Grayson, and then takes a seat at the front next to Dalton. The two of them lean in and start talking.
Poor Dalton. I hope he can hear okay.
Grayson claps his hands loud enough to draw the attention away from Tate.
“All right,” he yells. “Are we ready to beat Cincy's butt?”
The plane cheers, and the cabin crew prepare for takeoff.
I pull my phone out, ready to flip it into airplane mode. Before I do, I send a quick message to my new girlfriend. Girlfriend? Fuck, I’ll never get tired of using that.
JB: Made it to the plane just in time, but that doesn’t mean I’m not missing you.
The three dots come up immediately. She was waiting for me.
Whit: Thank goodness. My father would never forgive me if Kyle had to start with Grayson tonight. Glad you made it.
My lips lift. She knows far more about the Fish than she's been letting on.
Whit: And I miss you, too.
Is it too early to say I’m in love? Because I’m definitely feeling it.