Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1) (10 page)

When I arrive at the stadium there’s a note in my locker to go see the GM. If it were serious, he would’ve called me and asked me to come in. As is, it’s still nerve-racking climbing the stairs to see the man who could change your life in the blink of an eye. What’s worse is that he’s only a few years older than me.

Wendy is sitting at her desk, typing away. When I walk in, she stops and smiles. “Mr. Stone is waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” I say. I knock on his door once before I twist the knob and enter. Ryan Stone is standing at his floor to ceiling windows that overlooks the field. He truly has the best view, but there’s nothing like being down where the action is. “Hey boss.”

Ryan turns around and motions for me to sit in one of the chairs that are situated in front of his desk. Last year, I walked in to talk to him about the BoRe Blogger only to be interrupted by none other than Hadley Carter, who I had a massive crush on. Turns out, Hadley and our boss used to be an item and she was here to win him back. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t believe in love. She won her man back, and they ended up getting married on the field.

“How are you feeling these days?”

I know he’s asking about my nervous tick and honestly I haven’t felt it during the past few days. Come to think of it, this afternoon at lunch I didn’t have to hide my hands at all.

“I’ve been trying acupuncture and I think it’s helping, but not all the time. When I’m nervous, it’s always worse.”

Ryan opens a file and briefly picks up a sheet of paper before setting it down on top of the open folder on his desk. “I’m not seeing it affect you on the field.”

I shake my head. “No sir, I’m comfortable on the field and when I’m batting.”

“The extra time with Diamond paid off then?”

“I believe so.”

Ryan makes a note and closes my file. He’s been a hands-on general manager, making sure that everything is okay with his players.

“Are you ready for some media training?”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a year now. “Yes, sir. Tell me what I have to do.”

Ryan slides another sheet of paper toward me. I take it and read it two or three times before my mind starts going crazy. I’m to attend Media Marketing at Boston University. I’ll be on the same campus as Daisy for two weeks.

“Sir, here I was hoping your wife was going to teach me!”

“Nice try, Davenport,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Everything good? Are you still obsessed with the BoRe Blogger?”

I grind my teeth and clench the armrests of the chair. Ryan knows how I feel about the blogger. I know some of my issues with the blogger are from my own stupidity, but everything I do, or the team does, is posted on this blog. Can’t he write about baseball and call it good? The other day he implied that Bainbridge is cheating on his wife. That shit isn’t cool.

“Unfortunately, I don’t see my obsession going away anytime soon.” It’s probably best for me if I learn to ignore the blog, but I don’t see that happening.

“Well, Hadley read it and she saw that you’ve been spending some time with someone. She wants to know if you want to bring her to dinner?”

“Um…” I run my hand through my hair. Dinner with Hadley Carter is at the top of my must do list, but having the boss there – not so much. However, it would be stupid to pass up an invite from him.

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable, so I’ll make sure to extend the invite to the team. We’ll make it a party. Hadley will have fun with something like this.”

“Okay, Boss. Let me know when.”

I stand and shake his hand, taking my class assignment with me and leaving his office. I pull out my phone and text Daisy as I walk back to the clubhouse.

Do you have Media Marketing?

Daisy: No, why? Do you need media training?

Sadly, yes! I’ll tell you about it later. Dinner tonight?

Daisy: Only if you win :)

Thanks, no pressure now! Can’t wait to see you...

I hit send before I can erase the last sentence, and shut off my phone so I’m not waiting for her response. I want her to know that I want to see her. I hope my message conveys that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

Despite the early afternoon drizzle, the evening has shaped up to be pretty pleasant. Even at the end of April, it’s still chilly at night but getting warmer each day. Tonight, when I step out of the dugout for batting practice, my eyes are right on Daisy’s seat and, much to my surprise, she’s sitting there with her elbows leaning on the visitor dugout, watching our second baseman, Bryce Mackenzie, take his swings. She hasn’t noticed that I’m on the field yet and as much as I want to go over and talk to her, I can’t. I need to maintain some sort of professionalism right now.

Instead, I walk over to the stands and start signing autographs. The little kids, and even some big ones, flock down to the fence to get a signature on their ball, glove or bat. A few of the other guys join me, making this a team effort.

I move along the fence, making sure everyone is getting a chance instead of having to wait in a large crowd. I really like giving kids one-on-one attention. The bigger kids tend to squeeze the little ones out, and that annoys me. I take a ball from a little guy dressed in BoRe gear. His toothless grin reminds me of myself when I was about his age. For the longest time, I missed my four front teeth. Eating food that summer was difficult, especially popsicles.

It’s still not my turn for batting practice so I move over to the third base side of the field, just steps away from Daisy. I know she can see me now and I when I look toward her, she’s smiling. I’ve impressed her, or at least I think I have. I’m waiting to see if she’ll come down to the opening. Each time I glance at her it seems like she’s thinking about it. I sign a few more items before moving to the other side of the dugout where Daisy is standing.

A few of the fans rush down, but my eyes are locked on hers. Before I left the clubhouse, I grabbed a brand new baseball and wrote:
Will you go to dinner with me tonight?
I did this with the intent of giving it to her after the game started, but I don’t want to wait. She walks down the few steps to get to get to me, saying ‘excuse me’ along the way. At first the fans balk, but I think they get the drift that I want to see her because before I know it, she’s standing in front of me.

“Nice hat,” I say as I tap the rim. It’s the same hat she wears for every game, but my brain can’t come up with anything else to say right now. She makes me fumble through my thoughts just to say the simplest things. I don’t know if it’s her smile, her eyes or her sheer presence that gets me tongue-tied, but I don’t want this feeling to stop. What I
do
want to stop is the twitching my hand is doing. I have a hard enough time around her as it is that I don’t need her distracted by this ailment. I pull the ball out of my back pocket and squeeze it, trying to control the shaking.

“I think you might like my jersey,” she says with a hint of humor in her voice. She turns around slowly, showing me my name and number on her back. A few of the adults near us snicker, making me wish I could flip them off and tell them to get the fuck lost so I can bask in the fact that this girl, that I really like, is going to sit in the stands with my name on her back. If I didn’t have my cup in, everyone would see the fucking woody I’m sprouting right now because this is hot... not to mention that it’s also a sign that she’s actually into me.

“Wow,” I say, stepping closer. My hands rest on the railing that she’s pressed against and I let my right hand touch her thigh. I have to lean down to do this, but it’s worth it. Even with all the cell phones out, it doesn’t stop me from touching her. “You really know how to impress a guy.”

“Davenport, you’re up.” I look over my shoulder and nod. “I gotta go,” I tell her as I fight every muscle in my body from leaning forward to kiss her. We are going to have our first kiss soon, I just don’t know when. I do know that I’m going crazy with the need to feel her lips pressed against mine. “I have this for you.” I hand her the ball and her finger tips brush mine, sending a jolt to my system.

Daisy reads the words and looks up, her green eyes piercing mine. “Yes,” she says loud enough for me to hear, giving me the sweetest smile in the process.

“Fuck me,” I say as I turn away and adjust myself. I don’t know where the BoRe Blogger is now, but I hope he isn’t counting how many times I’m adjusting myself because I have a feeling I’ll be fixing my cup all night.

Branch Singleton, our designated hitter, is finishing up when I get there. I use the extra minutes to put my batting gloves on and take a couple of practice swings.

“Hold the bat, Davenport.” Cal Diamond is walking toward me and all I can think is that I’m not starting because of what I just did with Daisy, even though it’s nothing different than what any of the other guys have done. “Bainbridge had something come up and I need you to take his place at the Rotary dinner Thursday night.”

Thursday is Daisy’s birthday.

“I have plans,” I blurt out.

Diamond stands firm with his hands on his hips, glaring at me. He glares at everyone. He’s the manager, it’s allowed. “Yes, you do... at the Rotary dinner. You were requested after Bainbridge so get your tux out, get it pressed and show up for dinner with a speech.”

I look over at Daisy; she’s too far away for me truly see what she’s doing, but I feel her eyes on me. “Can I bring a date?”

“As long as she’s not a hooker.” He slaps me on the arm and laughs as he walks toward the dugout.

Well shit, this is great. I had plans to do something with Daisy and can only hope she’ll agree to go with me. If not, I’ll have to meet her after, if she’d even feel like going out later. My good mood is now soured by a baseball commitment. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s how things go around here. Even our off days are baseball days. And organizations plan events around our calendar so we can attend. They use our names and the fact that we’re appearing as a way to sell tickets. We could essentially send one of the guys down the totem pole of the forty-man roster, but people aren’t paying to meet him. They pay to meet players like me.

I step up to the plate and wait. Each swing is powerful and balls are flying out of the park, much to the fans pleasure. I usually hit like shit when I’m angry. Maybe this is a sign that I’m not pissed off, but looking forward to a night with Daisy – who, mind you, would have to be dressed up. The thought of Daisy in a dress sends me into overdrive.

If I can continue to think about her in a dress, and maybe with that dressed hiked up over her hips as she lies on my bed after the party, I may bat for the cycle tonight... or hit three homeruns. That would be something considering I’ve yet to do that in my major league career.