Cooper
I feel the swagger.
Iamthe swagger.
The Rock Machine is back.
I stroll into the Fireballs’ Clubhouse under the Duggan Field stands feeling like I’m riding a golden unicorn through streets lined with diamonds and rainbows and baseball fans.
There’s no Waverly coming unexpectedly out of the Clubhouse, but I get to see her again over the All-Star break in another week or so.
Consolation prize for not making it into the All-Star game myself for the first time in six years—yeah, that hurts.
A lot.
I’m not ready for my baseball career to be over. I love baseball. I always make the All-Star game, and as much as I’m excited about my plans with Waverly, I’m seriously bummed to not be considered among the best this year.
But Diego’s super popular with the fans and is going his rookie year, which is crazy awesome. Brooks’s bat always gets him in, and Darren’s having his moment in the sun, so those three are headed to the festivities on behalf of the Fireballs this year.
Plus, there’s this asshole playing for Seattle this year who’s out-acrobatting me at second base who got more votes than I did.
Fucker.
Hedidn’t get a kiss goodbye from Waverly this morning though.
That kiss.
It was like she wouldn’t be able to breathe without me, and she’s already texted a picture of her snuggling her cat as proof that I still have competition for her affection.
Heh.
As if I won’t find a way to win the cat over to my side regularly so she has to compete for both of our affections instead. And as if she won’t love every minute of it.
Her laughter is the soundtrack in the back of my brain. The scent of the caramel latte I made for her to go with donuts this morning is still lingering in my nose. And the little bit of glitter at Max’s hairline that catches in the light when I make my way into the lounge reminds me of the way Waverly glitters and shines from the inside out.
I have it bad.
I have it so bad.
And for right now, I’m way okay with that.
“Dude.” Emilio stops stuffing his magic fruit into the blender behind the swanky new bar that management installed for us over the winter break and gives me a once-over.
“You okay, Coop?” Francisco asks.
“You look…weird,” Robinson adds.
“Did you see a ghost?” Baby Ash, our team’s new mascot this season, asks from the beat-up old couch that we refused to let management get rid of when they redid the clubhouse.
Sounds like Brooks is inside the costume.
And I’m not gonna judge whatever he needs to do to get his game on. Or whatever he and Mackenzie did if he took that costume home with him last night and is only now returning it.
“Feeling great, gentlemen,” I announce to the room.
“Ah, hell, Cooper,” Luca chimes in. “Your favorite coffee shop didn’t add a little extra something to your cappuccino this morning, did they? Are we gonna have to ask management to put you on the injured list to avoid drug testing?”
Max stares at me without saying a thing out loud but with saying a crapton of other stuff silently.
