And then she’s gone. We get the costume’s muscular chest piece on, then the arms. The costume clicks together, then the grapefruit headcloses my world in. I can see, but my field of vision is very limited and obscured by a screen.
“Let’s get you married,” my teenage handler says, giggling.
There’s a security guard waiting outside, and between the two of them, I’m escorted to the field.
CHAPTER 5
JEFF
“Lookin’ good, Coach!”
“It’s about time!”
I wave at my players, acknowledging their ribbing as I stride out to meet the wedding officiants at home plate.
The loud speaker crackles to life, and our home game announcer welcomes the modest crowd to the pregame event.
“Friends and family of the Outlaws, and of our lucky couples today, please welcome the honorary groom, team manager Jeff Rosehill!”
Now my wave is to the crowd, some of them clearly dressed up—in one way or another—to exchange very real vows of their own after I do the schtick version with our mascot, Captain Citrus.
Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I agreed to this.
There are two people performing the service today: someone from city hall and a minister.Molly thought of everything, apparently. I introduce myself to them gruffly, then we’re saved from any more conversation by the ballpark organ starting to play Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
Captain Citrus emerges from the tunnel, the handler guiding him. He waves at the crowd, and it’s not his usual gesture. It’s nervous, and I wonder if Molly cornered him in a dark office too.
Not that I was actually cornered.
If anything, she was the one caught like a wild animal, snared in my trap when I caught her spinning around in my chair. I’m the predator who blocked the door, who snapped at her and pretended not to know her name in a misguided attempt to remind her of my authority.
We’ve only met twice, but both times, her bold, fearless confidence has gotten the better of me.
Both times, I’ve been left wanting more, aching with an unfamiliar craving.
I can’t wait until spring training is over and I’ll be on the road with the team after the time, far away from the bright, incessant ideas of Molly Henderson.
The mascot stops beside me, and the organ music finishes with a dramatic flourish. The crowd cheers.
“Friends and family and fans, we’re gathered here today to celebrate the nuptials of many special Outlaws. Before we proceedwith the group ceremony, our honorary couple of the day will exchange rings.”
The handler makes sure that the Captain’s holding an oversized baseball ring the right way up, then the mascot gets down on one knee, proposing to me.
I turn red.
“Yeah, yeah, of course I’ll marry you,” I say gruffly.
It’s picked up on the officiant’s mic, and the crowd goes nuts.
I roll my eyes, and there’s a faint giggle from inside the mascot uniform.
I frown. That’s not what our usual mascot guy sounds like.
Peering intently at the screen that covers the grapefruit’s mouth doesn’t help.
I help the muscular pirate mascot back to his feet. Her feet? I’m pretty sure whoever is in the costume today is a woman, from that little laugh.
She catches my left hand and clumsily puts the ring on me. It’s big enough to go all the way around my wrist, and it swings around, the baseball weighting it funny.
