“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pink huffed.
“Just that you have the maturity of a teenage girl.”
“Fuck you, guys. It’s my little sister’s favorite song.”
Matty leaned over the seatback. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know every word. We all heard you singing it in the shower last week.”
I smiled as the guys teased Pink about his chosen walk-up song, all in the name of good fun. We were about five hours into our twenty-two-hour bus ride to Scottsdale, and so far, the topics of conversation had ranged from celebrities on their “freebie lists” to whether hot dogs should be categorized as sandwiches. Obviously not. If anything, they were tacos.
We’d moved onto walk-up songs. Every player in the league got to select the music that played when they walked up to bat, hence the name.
I’ll take “Things I Never Knew About Baseball” for two hundred, Alex.
“‘25/8’ by Bad Bunny,” Diaz announced, interrupting my musings.
“You can take the boy out of Puerto Rico, but you can’t take Puerto Rico out of the boy?” Roman asked from across the aisle.
“Si, mi pana.”
“Alright, Matty.” Bennett tipped his thermos toward Matty. Our catcher had a thing for hot cocoa. He was already onto his second batch today. “Let’s hear it.”
“Wait, wait,” I interrupted. I couldn’t resist this one. “Let me guess. ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’”
The corner of lips quirked up, giving him away.
“Such a stereotype, bro.” Tuck shook his head, feigning disappointment.
“You couldn’t have chosen any country song from this millennium?” Diaz asked.
“Y’all don’t get it,” Matty rebutted. “It’s not just a song. It’s an anthem.”
The guys laughed. Matty and I exchanged a glance, one that said,These dang Northerners never get it.I had no doubt this wasn’t the first time he’d had to defend his walk-up song of choice.
It didn’t escape me that there was one person who had been strangely quiet through this entire conversation, and he was currently sitting next to me. Stroking my lower back.
Goosebumps prickled when I felt Soren’s fingers toy with the hem of my hoodie before flicking over my skin. We had both agreed not to flaunt our temporary relationship. Neither of us were interested in anybody’s questions or opinions, and frankly, it wasn’t anybody’s business but ours. None of that had stopped him from touching me throughout our trip.
A twirl of my hair here, a brush of my thigh there. All subtle enough to evade his teammates’ notice.
Which, somehow, made the whole thing even hotter.
I tilted my head to the side. “How about you?”
He smirked. “‘Sin City.’ AC/DC.”
Curiouser and curiouser, Mr. Sinclair.
For someone who shied away from his nickname, he sure did enjoy living up to it. Something told me we might have more in common than I originally thought.
“Is that a band?” I asked. Silence descended amongst the bus. Soren looked at me like I’d grown a second head. They all did.
“AC/DC?” he asked. “You’re kidding, right?”
All I could do was shrug.
“‘Back in Black?’ ‘It’s a Long Way to the Top?’ ‘Highway to Hell?’”
The guys fired off (what I could only assume was) song after song, each one more foreign to me than the next. When they finally ran out, I told them the truth.
