These last few months had been exhilarating, to say the least. Full of firsts, adventures, and the highest of highs—without actually getting high because even now, I didn’t think that was something that interested me. Whereas some people might have called it a quarter-life crisis, I knew better.
It wasn't a crisis. It was an awakening.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I had made the right choice to reset my life two months ago. I had friends, a job. I was making my own money. I had even grown quite fond of the little trailer I called home, though my hotel room in Scottsdale was temporarily a nice change of scenery—one that came with a soaker tub.
I was exactly where I needed to be.
And even though baseball wasn’t the most riveting game, I had certainly learned a lot the last few days.
First, Spring Training games didn’t even count. As Dani had tried to explain to me, they did technicallymatter,in that they gave each team the opportunity to try out different players—some of whom were fighting for their spots—but at the end of the day, the wins and losses made no difference to the team’s overall record.
Second, the Roasters were pretty damn good. Sure, I had seen the team practice together dozens of times, but batting practice and fielding drills weren’t full-on games. These guys played like they’d known each other for years. I was already looking forward to the real deal come April, and even better, so were the fans. That was right. The Rose City Roasters already had fans.
Third, and perhaps most importantly, Ilovedhot dogs. Songs could be written about my borderline pornographic love affair with ketchup-covered wieners. According to Matty, Soren had almost thrown a tantrum in the dugout after he caught more than a couple of his teammates watching me devour my thirdone during yesterday’s double header. I’d gotten an earful about it—plus an ass spanking to remember—last night in his bed.
That was something else—entirely non-baseball related—I had learned about myself. I enjoyed my pleasure with a side of pain, and Soren, bless his heart, was more than happy to deliver on all of the above.
And boy, did he deliver.
“Pink and I are hitting a rooftop bar tonight.” Dani looked up from the phone in her hands. “Want to join?”
It took a few days to get there, but between Dani and me covering the on-the-ground events at Spring Training and Tanya managing the content calendar back in Rose City, we had finally found our rhythm. Dani and I took turns with game coverage, giving the other time to rest or explore Scottsdale, which, surprisingly, had a lot to offer. Hot air balloon rides, spa treatments, and as Dani had mentioned, a rooftop bar on every corner.
“Thanks, but I already have other plans.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Mm-hmm, I bet you do.”
My attention caught on my favorite player as he took the field for the final inning. More specifically, on his behind. It should be illegal for somebodythattalented to lookthatgood, especially in knee-high socks.
And he was sleeping with little ol’ me.
“How’s that going, by the way?”
When Dani nodded toward the man in question, I tried to come up with the best response. Soren and I had agreed to keep our arrangement quiet, but we weren’t necessarily hiding it from Dani or the team. Still, I didn’t want to fuel the rumor mill. Feigning ignorance might be the better option.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“Cut the shit, Clarke Gable. I saw a certain third baseman sneaking out of your room the other night, looking like the catwho ate the canary.” She arched a brow. “Or maybe the canary ate your cat?”
So much for pretending. At least this time, I could blame my flushed cheeks on the Arizona heat.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”
When she uncapped her water bottle to take a sip, I couldn’t help but notice the stickers on the side.
“Are those different states?”
“Yup,” she said after she had sealed it again. “One sticker for every state I’ve been to and blank spaces for the ones I haven’t.”
“Which ones do you still need?”
From my vantage point, there wasn’t a free space in sight. There was, however, a series of scratches over what had once been Maryland.
“Technically, Oklahoma, Kentucky, and Florida.” She braced both hands on the metal arms of the chair and leaned back, tucking her knees up to her chest. “But I have zero interest in visiting states that treat queer people like second-class citizens and women like incubators.”
“I can’t argue with that.” I pointed toward the sticker formerly known as Maryland. “What about that?”
“That’s a story for another day.” She smiled sadly. “And a pitcher of spicy margaritas.”
