“What’s it called, then?” Logan asks as he takes his receipt.
She says a few words in rapid Spanish and then smiles sadly. “Should’ve Bean,” she says. But then her dark eyes flash. “If I find out you two cheat, I never serve you again. ¿Sí?”
That “¿Sí?” is the most threatening word I’ve ever heard.
“Sí,” I say, holding her eye in a promise. I would never cheat. Pine, sure. Whimper and lick my wounds, obviously. But cheat? Never.
“Excuse me,” Banker Bro says loudly toward the window, like he’s trying to get Alma’s attention. “You know there’s a line, right? Some of us have real jobs to get to.”
Anger flashes over Logan’s face, and he slowly pans toward the man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I hand Logan his drink, trying to bump him out of his head. He’s not the kind to get physical, but I hate when he gets upset. It takes him a lot longer to cool off than it does me. I’m faster to get annoyed, but I’m like a big dumb dog. I get wet; I shake it off.
Alma’s standing at the window with her arms folded, watching over us like she’s ready to jump over that counter and spank Banker Bro with a wooden spoon if he so much as sneezes at us.
I give Alma a “stand down” look, which she ignores, and walk over to the guy.
“Hey, man, it sounds like you’re in a hurry,” I say.
“Uh, yeah. I have an important meeting I’m late for.”
“Shoot. That’s awkward. I gotta think the one with a real job is the one who actually needed to be there on time.”
Banker Bro’s face reddens, and he looks like he’s trying to calculate how far he can keep pushing. “What do you know about having a real job?”
Logan and I look at each other. And burst out at the exact same time. “Absolutely nothing,” I say. “We’re morons who throw a-hundred-mile-per-hour fastballs.”
“One of us is a moron,” Logan corrects me.
I shrug. “Guilty.” Then I look at Banker Bro. “Listen, man, you wouldn’t be throwing a tantrum waiting in her coffee line if her job didn’t matter. Just apologize.”
The guy looks around, cowed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll apologize.”
“Great,” I say. “In that case, enjoy your coffee.”
“And be sure to give Alma a huge tip,” Logan adds.
***
When we arrive at Mudflaps stadium, my hands are warm from holding drinks the whole way over. “I’ll meet you in the locker room,” I tell Logan, looking at the stairs that lead up to the administrative offices.
Something behind my sternum pulls taut the way it always does when I’m about to see Scottie, though it hurts more today. And the pain is spreading with every step.
I walk down the halls, so different than they were last season, when they resembled a condemned frat house more than a Minor League facility. Our owner has sunk some serious cash into it, updating all the facilities over the season and finally finishing the staffing areas last. New LED lighting, the concrete floors have been replaced with polished epoxy, old water-stained walls are now glass-fronted offices.
There’s only one office I care about. The one that belongs to Scottie.
Scottie, who I should absolutely not still be thinking about, considering her stupid boyfriend posted a stupid “moment” on ReelTime when he picked her up for their stupid date last night.
It was a selfie of him and Scottie in front of her condo. The caption said:
Flew back to the Ridge with the lady and fit in one last date.Till next weekend, Hot Stuff.
And then he dropped a heart emoji with three hashtags about kissing that made me want to throw up.
How is she dating this guy? He’s everything she’s not. Loud where she’s quiet, reckless where she’s careful, chaotic where she’s competent. Yeah, I must not be her type, either, but at least I can see why.
Jake Rodgers has the self-awareness of wet cement and way less interest in changing shape.
