“One moment,” he tells me, getting up to meet the young man coming toward us. “Hey, Javy. Not tonight. Go on without me.”
“Sure thing, Coach. Looks like you have something better to do.” The kid snickers, smirking at us.
Gabe sits back down. “Sorry about that. Sometimes after games, some of the players meet up and play poker.”
I can tell he thinks the player, Javy, is acting like a total punk and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “I take it you’re a coach?”
“Manager.”
“I see. For which team?”
“Blue Valley Vipers.”
And then it clicks. “You’re Gabe Goldwyn.”
“Since birth,” he jokes.
I laugh and give him a full-on smile. And I’m about knocked out of my chair. I’m sitting here, at some random hotel in Pittsburgh, drinking and chatting with the Gabe Goldwyn.
“You a baseball fan?” he asks. Like he’s not semi-famous.
“Since birth,” I repeat back. It’s true. I’ve watched baseball with my daddy since I was a little girl. Just not the team he’s a manager for. Thus, why I didn’t immediately recognize him. But I have heard of him, at least.
He gives me a smile, laughing softly. I like him already.
“Looks like you’re about to make the postseason,” I say.
“Looks that way,” he answers casually. Like it’s no big deal. He’s humble, too.
“Cheers to that,” I say, holding up my wine glass.
I gently clink my wine glass against his highball and then we take a drink. To baseball.
All too soon, both our drinks are empty.
“Good?” he asks, holding up his empty glass.
“I’m good.”
He signals to the bartender to add my drinks onto his tab and close it out.
“Thank you for tonight,” I tell him. Because it’s true. I’ve genuinely enjoyed chatting with him. He’s charismatic and seems like a genuinely nice guy.
“The pleasure is all mine. Good night.”
“Good night,” I reply walking away, happy with tonight.
“Wait!” he calls out. I stop and turn, not far from the elevator.
“Let me walk you to your room.”
I put a hand on my hip, waiting. He pays the tab and walks straight to me. We walk in silence to the elevator and once the doors swish open, we get inside.
“What floor?” he asks.
“Eighth. You?”
“Tenth.”
