If you were a bell pepper, what color would you be?
The moon looks ridiculously bright tonight.
Chimichurri sauce is amazing. I’ve put it on everything from eggs to pasta, and it’s never steered me wrong.
Who do you think would win in a fight: a gorilla or ten wolves?
I just saw someone confidently push a pull door.
Each of his apropos-of-nothing messages would spur text conversations that would span hours. He’d occasionally delight me by sending sporadic capybara videos from various zoos. After discovering his favorite animal is a red panda, I scoured the internet for the cutest videos to pass along.
After a week, little inconspicuous gifts started showing up. A Waves blue rope bracelet, just like the ones I used to wear,tucked beneath my windshield wiper. A brand-new Moleskine notebook when I’d been down to my last page. Nothing as grand as Carly—who makesthe bestbackrest while organizing notes and recording voice-overs on my bed—or the chairs in the press box. I attempted, on several occasions, to get him to confess to buying those, but Tenny insists he had nothing to do with the luxurious clouds-on-casters.
I’d nearly cornered him in the stadium to have a mature adult conversation about what the heck we were doing, but then it was a whirlwind of finishing out exhibition games, packing up the temporary home I’d made in my extended-stay hotel, and moving into the apartment I’d rented, sight unseen, before rushing to spring training.
As promised, Tenny escorted Carly across the country, but Friedrich was the one to pick her up and drop her off. It was only then that I realized that we haven’t been alone together since I flattened him to the side of his truck in a darkened parking lot.
Now, I’m sleeping in a cramped apartment filled with unopened boxes that has questionable water pressure and a pervasive oil smell emanating from the kitchen. My trusted zoned-support mattress is on the floor. And I’ve consumed more containers of ramen than I’m comfortable admitting to.
To sum up, my living situation isn’t ideal, my work-life balance is abysmal, and to top it all off, the second I walk into the clubhouse after the third game of the Waves’ opening series, Tenny is shirtless.
Again.
Every time I enter the clubhouse, he’s in some state of undress—like a tempting Adonis.
My feet beeline for him. “Why are you always half-dressed?”
“I just played a whole game fully clothed.”
My pinched glare only makes Tenny’s dimple pop.
“But you were shirtlessbeforethe game too,” I hiss, keeping my voice down because Daphne will be here any minute.
“You noticed that, huh?”
The impulse to growl is so strong I wonder if I’ll finally have that mental breakdown—right here, right now.
Tenny drops the macho act, his expression softening. “The little guy nearly broke my heart when he fought back tears.”
Daphne and I had been outside earlier—her filming b-roll, me making notes—when the Waves had a signing event. Trevor Chapman, Kai Sato, and Tenny were slotted to give fans twenty minutes of their time before they all reported to batting practice. Liv, the team’s social media manager, was also there.
Liv caught the moment when an excitable nine-year-old couldn’t contain his bouncy energy after receiving a baseball signed by all three players. His mom listened to his happy chatter while she mixed a bottle of formula for his baby sister over the stroller’s handlebars. The boy jumped and accidentally bonked his mom’s elbow, upending the bottle all over his baby sister.
Without even hesitating, he picked up his nearly one-year-old sister, apologizing while helping his mom clean up the stroller. When his mom stripped the soaked dress off his sister, the boy took off his Waves jersey and pushed it over her damp curls.
“There you go, sissy,” he said, giving his sister a kiss on the cheek before turning to his mom with watery eyes. “Does this mean we have to go home?”
A soft smile curved her face. “No, bud. But we need to find you a new shirt.”
That’s when Tenny, who’d been keeping one eye on the pair while signing another fan’s hat, fisted the back of his jersey and pulled it off in one smooth motion.
“Why don’t you have mine?”
Liv’s video of Tenny whipping his jersey off went viral before the game even started.
“It was a sweet moment,” I tell Tenny.
“Sweet…or hot?” He tilts his head to the side. “Or both? I’ve been told I contain multitudes.”
