Or rather, just one.
Who is Rory?
Chapter 32
Tenny
The animated character on the screen shakes its head at me as I answer the question wrong. Again. Part of me wants to explain that I have areally good reasonfor losing focus, but talking to a language-learning app—beyond repeating pronunciation—feels borderline crazy. Besides, the moody teenage avatar on the screen isn’t interested in the mind-melting quality of Alex’s sighs or how the sensation of her lips on my jaw makes me feel simultaneously cherished and like I could vault over the outfield.
And her words? How Alex accepts me as I am?
I’m still pinching myself.
DJ drops in the empty aisle seat beside me on the team’s private plane. “I don’t know why you mess around with that. I told you I’d teach you Spanish.”
“I know,” I say, setting the phone onto the small table between us. “But I wanted to be able to say more than ‘¿Dónde está el baño?’ before bugging you.”
Like thirty percent of MLB players, DJ grew up speaking Spanish. Though my teammate is also fluent in English, not every player is. I want to be able to chat with everyone who comes through first base. Kai also offered to teach me Japanese once I’ve mastered Spanish, but at this rate, I’ll be retired from baseball before I ever get the hang of it.
DJ mutters to himself before calling to Ricky—our designated hitter—in Spanish. They’re obviously talking about me, but I just let the melodic words wash over me. It’s such a beautiful language. If only I could speak it without sounding like an animatronic robot.
“That app won’t teach you any baseball terms either,” he tells me, like I could understand whatever he and Ricky were just chatting about.
“You’re right. Plus, you won’t roll a purple-shadowed eye at me when I can’t roll my Rs.”
A barking laugh leaves DJ’s mouth. “Nah. I’ll just talk trash about you to Ricky.”
“What else is new?” I shake my head, my lip kicking up.
After fifteen minutes of stumbling through sentences, Colton stops beside us. “Have you guys noticed that Shane has been acting weird lately?”
“You mean other than grunting like a caveman?”
DJ makes a noise in his throat. “I’d be monosyllabic after what happened to him.”
I turn in my chair as Colton leans in. “What happened? He won’t tell us anything in the group chat.”
“I heard about that,” DJ says, crossing his thick arms. “It’s short-sighted to exclude the married players when you’re asking for relationship advice. But I guess that’s why you’re all still single.”
A zip of energy races along my spine, because at long last, I’m not. Though Alex and I can’t have a public relationship without jeopardizing her job, that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. It won’t be like Trevor and Kenzie’s—where she never misses a home game, cheering in his jersey—but I’ll still get to see Alex before and after every game.
“A major oversight,” I tell DJ, pulling my brain back to the conversation. “I’ll fix it.”
My teammate nods toward my phone, waiting until I’ve added everyone from the starting lineup to our Waves group chat.
DJ rubs at his dark beard. “I don’t know if you two jokers deserve to know.”
“Come on, man.” Colton slaps the top of DJ’s seat. “You know I live for team gossip.”
He chuckles, lowering his voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Shane wasn’t happy about his trade to the Waves, not because he had anything against our franchise—”
“You sure?” Colton jokes. “I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to blue after years of wearing Stallions’ red and gold.”
DJ shakes his head. “It’s because his ex-fiancée accepted a job here before the trade. She does front-office analytics.”
My eyebrows lift. “That stinks, but they probably never see each other.”
The chances of running into a front-office staffer during our daily routine is slim to none.
