I nodded and fumbled in my purse. Chalk was something a good publicist always had on hand. But I took too long and had to rush forward and hold it out. His hand surrounded mine just like before, and I tried triple hard not to react. But there was no denying that rush of tingling excitement that hit me whenever he touched me. I backed up as quickly as I could. By the time I was in my place, Connor had finished drawing an outline of home plate. Instead of it being in front of him, he squatted a little to the right of it, enough that he could easily whip his mitt behind his back and catch the ball.
Or so was the theory.
“Got everything just how you like it, old man?” Rob taunted.
“Hell no. You’re still on the team.”
“I’m the reason the Bobcats look good.”
Trash talk at its cleanest. I had heard what the guys really said to each other, and it was often X-rated. I was pleased that they kept things clean for the camera.
Another throw.
Whap.
It took me a minute to realize he’d caught it. He’d caught it! Behind his back, just like we’d promised the reporters.Halleluiah!
The crowd screamed in delight. And then as if it had been pre-arranged, Rob started rapid firing baseballs at Connor. High balls, curve balls, screwballs, and even a few fastballs.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
Connor caught them all, nearly every one behind his back. He was grinning by the time it was done, and both he and Rob were sweating. I was cheering, just like everyone else in the crowd. This was making the news, for sure. And I would bet my next paycheck that it would go viral on YouTube, with memes of the two of them soon afterward.
“Uh-oh. Looks like someone’s in trouble.” That was Frankie as she elbowed me and jerked her chin over to the right.
I looked and realized that—yup—we’d been busted. Security was coming over, along with a very officious looking guy in a suit, likely one of the scheduling minions. It looked like I was going to catch hell for this unsanctioned display. The stadium liked to keep track of who did what on their property, especially since they usually charged for the privilege. We’d have to pay up, but with the coverage we’d just gotten, I was sure it was worth it. Assuming I could keep the heat on me, not the guys.
I quickly stepped inside the chalk marking and nearly got my head taken off. Obviously, Rob wasn’t finished yet. Oops. Pay attention, Gia! Connor missed that one, but since everyone was gasping at my near concussion, no one seemed to notice. I held up my hand.
“Thanks, everyone! Connor’s got to go warm up now. Game starts in three hours. And if you want some Bobcats merchandise, I’ve got some right here.” I pulled out the giveaways I’d brought along, just in case this was a bust. People can forgive a lot after getting a free MLB jersey.
“And you can buy a calendar right here!” Sophia called. “Get your own piece of Connor!”
The guys were busy signing baseballs, too. I’d dropped the bag in the center near my feet, and as the guys stepped forward to grab balls to sign, the fans crowded in.
That meant there was no room for security to get to us without making a big scene. And I knew I hadn’t broken the rules badly enough for them to risk jostling an eager fan. Unfortunately, I couldn’t really go anywhere, either. It was my job to keep anyone from getting too close to the players, so I was stuck doing crowd control.
I hoped that the baseballs would last long enough that Mr. Official would get bored and leave. No such luck. Two seconds after I called “Last balls!” he pushed his way forward and grabbed my elbow.
“Hey—” I protested, but as soon as I was clear of the worst of the crowd, he started yelling at me like a worked-up bulldog.
“Save it. You didn’t. Get. Approval.”
Each word came out as a bark,and I could only blink as the smell of onions on his breath hit me with every explosion of sound.
“I’m so sorry—” No luck. He kept going.
“You’re getting. Fined.”
What?
He ripped off an official-looking paper and whipped it at me. It was the white copy of something done in triplicate. I could see the pink and yellow versions still on his clipboard.
“I don’t understand,” I argued, even though I had a pretty good guess what this was. “I didn’t know I needed to get permission. This just sort of happened. And—”
He wasn’t having any of it. Fair enough. I had created a media event without going through the proper channels. We went back and forth for a little bit, me playing the new kid on the block who didn’t know better. Him letting me know just what he thought about media always trying to bend the rules.
Blah blah blah.
