Chapter 4

JOEY

Liv:

The silent treatment is a form of abuse, you know.

Iglance down at the text from my cousin. Instead of entering the weight room, I pause outside the doors to bite the bullet and reply.

Me:

What are you talking about?

Her response is immediate, and I can picture her tiny thumbs swiping away at her phone screen. I lucked out and got all the height in the family, leaving Liv at five foot nothing with the proportions of a fourth grader. Her personality more than makes up for it, though.

Liv:

You haven't returned any of my texts, you asshat.

See what I mean?

Me:

In my defense, I didn't realize your twenty texts regarding the lack of variety in Starburst products at your local drugstore required a response.

Liv:

Duh. You could have at least sent proof of life.

Me:

I've been busy.

Something she knows because she's the biggest baseball fan I know, and she's been following my every move since I started playing on farm teams seven years ago.

Liv:

I don't respond well to being ignored. You know this about me.

I do. Which is why I'm not currently doing my light game-day lifting in the weight room with half of my teammates.

Me:

You have Brett all over you 24/7. Don't pretend you're lonely.

Her boyfriend, Brett, is a stand-up guy who always strikes me as a man who knows he's got a good thing and is in no way prepared to fuck it up. Good man. And he's equally as obsessed with baseball as Liv, so they're a match made in baseball heaven.

Speaking of Brett, a new notification appears at the top of my phone screen.

Brett:

Is Liv giving you shit for not texting her back? Sorry, man. I left the room for thirty seconds.

Me:

No worries.

Brett:

I'll get Bo to bug her for a walk—one sec.

Liv has a giant Great Dane who's basically a big baby—drool and all—and she treats him like he's her child. Which kind of makes sense since she's a large-animal vet and spends every day completely unintimidated by animals ten times her size who could crush her like a grape.

Liv:

Is Brett texting you about me?

Me:

No.

Gotta stick to the bro code. I rest my shoulder on the wall outside the weight room and give in to my cousin's demands.

Me:

What's up? How are you? Anything exciting going on? I miss you.

Me:

There. Is that better?

Liv:

Yes, thank you. [sunglasses face emoji]

I can't help my grin because I do miss her. Liv is more like a sister than a cousin. I grew up in Montreal with my immigrant Chinese mother and French Canadian father, while Liv was in North Carolina with my aunt and uncle, both Chinese immigrants who still live in Greensboro, where Liv is too. We visited back and forth all the time growing up and emailed and texted whenever we were apart. And she's always been my biggest fan, something I don't like taking for granted—especially since my parents still want me to become a lawyer or neurosurgeon instead of playing ball. I should have texted her back, if only to give her a hard time about her sweet tooth.

Liv:

I'm just texting to tell you we're coming to Asheville to visit for your next home game. Can we please score some good tix? [praying hands emoji]

My smile grows. It'll be great to see her, especially after our back-to-back away series starting tomorrow.

Me:

You know I've got you. How many?

Liv:

Just two. Ted and Haley will be at some comic book convention or something, and Gavin and Emerson refuse to travel with us anymore. Wimps.

I made the mistake of staying in a hotel room next to Liv and Brett's last winter on a trip to New York, so I don't blame their friends one bit. I put in earplugs and blasted a white-noise app, and I could still hear those two fucking like wild buffalo through the wall. Let's just say breakfast the following morning was a tad awkward for Brett and me. Liv, on the other hand, sat happily devouring her pancakes like me having my cousin's orgasm noises branded into my consciousness for the rest of time is not fucked up in the least.

Me:

Got it. I'm late for pregame weights, so I'll catch you later. Be nice to Brett.

Liv:

I'm always nice to Brett. In lots of ways. [winky face emoji]

Me:

Please don't make me vomit before a workout.

Liv:

[devil emoji]

I move to shove my phone back in my pocket but pause at the last minute. I'm already late, so I may as well take advantage. My thumb hovers over Lynn's contact for a second. It's only been a little over twelve hours since I got her number. I really should play it a lot cooler than this, but…

Me:

Hey. It's Joey.

The ellipses start bouncing, and my pulse joins them. Jesus, this is getting ridiculous. You need to focus on baseball. She's just a girl, you moron.

Lynn:

Hey!

A cute as hell girl.

Me:

How'd your therapy session with your brother's friend go last night?

Lynn:

Not so well. My brother interrupted and made an idiot of himself, as usual. No wonder his friends need therapy.

Me:

You're only masquerading as a concession worker, aren't you? You're really a doctor.

Lynn:

Ha! I wish. But I am working on a PhD in physical therapy.

Me:

Wow. Impressive. I never made it past my sophomore year in college.

If I'm not being honest about everything, at least I can be honest about that. Baseball has always been my dream, so I dropped out when I got a shot in the minors, and I've never looked back.

Lynn:

Well, I haven't made it yet, so hold your applause.

Lynn:

I looked for you after my brother acted a fool, but I guess you'd already left.

Me:

Yeah. Had to get up early for work.

Not a lie. Afternoon games mean we show up to the clubhouse early. But it feels weird to hide anything from this girl, especially after the harrowing way we met. Well, harrowing for the rest of us, but maybe not for Lynn, who handled it like she pumps dying people's chests every day.

The memory has me thinking about my mom and her signs again. I never come through the stadium via the gates, but I'd had a pregame appointment offsite that day and came out to my truck to find a flat. It had made me late—which pissed me off—and I'd had to Uber to Ardent Park and haul ass through gate security instead of via the players' parking lot and entrance. I just happened to be walking by when Tom hit the deck and Lynn came to the rescue.

I should just tell her the truth—that I wasn't completely honest when she asked what my job at the stadium was. I'm not even sure why I didn't correct her when she assumed I was on the grounds crew. Part of my head was still stuck on the bet that I'd hijacked, and the other part was just so into this girl that I didn't want to risk glimpsing some familiar wheels start turning in her mind upon mention of my real career. Finding out Lynn is one of the legions of scheming cleat chasers would be like standing at the plate with a full count and seeing a perfect fastball coming your way, only to strike out when it turns out to be a crafty circle changeup.

The fact that she didn't recognize Paulie should tell me she's probably not an Arrows devotee and is just working a summer job while she's in grad school. I wouldn't expect most fans to recognize me since I'm new to the team and not a local star like Gunner or Caleb, our starting pitcher. But people still surprise me on the regular when I'm out and about in Asheville.

Lynn:

Gotta get that field primed for this afternoon's game?

Me:

Something like that.

God, I'm an asshole.

Me:

You maybe want to get that drink after the game?

It's my last chance before I go on the road for the next six days, and I don't want to give her time to change her mind.

Lynn:

Sure. I get off an hour after it ends.

Me:

I'm not off until after you. You want to meet up somewhere, or can I pick you up?

Lynn:

I'll meet you. You name the place—just not Blue Bigfoot.

Me:

You didn't like it?

Maybe she's not a beer fan.

Lynn:

I prefer to spread my patronage around Asheville. So many small businesses, you know?

That's cool, so I suggest another craft brewery downtown, and we decide on a time. I'm clearly shit at hiding my good mood because the first thing Gunner says to me when I take up the leg press station next to him is, "Still riding the high from winning that bet last night? Better watch your back. Riley's out for your blood after checking that girl out properly."

I frown at him, my elation fizzling like a doused campfire. "Her name is Lynn." Not that girl.

When I returned to the table after getting Lynn's number last night, José was all over Paulie to fork over the thousand bucks he'd won. It hadn't been my intention to use Lynn in their bet at all—I just couldn't stand by while Riley hit on her when I wanted her for myself. So I really didn't have a choice. And since they'd all clearly seen us exchange numbers on our phones, I couldn't exactly lie and say she'd turned me down.

I do a double take when I catch Gunner's shit-eating grin. Damn, I'm an open book.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun. Lynn has got you tied up in knots already. Elizabeth is gonna be fired up about this one."

Fabulous. Just what I wanted—two nosy lovebirds all up in my business.

"Focus on your lats, will you? Your batting sucked on Friday," I lie, but it does the trick and gets my friend off my back—for the moment, that is. I'll have to make sure I don't slip up and tell anyone I'm taking Lynn out tonight. The last thing I need is a whole team of guys up in my business, especially when I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.