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I can’t think of it as home. I won’t. Because if I do, I’ll getattached and it will make it that much harder when it’s time for me to move out into my own place again.
“No,” he growls when I stop on a listing and start tapping through the pictures. “It’s too far from the stadium. And the rent is way too high for such a small space.”
“It’s a studio Max, it’s going to be small. And I can drive to the stadium, that’s not a problem.”
“Itisa problem,” he insists, his voice a low rumble in his chest, “but I won’t fight you on it.”
Levi Brooks is seated next to me on the plane and I see the smirk on his lips as Max slumps back into his seat behind us. Levi shakes his head with a chuckle and continues to read the book in his hands, but not before firing a shot at Maxwell.
“You can always check my building, Sutton. It’s walking distance to the stadium, with fairly reasonable rent.”
“Thanks Levi, I’ll have to check that out.”
“Yeah,” a sarcastic voice calls from behind us. “Thanks Levi.”
The rest of the flight is uneventful, even with Max grumbling behind me, and grumbling some more on the bus to the hotel. We gather in the hotel lobby, and Levi takes charge, handing out room keys and assignments, and making sure that this well-oiled machine works without a hitch. Until he gets to me.
“Sutton, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened,” Levi looks equal parts horrified and enraged. “There was a mix up and…there’s no room for you.”
“That’s okay, Levi. There’s got to be a way to move people around, right?”
“We’re fully booked,” the young woman at the check-in desk is clearly annoyed that such a big group is checking in so late at night, but such is the life of baseball. “And we can’tshuffle rooms.”
“So you’d have her sleep on the street?” Levi uses his disappointed dad voice on the girl and she’s largely unphased. She shrugs. And I feel a warmth at my back, an arm around my waist. The scent of soap and leather and something familiarly sweet wrapping around me.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” a voice rumbles in my ear as a key is slipped into my hand, “You’re going to stay in 336.”
“Listen up!” Max yells over the din of the team gathered in the hotel lobby. “Hernandez, you’re moving to 333 with Whitten, and I’m rooming with whoever is left in a single room. Who doesn’t have a roommate?”
One hand timidly raises from the back of the group, the rookie pitcher that was just called up. Yesterday.
“Looks like I’m with you, kid.” Alex looks like he’d rather die than share a room with Max Harrison for the weekend. Poor kid.
“Sir, you can’t just change the room assignments like that.” The desk manager is not pleased with Max mixing up the rooms, but I’m not about to complain since he’s given me his room.
“I know for a fact that there is one thing our travel secretary asks for when reservations for this team are made, which is coach Davis being guaranteed a room to herself. I don’t blame you for the mix up, but I will insist that it’s made right. If you have a problem with it, take it up with him.”
Levi stays at the desk with the manager while the rest of us amble off toward the elevators, I fall behind and wait for Max to catch up.
“You didn’t have to give me your room, Max.”
“No arguments, Davis,” he growls for the benefit of the guys nearby, but I don’t miss the wink he throws me. In my room, with a king sized bed all to myself, I drop my bag at the door and flop onto the squishy duvet and evensquishier pillows. It was a long flight from Tampa to New York, and I’m exhausted. The series in Tampa was hard fought. We swept them, but tonight’s game – or yesterday’s rather – went to extra innings and meant a very late departure from Tampa and an even later arrival here in New York.
I’m grateful for a day off today, hoping for a chance to wander around the city for a bit and put the last three games out of my mind as we get ready to face the New York Rogue.
Pulling out my tablet, I kick off my shoes and shift so that I’m seated against the headboard, and watch footage of tonight’s game. They looked good tonight, better than they have in a while, but I still have guys who aren’t hitting the ball. There’s not much you can do, but review scouting reports, offer tweaks on mechanics, but if the bats are dead, the bats are dead. And today, the bats were dead. But we won.
All I do is frustrate myself with game footage. I need to wind down and try to sleep but I’m too on edge after the game. After changing into leggings and a sweatshirt, I toss my hair up in a knot on the top of my head and find my way down to the hotel bar where I promptly order myself a pot of tea.
The outfield is gathered at a table in the corner; Eric raises a hand to me in greeting, as does Tony. Perez gives me a nod. He’s warming up to me a bit, which is the biggest surprise over the last few days. He was receptive to my suggestions and managed to get a few base hits. I return the nod before pulling up a stool at the bar.
The bartender sets a small pot and mug in front of me, along with a basket of assorted tea bags; I choose one mint medley and one chamomile, dropping both into my mug and pouring water over top.
“Hitting the tea hard tonight, I see,” Max purrs as he sidles up next to me at the bar, our shoulders nearly touching.
“I couldn’t relax,” I tell him, wrapping my hands around the mug. “I’m hoping this will help.”
“Did you find an apartment?” Max asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
