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“I’m sorry,” Maxwell sits on the edge of the bed and watches me. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“It takes two for a stairwell make out, Maxwell, you weren’t alone in there.”
“I guess there’s something to be said for those ground rules.”
“We don’t have to rehash that tonight. We can do it tomorrow…over lunch.”
“Really?” His eyes light up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. A hopeful look on his face.
“Yes. I have an interview first, but thenwe can do lunch.”
That hopeful face disappears, replaced with shadows and a furrowed brow.
“Interview? Sutton, are you interviewing with a new team?”
“No. I’m interviewing with an old friend.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Glass Ceilings
MAX
After leaving Sutton’s room,I step into my own, to find Alex asleep and snoring in his bed. I change as quietly as I can and slip into my own bed, where I stare at the ceiling, replaying Sutton’s words in my head. The idea that we’re both in a consensual relationship – one that still hasn’t really been defined, another thing we should probably talk about today – and yet she’d be the one negatively impacted if the ‘wrong’ people found out.
Between Alex’s snoring and my brain’s inability to shut-up, I barely get any sleep before peeling myself out of bed and dragging myself downstairs for the strongest coffee I can legally consume. It’s terrible, nowhere near as good as what Sutton has been making for us at home, but it’s caffeinated, so it works.
Sutton is already in the breakfast room, dressed to kill in wide legged trousers and her game day green blouse; she opted for her glasses today instead of contacts, and her hair hangs in loose curls that just skim her shoulders. She’s typing something into her phone as she eats, and I watch as she takes a sip of coffee, scrunching her nose in disgust at the burnt, bitter brew that the hotel is trying to pass off as coffee.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reach for it, seeing Sutton’s name on the screen and a short message.
Come with me to the studio?
Five minutes.I quickly respond, reaching for a bagel at the same time that another message hits.
Craft Services,she says, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of a catering table laden with food.
Good call.
Too impatient for the elevator, I take the stairs two at a time until I reach the third floor and all but run to my room to change. We’re going to be at the American Sports Network studios for a bit, so I dress like a respectable baseball player on his day off. Do I pick my pants and shirt to match Sutton as best I can? No comment.
“The network is sending a car,” Sutton says as I sidle up next to her on the sidewalk. “Should be here in a few minutes.”
“Sounds good.” I shove my hands in my pockets in an attempt to resist the urge to touch her. “What are the chances you’d agree to come back here after the interview to change clothes?”
“I think that could be arranged. What do you have in mind for the rest of the day?”
“Oh Duckling,” I love the little bit of pink that creeps into her cheeks, “you’ll just have to wait and see.”
After a few minutes on the sidewalk, a white minivan pulls up to the sidewalk, and Sutton reaches for the handle on the passenger door, poking her head inside and greeting the driver.
“I hope you don’t mind, I’m bringing a friend with me.”
“The more the merrier!” The driver responds, as the back door slowly slides open, revealing the grinning face of an old friend. “You’ll have to sit in the third row Max. If we’d haveknown you were joining Sutton today, I could have removed the carseats.”
“No worries, Jake.” I shake my head with a chuckle as Sutton and I climb in, and my former teammate and dear friend Jake Hutchinson drives us through midtown in his minivan toward the studio where Sutton will sit down for an interview with Jake’s wife, Penelope. Penelope does a segment ofOn the Fieldthat she callsShattered Glass,in which she interviews women in baseball – coaches, members of the media, front office staff, you name it – and she has been trying to nail down an interview with Sutton for a while now.
After arriving at the studio, Jake invites me to his office as Penelope escorts Sutton to the set to show her around. Jake and I were drafted together, a lifetime ago it seems, and spent some time together in Seattle’s minor league system before he was traded to the New York Rogue, where he made a name for himself. As I look around his office, I notice the pieces of his life interspersed among the memorabilia of his time in the big leagues; family pictures, pictures of Jake and his daughters, a particularly funny picture of Jake coaching his oldest daughter’s little league team.
