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But short of cutting Corey out of my life, there’s nothing I can do. And since he’s done nothing worthy of being cut out, I’m forced to suffer in silence.
“Okay, everyone, listen up,” Chris, my boss’s assistant, hollers over the small crowd of Lonestars players gathered on the team bus. “We’re almost to the park. There will be adult fans in the crowd, but remember, this event is for the kids. When we arrive, head straight to the field. The staff will deal with the adults and media while you guys play catch with some kids.”
The nine players who’d signed up to participate today clap and cheer, except for Corey. He sits in the back of the bus, wearing headphones and leaning against his headrest with his eyes closed, but I swear I see the smallest hint of a smile creeping over his stoic features.
The fact any of the players are here during the off-season is amazing. Pre-season doesn’t start for more than a month, and established players usually take this time off before they return to practice while other players who are hoping to get an active spot or try out a new position will likely return to town early.
That means I have a little over a month to finalize how to promote the team for the upcoming year, as well as continue working on Corey’s image. One plan is to capitalize on the popularity of dance trends on social media, using the more outgoing players in those videos. Joshua already tested one out and posted it while on vacation in Singapore. The reach was phenomenal.
If I could get one of the more reserved players, like Corey, to do the dances, it would likely go viral. I’ll have to figure out how to make that happen. For now, I need to focus on today’s event.
This community service project has been months in the making. It’s part of the Lonestars’ outreach program. The professional team fundraises and pays to spruce up baseball fields used for youth leagues in less affluent areas of our city and neighboring towns. We replace rickety bleachers, re-sod fields, build awnings to provide shade for the bleachers in the heat of summer, and renovate the dugouts. This will be the third park we’ve upgraded in the last two years, and our goal is to double that number in the upcoming year.
The bus driver parks near the entrance of the field. A glance out the window confirms there are already two TV station crews here, in addition to the team’s crew, to cover the field’s re-opening for the local news.
Chris is the first person off the bus, followed by the rest of the staff. I stand at my seat at the front and listen as he directs them on where they should go. Two marketing interns are sent to run interference with the media while another is sent to gather the kids and usher them onto the field. Each kid is a member of one of the city’s little league teams, but they wear a dark blue shirt advertising the Lonestars’ outreach program instead of their team jerseys.
The players get off next. Dressed in team t-shirts and black joggers. They look casual yet sporty as they jog past the small crowd of people vying for their attention, heeding Chris’s order to go straight to the field.
“Are you looking for candid shots today or do we want posed pictures?” One of the team’s seasoned photographers, Tony Locks, asks from his seat across the aisle from mine.
“Focus on candid shots, but I’ll be sure to organize posed ones later in the day,” I answer.
“Sounds good.” He slings his camera bag over his shoulder and heads off the bus.
I bend down to pick up my purse to join him.
I straighten and the sight of a tall, broad figure right in front of my face makes me rear back in shock. “Ah!” My back bangs against the window behind me, I wince and catch myself on the headrest to keep my balance. “What the hell, Corey?”
The tall pitcher stands in the aisle, smirking. A lumpy canvas bag hangs over his shoulder. “Since when are you so skittish?”
“Since a grown-ass man sneaks up on me when my head is down.”
“I thought you knew I was still on the bus.”
I could lie and say I wasn’t aware of his presence, or I could be honest and admit that the reason I’m still on the bus is to have a chance to speak with him.
I decide not to say either. “Even if I did know you were here, you should still make noise when you walk. You’re huge.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“What? No.”
“It sounds like you’re calling me fat.”
“I’m saying you’re tall,” I counter.
“Huge doesn’t just imply tall.” His lips twitch. “I think I’m offended.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” I reply with sarcasm. “I didn’t know you were so fragile when it comes to your body image.”
“Apology accepted.” He adjusts the strap over his shoulder.
I roll my eyes. “What is that?” I gesture towards the lumpy bag.
“Something for the kids,” he replies cryptically. “Speaking of which, I should probably get out there.” He looks at something through the window. I turn and see the kids are splitting into two groups on the field. The Lonestars players are doing the same.
“Looks like they’re going to play a game,” I observe, surprised. At the last two field openings, the players just played catch with the kids.
