Nice.
For some reason, it really pissed me off. Layla was probably teasing, but it aggravated the fuck out of me. So I didn’t respond, and I blew her off every time she emailed to set up a meeting.
Only when Coach cornered me in February did I finally meet her, and I hated every minute of it. Not only because I didn’t like feeling mediocre, but also because I thought she was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. That pissed me off more than anything, honestly. Thirty-five years old, and I was lusting after a teenager? Gross.
Needless to say, our first proper in-person interaction didn’t go well.
“Are you even old enough to give nutritional advice? Have you had all of your shots?” I’d snapped. Layla had smiled in return, but the smile never reached her eyes.
“I assure you I’m allowed in gen pop, old man,” she’d replied. “But since I also managed to obtain my Master’s in nutrition, and hold a board certification in sports dietetics, I think it’s safe to say I’m legally an adult.”
“What the hell does that all even mean?” I’d asked, irritation evident in my tone as I crossed my arms over my chest. “And don’t call me old man.”
She’d cocked an eyebrow at me. “You’re the oldest player in this Clubhouse, are you not?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like I track everyone’s ages.”
“But you’re concerned with mine.”
“Because you look twelve.”
She’d preened at that. “Aww, you think I look young? That’s so sweet. I’m thirty, by the way. So you don’t have to worry about thinking I’m hot.”
“I don’t think you’re hot.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s fine. I know I’m hot. Have you seen this ass?” she’d asked, turning slightly as she’d patted her rear. I’d tried to force my eyes not to look, but I’d failed. “You let me know when you’re ready for me to get your meal plan together, Sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” I’d muttered, bewildered.
“Yeah,” she’d said, as she turned to walk away, my eyes still trained on her ass. “Cuz you’re so happy and full of joy.”
Layla kept up with the sunshine bullshit, and the entire team picked up on it. They all began calling me Sunshine.
Needless to say, I won’t be working with Layla on anything. It’s just the principle.
“Yo, you hitting Putters tonight, Sunshine?” I roll my eyes at Jake Holloway, one of the pitchers for the Raptors, as he grins maniacally at me. “You know I can’t enjoy my beers unless you’re there.”
“Aren’t you pitching tomorrow?” I ask, standing to rummagethrough my locker for my phone. “Last time you came in reeking of beer, Coach was pretty pissed.”
Jake scoffs, waving a hand at me in dismissal. “Exaggeration. He wasn’tthatpissed.”
“But you were thatdrunk.”
“I mean … define drunk.”
I turn to stare at him blankly. “You peed in your locker.”
Jake lets out a loud bark of laughter. “I totally forgot about that! Ahh, memories.”
I chuckle as I stand, deciding to do the media training before I change out of my uniform. Hard to stay mad at the kid, especially when he can make fun of himself. But that’s what he is: a kid. At twenty-six, he’s nine years younger than me. I know I’m a rarity. Most clubs have only one or two guys who keep playing after they hit thirty-five. Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be playing. My body has started staging protests every morning.
“Come on,” Jake says, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “Have a beer. Inhale a burger. A little time out with the team will do you some good.”
“Fine,” I huff. “But I have to go get the media training done first.”
Jake laughs. “I’d say it’s a piece of cake, but clearly you and the media don’t mix. So, I’ll just say good luck, and the first beer is on me.”
“Gonna hold you to it,” I mutter as I walk further into the building.
