Glancing over her shoulder, Layla glares at me. “I guess the big dumb fielder can understand simple words.”
I sputter as she strides out of the room. “Wait! Coach said he won’t play me until I get meals figured out! Layla, you can’t do this to me!”
“As a matter of fact, I can do this to you.” Her final words are eclipsed only by the slamming of the conference room door. Did this girl seriously just take me off the roster because of an off-the-cuff comment?
Stunned, I walk slowly back to the locker room, where I find Coach waiting for me.
“Did I stutter when I told you about the nutritionist, Callahan?” he asks, his voice reverberating around the open room.
“No,” I murmur. Humiliation burns my skin. I don’t want to feel like I’ve disrespected any of my teammates. I just don’t understand how rumors have been spread about my opinions when no one here knows about them. Or, at least, I don’t think anyone does.
“Fix this,” Coach growls. “Until then, you’re off the roster.”
“How will you explain this to the media?” I ask.
“I’ll put it as a hamstring strain, and list you as day-to-day. But you need to fix this. Layla is an excellent addition to the team, and I won’t have the start of the season marred by your shitty choices.”
“Why not just put it as personal reasons instead of a strain?” I wonder.
Coach’s eyes narrow. “Because I still expect you to travel with the team, Callahan. That’ll give you ample opportunities to grovel with Layla.”
A wave of nausea overtakes me. “She’s traveling with us, too?”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course she is, dummy. How do you think she’s going to feed everyone during away trips?”
“Meal deliveries,” I answer weakly with a one-shoulder shrug. Jesus Christ. Layla is traveling with the team. I’m never going to get a moment of relaxation knowing she’s right there.
And worse, I don’t know how I’m supposed to grovel, because I’ve never had to do it before.
“I’m totally stoked you called me to ask me out for a beer, man,” Jake says cheerfully. His foot taps incessantly against the barstool step, and it makes me wonder if he’s ever been diagnosed with ADHD. The kid is moving a part of his body nonstop. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told some of the guys where we’re at.”
Warning bells ding in the back of my mind. “Some of the guys?”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
Jake shrugs nonchalantly. “I mentioned it to Marcus Delgado and Alberto Hernandez, and then Dante Russo overheard and told Anthony Cabrera. I think Rafael Torres and Luis Mendoza were in a group text about it as well. Ryder Sullivan and Jackson Archer said they might stop by as well.”
“Dude, that’s half the fucking team.”
“Honestly, I don’t know if it’s more to see if I lied about this, or if they’re intrigued with seeing if you actually showed up.” Jake gives me a lopsided grin as he takes a long pull of his bottleneck beer. “You cool if we get some appetizers? I bet everyone is as hungry as I am.”
Christ almighty. This is going to be a damn disaster.
“So,” Jake says, “why’d you ask me out?”
“You make it sound like a date,” I mutter.
“I’m a hell of a catch, just so you know,” he jokes. “You don’t exactly give off the gay vibe, so I kinda figuredit wasn’t a real date.”
Well, color me intrigued. “Is it alright if I ask you this? Are you gay?”
He shrugs again. “I don’t have a specific flavor. I’m more attracted to a person’s soul.”
“I’ve never heard this about you. Is it widely known?” I ask.
“I don’t hide it. But I also don’t go around shouting that I’m more fluid about sexuality. If someone comes right out to ask me, I don’t lie. But I’ll always protect my partner, if they prefer to keep our relationship a little further in the closet.”
