I’m struggling to focus today. I’m not entirely sure why—I got enough sleep the night before, I’ve had my daily coffee, I actually ate a real meal for lunch for once—but my mind is running off on a million tangents. And if I felt like being honest with myself, more than half of them center around Ryan.
But we won’t be honest.
So, I’m definitely not thinking about him.
But I’m also notnotthinking about him.
Unfortunately.
Especially not while he’s fifty feet away from me doing his post-game interview to chat through the end of this home series against St. Louis.
He’s fresh from the game, glistening with sweat and his uniform is covered in the clay sand from sliding into base a few too many times. His hair is damp but covered by his baseball cap—on backwards, obviously, because he’s trying to make my heart give out. The ends peek out from below the hat and curl around his ears and the nape of his neck. My fingers twitch with the desire to run through the strands, sweat be damned.
The desire also isn’t helped by the fact that I keep seeing him outside of his element. We continue to grab burgers after home games—yes, I still give him shit about it every time—and we spend the time chatting about the most random things. And the more I get to know him, the more endearing he becomes. Which is a problem I foresaw from the start and yet, here we are anyway. And I’ve started tomiss himwhile they’re away.Which they’re about to be. Another week-long away trip I’ll spend pretending I’m not counting down the days until the team is back.
He’s not some hotshot baseball player that thinks he can get any girl he wants—although I suppose he’s that too. He’s a caring guy who loves his family, and his teammates are his second family. He’s sweet. And it’s not helping me keep the growing attraction I have for him out of our friendship. Each time we hang out, I eat slower and slower to drag out our time together. And I find myself staring for a bit longer than would be acceptable. Like now, for example. I’m once again staring when I should be working. Not standing here thinking about him all sweaty and mussed up like that, but in a different situation. One that involves significantly less clothes.
God, Isa. Stop being a fucking horndog over yourfriend.
I shake myself out from the traitorous thoughts and re-focus my eyes on scanning the crowd, as I normally do. But something feels… off. The hairs on my arm stand on end in an almost sixth sense.
My eyes snag on a middle-aged man in a St. Louis jersey, shouting in the direction of the crew still working and interviewing Ryan. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes as I focus on him.
“Fletcher, you’re shit!” the man yells. It takes everything in me to keep my face neutral, because if any of the stats the hosts love to rattle off meananythingto me, it’s that he’s actually quite the opposite of shit.
He continues to shout obscenities in Ryan’s direction, but every time I shift my focus to him, he’s paying the man no mind, likely used to this sort of verbal abuse.
That’s good.
I mean it’s notgoodthat he’s used to the abuse, because no one should have to be used to it. But it’s good that he’s able todrown out all the noise and phase him out. More than half the time that’s all these people want, to be acknowledged. So, they shout the worst things possible to get some sort of reaction.
I wish he wouldn’t have to deal with these things though. He’s an incredible player, at least from what I’ve learned, and just because he plays for the opposing team doesn’t mean he at all deserves to have these obscenities lobbed at him.
That’s one thing I’ve picked up on throughout my time working with the Suns. It happens a lot less for a home game than I assume it does for away games, but the aggression that comes out of fans in defense of their team is honestly a little terrifying. The types of things that are shouted are absolutely uncalled for. Like telling them they’re shit at a job they’re paidmillionsto do? Sure, how about I come to your place of work and tell you that you’re shit. And telling someone to go die? I applaud Ryan’s ability to block out the haters like that, because I’m not so sure I’d be able to.
“Anna, what are you even doing here?” My head whips around to see him focusing his attention on Annie now, likely intentionally getting her name wrong in some misogynistic power move. Her eyes flick briefly in his direction but quickly refocus back on the interview with Ryan. “You’ve never even played baseball! It’s a man’s sport! What makes you qualified for your job? I can do better!”Oh, no he fucking didn’t.Her smile shifts from bright and genuine to one that’s forced and brittle around the edges.
I inwardly sigh.Wrong move, man. I make eye contact with one of the nearest stadium security stewards working to slowly clear the stands now that the game is over. I subtly tilt my head in the man’s direction to indicate that he needs to go.
Stepping up in front of him, he looks briefly startled by my sudden appearance before his expression goes back to smug.
I shoot him my widest smile. “Hello sir. Did you enjoy the game?” I ask, my voice laced with as much honey as I can. Kill ’em with kindness and all that.
He rolls his eyes. “Would’ve been better had the Suns not played dirty. But what would you even know about baseball.” He drags his gaze up and down my body, a sneer taking over his features. “You’re a girl.” He practically spits the wordgirl.
Cool. This man has issues with women in general. Good to know.
“I’m sorry you felt the game wasn’t fair. St. Louis played a great game from what I could see. That homer in the fourth inning was impressive.”
He scoffs. “Don’t try to talk to me about baseball. You don’t even belong in this sport.”
“I’m not actually involved with the sport.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder toward where the crew is. “I’m actuallyAnnie’ssecurity.” That’s oversimplifying my job a bit, but he won’t care one way or another. He’s not worth the wasted breath to try to explain.
He scoffs.Again. “Security? That’s a great joke. A small girl like you couldn’t possibly be security.”
“And why’s that?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my head and blink at him innocently, as if I didn’t understand his implication.
“Well look at you. You belong in someone’s bed, not playing dress up and acting like a bodyguard. Leave that to the men.”
