For the first time I gave a slight fuck, because I now had a mission bigger than baseball:
Marnie.
There was a reason I lived in a very secure and gated community in Los Angeles. Thank fuck my apartment came with underground parking and security in New York, so I could avoid anyone waiting outside the main entrance for me; something that happened way more than it ever should. I wasn’t sure if anyone had discovered where I lived yet, but it was only a matter of time before women started lining up outside and throwing their panties at me whenever I walked out, evidence of which was right here as I pulled up to the security entrance by the players gates.
I could hear my name being chanted over and over, and in fairness, New York had been incredibly welcoming to me. Less fair, I wish they’d stop hitting my car with each cry of my name.The atmosphere on game days was always heightened, but that didn’t mean I wanted to send my SUV to get fixed every week.
“JUPITER! JUPITER! JUPITER!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I eased the car just beyond the barricades and out of reach. Flashing my pass at the security guard on the gates, I hit the gas to get through as quickly as I could, and into the quiet parking lot by the entrance the team players used.
I got out, removed the bra which had stuck under my wiper blade, and grabbed my bag from the trunk. Each step toward the building was spent squinting into the distance at the executive parking lot two hundred yards away, to see if Marnie was here.
Then I realized I didn’t know what car she drove, or how she traveled, period.
I knew where she lived – a little further north than my loft – but that was only because I’d overheard Lowe Slater and Beulah Holmes talking about it at the Opening Day celebration last week.
“Hey, Reeves!”
A cry from behind had me spinning round to find Stone Fields, the left fielder, jogging toward me.
“Hey, man,” I tipped my chin when he caught up, “You good?”
He didn’t answer my question; his wide eyes were focused on my left hand. “You had a good night or what?”
“Girls at the gate throwing stuff, it got stuck on my window,” I groaned, tossing the piece of frilly pink lace in the trashcan as we passed. “Why are you here so early, anyway?”
“Hash browns,” he replied while patting his stomach and making me laugh.
On game days we didn’t officially have to be in until one p.m.
However, I was a terrible cook, and my chef had stayed in L.A. when I’d moved to New York, so every morning I waspresented with the dilemma of how to feed myself. I hadn’t been in the city long enough to be comfortable going out in public, given the issue of my face being everywhere. Even if I did, coupled with the renewed interest in The Lions, it would take me twice the time to do anything with all the interruptions and requests for selfies and autographs.
And since my youngest sister, Emerson, lived slightly upstate with her three kids, I couldn’t bribe her to come and feed me.
All this meant, therefore, I needed to come to the club early. The plus side – I could squeeze a workout in.
“Me, too,” though I’d be sticking with the staple spinach and egg white omelet with turkey bacon, because the season meant I watched what I ate. The off season, however, pass me the share bag of M&Ms… that I won’t be sharing… “Hey, did you get into the grounds okay?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “But those gates, dude…”
I held the door open and followed after he walked through. “I know. I’m going to talk to security, or I’m sending them the bill for the repairs I’ll need.”
He chuckled. “Knew I could count on you getting shit done! I like that the fans are excited though.”
“Yeah, just not at the expense of my car!” I huffed.
We both flashed our passes at the guards on the reception desk we’d stopped in front of, though it would have been just as easy to point to the enormous flags flying outside with our faces on.
“Good morning, Mr. Reeves, Mr. Fields. How can I help you?”
“Hey,” I started, leaning slightly over the desk, “is there something we can do about the fans at the gates? Can we move them back a bit? They’re banging hard on the cars when anyone drives in.”
“Yeah, it’s dangerous too, man,” added Stone. “Someone will get hurt.”
Yeah, that’s the angle I should have gone for – safety, not damage to my car. And this is why I had a reputation for being a self-centered prick.
