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Slamming my now-empty glass on the table, I push back in my chair and stand. Autumn is quick to follow, as are Bridgett and Kate. Troy and Garrett hold up their beers with a nod that they’re watching us. Garrett never lets Bridgett out of his sight when we’re out like this, and it’s comforting to know he’s got eyes on all of us. I’d usually say that about Troy as well, but from the glassiness of his eyes, he’s not seeing things all that clearly tonight. Besides, I know my friends, and we might get two songs of dancing in before they join us. Garrett can’t seem to stay away from Bridgett much longer than that, and Troy, well, he’s pretty much the same way when it comes to Autumn.
I’ve never experienced that kind of relationship that gives you a deep need to be with someone like that. I hope that one day I’ll find a man who can’t stand the thought of being away from me and vice versa. That’s my last thought as we reach the dance floor, and I throw my hands over my head and rock my hips to the beat.
CHAPTER 2
Holden
Today blows. No, it more than blows. It sucks hairy donkey balls. Why, might you ask? Well, I got the call today while sitting in a small café having lunch with my parents that I’m being traded. That’s right, traded. Apparently, the Tomahawks mastered a multiplayer deal with the Blaze, and I’m a part of the deal. I’ve only completed two years of my three-year contract with the Tomahawks, and now, according to my agent, Harold, I’m being traded to the Tennessee Blaze.
Of course my parents, especially my mother, are thrilled about the news. The Blaze is our home team. Me being traded means that this visit in the off-season is turning into me moving home. Sure, that’s a perk, but I’m still blindsided.
I’m salty about it. No, I’m more than salty. I’m pissed. The Tomahawks were my team growing up, and to play for them has been a dream, but apparently, according to my agent, the media hype that follows me everywhere I fucking go was too much for them. It’s not uncommon for a team to broker a multiplayer deal. I just never thought I’d be one of them. I’m the top-ranked shortstop in the league, but according to Harold, they don’t want the press. Apparently, they’re, and I quote, “taking the team in a new direction.” I call bullshit. It has nothing to do with the press and everything to do with the Blaze’s top shortstop getting injured last year. The team has kept his prognosis quiet, but to me, they are screaming loud and clear. Gerald Baylor is not coming back.
It’s bullshit. Sixty percent of the shit written about me is complete and utter shit. The other 40 percent, I’ll claim. I’m a single man, and I’m dating. That’s life, but since my life is in the spotlight, I look like my dick sees more action than a public restroom. It doesn’t, by the way, in case you’re wondering. Sure, I’ve been with my fair share of ladies, but I don’t fuck them all. Most nights, I fall into bed exhausted and send them home in a cab, but that’s not what the paparazzi like to report. How they latched onto me, I’ll never know, but those fuckers got me traded. Okay, fine, I played a role in it as well. I don’t dissuade the rumors, but I blame that on Harold. He claimed any press was good press, and well, here we fucking are. Add in the fact that I play the field, not ever committing to one woman, and you have Holden “the playboy” Bailey.
It’s a crock of shit.
Kind of.
Mostly.
I do like to play the field, and committing to one woman, well, it’s not something I’ve ever considered. I’m still young. Still trying on the many varieties.
Luckily for me, Harold’s contract is up for renewal as well. As soon as I speak to the management of my new team, I’m going to ask for leads for a new agent. Harold can kiss my ass.
Don’t get me wrong. The Blaze is a good team. Hell, they’re kicking ass and have done so the past several years, having won two World Series in the last ten years and several attempts at almost making it there. That’s further than I’ve gone with the Tomahawks, so this might be a good thing for me. It’s every player's dream to make it to the World Series. It’s an even bigger dream to actually win it. The Tomahawks are a strong team, but the Blaze, well, they’re kicking ass and taking names. So, I guess I’m not as pissed as I once thought now that I think about it. I just hate being blindsided and fuck them, and fuck Gerald for saying it was my “media reputation.” Call a spade a spade and just be up front about Baylor being out this season.
