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That’s right, Greer, take it all in, because there’s plenty here to see.
As I let my smirk morph into a full-on Mack Granger panty-dropping smile, I swear she lets out an annoyed huff and it makes me chuckle.
With a clap of his hands, Buddy gets everyone’s undivided attention. “You all know Jeffery, our local news correspondent? As of today, he’s working in Chicago and that means Miss Bradley”—he gestures toward her—“will be taking his place.”
Buddy gives Greer an approving look, almost as though he’s proud of her, because that’s the kind of guy he is. His reputation as a baseball club manager is well-known. We’re all fortunate to work for a man who believes in and supports his team from the get-go, rather than making everyone jump through hoops to impress him first.
Greer’s expression is a little less sure, but she hides it well, putting on a good face for the guys. I’m just a little more familiar with her usual confidence than the rest of these dipshits. With her being best friends with Sophie, and me being close with Owen, our paths have crossed quite a bit over the past year.
I know she reports on all sorts of news around the city, but I’m guessing this might not be her cup of tea.
“She’ll be stepping in immediately and covering tonight’s game,” Buddy continues. “If she approaches you for an interview, give her your time. This is not the first female reporter we’ve had in our locker room, so you should know how to behave. But if any of you need a reminder, I’ll be happy to chat with you while you run sprints.”
Message received, Skip.
There’s some murmuring amongst the guys as we all disperse to finish dressing out for the game. Some of them are a little too excited to have the gorgeous Greer Bradley in our clubhouse, while others seem a little annoyed. It’s not that she’s a woman, which some people might think would be an issue. There are some great female sports reporters and broadcasters. And they’ve finally started earning the respect they deserve.
The restlessness comes from change.
As baseball players, we’re creatures of habit. So it wouldn’t matter who Buddy brought in just now, the fact it isn’t Jeffrey is the real problem. We don’t like change.
After an amazing first half of the season, where our winning percentage is over six-hundred, we don’t want anything messing with our mojo.
From now until October, it’s eye on the prize.
Greer gives me one more side-ways glance before she turns her attention back to Buddy and they walk out of the locker room, talking like they’re old friends.
“I’d hit that,” Freeman says, dropping his drawers and walking butt-naked toward the showers. “Actually, Iwillhit that.”
Something about the way he says that last part—or maybe because it’s about Greer and she’s more or less a friend by association—has my blood boiling.
I’m not going to go all holier than thou. I have my faults, plenty of them. And sure, I’ve been known to talk about women I’ve hooked up with, like Holly. But Freeman takes it to a whole new level, which is why any time I can, I like to give him shit.
That dude needs to be dropped down a peg or two.
A few hours later, after our third baseman, Bo Bennett, gets a walk-off homerun against the St. Louis Sledgehammers, we’re back in the clubhouse and ready to celebrate.
“Beignets and beers for everyone tonight, fuckers!”
But, first, a shower.
Then ice for my knees.
And then, beignets and beers.
When I’m clean and dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, I grab some ice packs from one of our trainers and find a comfy chair to plop my tired ass in. Jorge and Val are seated nearby but their attention is pulled across the room where Greer is interviewing our new shortstop.
“Damn, she’s still here?” I ask. Most reporters quickly hit up the star players from the game, get their sound bite, and leave.
“Yeah, the guys keep lining up to be interviewed by her, whether they deserve it or not, just for the chance to talk to her. I guess she’s too nice to turn them down,” Val explains, looking like he wishes he’d thought of the idea first.
“Maybe she hasn’t figured out their game yet,” Jorge offers. “Or she doesn’t want to. She looks like the type to enjoy this kind of attention.”
I’m getting ready to shut Jorge up when Greer turns our way, her expression morphing from professional and pleasant to annoyed and maybe a little hurt, which means she probably overheard the conversation.
I hate the ball of guilt that immediately churns in my gut. Even though I wasn’t technically part of the banter, I also didn’t stand up for her and that’s just as bad. But, really, what does she expect? She should be relieved we were going easy on her.
Being a newbie comes at a price, regardless of who you are.
