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He paces the room, his hands in front of him, fingers running together.
“I shouldn’t have grabbed you.” He stops pacing and turns to face me, and a pang hits my chest at the sadness in his eyes. I take a step toward him.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mind. I actually kind of liked it. Not kind of liked it, really liked it. It was good. It was great. I mean… shit…”
His cheeks flush a warm glow, and he smiles, turning his head slightly to the side, like a bashful child.
“Was that the first time you’ve kissed a guy?” I ask.
“Yes, but no. I mean, there was a time in college, but it was… different. Not like that. That was… I don’t know. I don’t know what that was, really.”
“Amazing,” I offer, and the blush on his cheeks grows deeper. “But I have no expectations that it will happen again. I’d be all for it, but I’m cool with leaving it in the past. Totally your call on that one.”
“I don’t know what I want right now.”
“That’s okay.”
His phone chimes, and he quickly goes to grab it.
“It’s Rob. The teams are warming up. If we want to get some time in with the players before today’s game, we better go.”
“Are we okay?” I ask, taking a step toward the door and resting my hand on the knob.
“We’re good,” he replies, his cheeks almost back to normal, the smile still on his lips.
I head to the field, relieved that it went the way it did. Brendan could have reacted one million different ways. Sure, he didn’t immediately jump my bones and kiss me again like I might have secretly been hoping he would, but he didn’t rule out an encore, either. Looks like he’s pretty confused right now, and I won’t put pressure on him. He needs to figure this out for himself. It’s his world that’s changing. Mine just got a hell of a lot brighter.
He doesn’t immediately follow me, so when he arrives at the field, I’m already sitting on the ground opposite Pat Night, rechecking a few facts I have for my article tonight. John Morley, 2B for the Funky Monkeys, is up next, and if I can get some time with him today, too, I’ll be ahead of schedule with my major pieces and can take a bit of a break on game three to just enjoy it. Today’s game is starting earlier than yesterday, with the teams spending extra time hanging out and greeting fans before the game. It’s one of the biggest differences between this and the Majors. The crowd engagement is off the charts.
“Your Funky Monkeys better bring it, Levram,” Brendan calls out to me. So I’m Levram now? Okay, well, two can play at that, duck man.
“You just wait, Grant. Animal Control won’t be able to quack this team.” I hold up one of the larger ducks I found last night and squeeze it. The thing makes a horrible squeaking sound that’s nothing like a duck, but it gains a laugh from Pat and a few of the guys nearby.
Brendan shakes his head and walks over to where Benny G and Harrison Roe are stretching.
I try my best through warm-up and the game to keep my attention on what’s happening on the pitch instead of on Brendan, but he’s laughing and cheering along with a few of the Funky Monkeys players, waiting for their turn at bat. Their hitter, Alan Beaker, smacks it high into the stands and the players in the dugout, including Brendan, rush out onto the edgeof the pitch and start a choreographed conga dance. Alan rounds third and joins the front of the line to make his final way home. The crowd is deafening.
We’re in the top of the ninth and Harrison Roe digs hard and slides into third, but the ball got there first. Out. Funky Monkeys walk away with the win.
I grab one of the catcher’s mitts and a ball and jog out to the mound, setting them up with the rubber duck at the highest point. I lie behind it, making sure the duck is in focus and the cheering crowd is in the background and click off a few shots.
“Hey, Brendan, do you still think Animal Control is all they’re quacked up to be?” I call across to him, squeaking the rubber duck again for effect. I’m pretty sure that he has no clue that I know it’s him leaving these things all over, but I’m sure having fun with it.
I stand, look down at my clothes, and sigh. I’m covered in dirt. Brendan is shaking his head and laughing my way.
“Can’t take you anywhere, Levram,” he calls before following the remaining players into the crowd to talk with the fans.
After last night’s kiss, I’m pretty sure I’d lethimtake me anywhere.
Chapter thirteen
Duckie
We’ve been sitting onthis bus for the past nine hours, driving to our next stop on the tour, Washington. Ian has seated himself down toward the front of the bus with a few of the Funky Monkeys and has been engrossed in their riveting conversation the entire time. Not that I’ve been watching him the entire time, except that I have.
Eddie Wolf commented in his article last night about the tension rising between the players and the writers and how it’s going to make for an interesting twelve weeks. His comment section is now filled with people’s opinions on it. He didn’t name names, but a few of the comments were about Ian and my dance battle, how it looked too real for it to all be for show. So it looks like this fake rivalry is working.
We hit a karaoke bar after game three, and I took advantage of the easily distracted crowd to leave a heap of ducks throughout the bar. I even managed to pick up a new suitcase this morning to fit the rest of them into to take them on tour.
