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My assignment to follow the Funky Monkeys has me on the complete opposite side of the field to Brendan, but even with him so far away, I catch myself tracking his movements between players he’s talking to.
I have to stop. I have to focus. I need more information for my upcoming focus pieces, and there will be plenty of time to gawkat Brendan later. Like tonight. When he’s naked. Oh fuck, I hope he gets naked.
“I found this in the locker room at break,” Ryan Tanner says, pulling my gaze from Brendan, and my thoughts of his toned, naked body. He tosses me something yellow, and I almost drop my digital notepad to catch it. Turning it over in my hand, I see it’s a rubber duck painted to look like it’s wearing swimming goggles and a swim cap. I can’t help but glance toward Brendan.
“Did you see who left it?” I ask, tossing it back to him.
“Nope. But it does mean that whoever is leaving them around has to be someone on this field.”
“Maybe. I mean, there is a bunch of people coming in and out of this place.”
“But not that many that have access to the locker rooms.”
True. “Okay, so you got any ideas on who it might be?”
He shrugs. “I don’t really care who’s doing it. I like this one, though. Reminds me of when I used to swim for Arizona State.”
“I didn’t know you were a swimmer.”
“I was on an athletics scholarship for school back in the UK, which basically meant all I did for years was swim, eat, and sleep. Oh, and play cricket. I have no idea how I even passed my classes now that I come to think of it.”
“So you didn’t play baseball in college?”
“Not until I moved to the States for work. I joined the company team first, then a local team, and well, it turns out bowling in cricket isn’t that far from pitching in baseball.”
I hold up the phone. “Can I take a pic with you and the duck?”
He chuckles. “Sure, but make sure you get our good side.”
He sits the duck on the palm of his hand and then positions his hand palm up at the side of his head like he’s carrying a waiter’s tray. I take a few shots as he alters his position over and over until the duck falls.
“How did you score this gig with the Funky Monkeys?” I ask as he sits down beside the duck and starts his stretches.
“How did you?” he asks with a smirk.
“I think how you got here makes for a better story than how I did,” I say, and he shrugs.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
I give him the short story: writing for other sections of the magazine until I proved myself, basically begging my editor to give me a shot on any sport, and then this came up and I promised I could deliver huge hits on our site if he gave me a chance.
“Okay, now you know my story, tell me yours.”
“My ex was on the local team I played for, and he was the one scouted for Banana Ball, and he asked me to help him. Do some video promos to send in as part of the deal to get their shot. Turns out they liked me more than him and offered me the chance.”
“So, you split because you moved or…?
“Let’s just say he wasn’t as keen to support me as I was ready to support him. Basically, when he found out that they wanted to fly me to a meet and greet with the other potentials and not him, he decided that was his cue to end our relationship of three years and walk away. I guess I could’ve declined the offer. I mean, that’s what he basically expected me to do, but I couldn’t. I guess the fact that I couldn’t walk away from the opportunity, even if it meant losing him, meant that we really weren’t enough for each other, anyway.”
“Umm, I can keep that off the record if you want,” I tell him, ready to cross through the notes I’d automatically been taking. But he’s shaking his head.
“No way. It’s part of who I am and how I got here. I’m not afraid for people to know my story.”
“Cool. So are you seeing someone now?”
His lips pick up at one side into a cheeky grin. “Who’s asking, reporter Ian, orrrr…?”
My cheeks immediately burn. “Yes, reporter Ian, me, reporter me, that’s what I meant. Sorry.”
