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Ian
I have no ideawhat the fuck I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking, that was my problem. I’ve never gone off like that at anyone. I guess even I hadn’t realized exactly how much I hated writing those stories. No wonder he hates me. He knows that guy. It’s not like his friend was the one cheating. The story was clear on that. I told myself when I sent it through that making it clear who was at fault was doing this guy a favor, but I guess not. Brendan obviously doesn’t think so. Even though our conversation has become a little more civil, there’s still this tension between us. I should be going back to the hotel to read through my notes and make a start on tomorrow’s story. That’s all part of this gig with the Banana Ball. They agree to let six of us sportswriters tag along and our publications print a story a day minimum to help build buzz around the tour, but I can’t seem to step away from the table. From him. Fuck.
A group of girls several drinks in, giggle their way over to our booth.
“I think you both need to come and dance with us,” the taller of the two blondes says, grabbing Brendan’s hand and pulling him from the booth.
A redhead just as drunk moves to grab my hand, and I slip from the booth and tuck my hands into my pockets.
“Sorry, ladies, I’m headed out,” I say, and nod toward Brendan.
“See you at training.”
I walk away looking back for just a moment to see them drag him away, asking him questions about what team he plays for.
***
When I head down for breakfast, I’m surprised to see Brendan already there chatting with the other writers following the tour. Maybe he didn’t have as big a night as I assumed he would. I grab a coffee and pick up a plate to start filling up from the buffet when I get a text from Benny.
BENNY: The team is headed down early if you want to join. Back gate in 5.
The training day was supposed to start in an hour. A full hour of alone time with the team. This could be amazing. I quickly text him back.
IAN: Amazing, be there in two.
I drop the plate on the dirty side, tip my coffee into a takeaway cup, grab a muffin, and try to slip out without being spotted. I’m pretty sure I’m successful, too, until Benny opens the back gate and looks past me with a smirk.
“Nice to see you boys learning to get along,” Benny says, and I follow his gaze to find Brendan waiting behind me.
“We’re the best of friends now, didn’t he tell you?” Brendan says with a smirk before striding past me to head through to the field.
“The bestest,” I reply through gritted teeth. There goes my advantage.
The team is all here, running through what I can only assume is a part of their warm-up. Some are swinging their arms around, others squatting and lunging across the field.
“So what’s the plan for today?” Brendan asks, and I hate that he got in with the first question. This was supposed to be tomyadvantage.
“Warm up, throwing program, some defense drills, hitting drills, base running, and then we’ll run through opening choreography,” Benny says, planting his ass on the ground and stretching out his leg to one side.
“Are all days run the same?” Brendan asks and again I miss my opening. Fucking hell.
“Mostly. It helps keep things consistent. Coach will throw in some individual drills for the pitchers.”
“Have you been practicing your opening number much?” I ask, thankful my mouth finally found words.
“Not as much as Dennis would like. He’s the choreographer. He has this whole thing planned, ohh, wait, the opening number has to stay off the record. That goes for all of you. We’re live streaming it, so the first time anyone gets to see or hear about what we’re doing has to be then.”
“No problem,” Brendan replies immediately.
“We can still hype it up, though, right?” I ask. “Like, tell people just wait and see what these teams have in store for opening night. Shit like that?”
“Probably okay, but run it past the bosses first. I’ve let the boys know we go way back, so you should be able to get a few goodquotes out of them. Have fun,” he says, jumping up and jogging over to join a few of the others, lunging the length of the field.
“Way back, huh?” Brendan says with a hum as he scratches onto his digital notepad.
“No paper today?”
“I saw yours and just had to have one,” he says with a smirk, then strolls past me to talk to some of the players stretching nearby.
