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I spot Harrison with the guys swinging their arms around in circles and head there.
“Hey, I’m Ian,” I say to the others I haven’t met. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions while you warm up?”
“No worries, do what ya gotta do” one of the youngest guys says in an accent I can’t place. Truth be told, I barely understood what he said at all.
“Tim is Australian. You’ll get used to the accent,” Harrison says, then stretches one of his thick arms across his chest. There’s no denying he’s hot, but I’ve never really gone for the heavily muscled type. At least not for anything more than a hookup, and I already ruled out doing that with any of the players. “This is Alan Beaker, and that’s Gordon James.” He gestures to the two guys on either side of him. I met Gordon at the bar last night, but he looks different today, in the early light, his flame-red hair is like a fire on top of his head.
“So are you all Animal Control?” I ask, and Tim shakes his head.
“Nar mate. I’m a Funky Monkey. We all trained together up until they separated us into teams a few days ago. Now I only get warm-ups and half a choreography session with these fellas.”
“I’m about eighty percent sure I caught all of that,” I laugh, and he blushes. He can’t be older than eighteen, too young for me, but still pretty to look at. “What interested you in playing Banana Ball?” I ask Tim, and his eyes light up.
“It’s not just Banana Ball. It’s baseball in the States that sold me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Keep those stretches up, boys!” Coach Miles calls, and Tim and the others get back to swinging their arms around.
“Back in Australia,” Tim continues, “I played for my high school team and was picked up in my last year to play for the ABL. I was stoked and spent the whole summer bragging on socials about my big break. I’d seen what the fellas do in Banana Ball and decided to do my own renditions of their videos. I spliced in videos of my game days a few mates took and it blew up. Next thing I know, a scout shows up at my parents’ door, and I’m being flown out here for tryouts. I swear you would have knocked me over with a feather when they offered me the gig.”
“So you were offered to play for the Australian Baseball League but turned it down for this?”
Harrison stops swinging his arms and gives me a quizzical look.
“Oh, shit, no, I don’t mean that in a bad way,” I correct, my face as hot as Gordan’s hair looks. “I think that’s amazing. I was just confirming that was what ABL stood for.”
“Oh, darlin, I’m just messing with you,” Harrison says, and he drops to the ground and starts on some pushups. “If your cage is that easily rattled, the next twelve weeks are going to be fun.”
He tilts his head up toward me, a cheeky grin spread across his lips.
“Tim, do you mind if I feature you in my next story?”
“No way, man, that’s great. What else you wanna know?”
I throw out a few more questions to Tim, jotting down his responses, being sure to note the words I’m not one hundred percent sure of to look up later. By the time he’s circled through the warm-up stations, I have seven pages. This feature is goingto be awesome. The side gate opens, and the other four writers are led out onto the field.
I guess my exclusive hour is up. Brendan jogs over to the other writers, and I’m reminded this wasourexclusive hour. Not mine. One of the writers gives him a playful shove while another shoots me daggers. I guess they have mixed feelings about our extra time with the teams. Nothing to be done about it now. The coaches call the teams into groups and split the writers down the middle, three are sent off with the Funky Monkeys, and the other three, me, Brendan, and Rob Morgan, one of the longest-running baseball writers out there, are sent to follow Animal Control.
“Okay, fellas, looks like you’re stuck with me,” Rob says, his Texan accent like music to my ears. I always had a thing for cowboys. As I think about the fact that Rob is about forty or more years too old for me, I realize my brain has been on nothing but men since I landed in this city. First Brendan, then Harrison, Tim, and now Rob. If I’m going to get my head in the game, I have to do something about this obsession. It’s been way too long since I dated anyone, let alone hooked up with a guy. I need to get laid. And fast. My gaze immediately lands on Brendan. He’s crouched down beside the fence a few feet away, and at a glance, you would think he was tying his shoe, but his shoe is already tied and as his hand slips down beside his foot, I swear I catch sight of something yellow.
“So how did y’all score an early invite?” Rob asks, eyebrows raised, awaiting our reply.
“Ian here has aspecial relationshipwith one of the players,“ Brendan says, rejoining us.
“It’s not like that,” I argue.
Rob nudges me. “Is it Benny G?”
“I know him from school, that’s it. Brendan is just stirring up trouble.”
“Well, if you get any other invites you want to extend to the rest of us, let me know.”
“A few of the team go for drinks across the street sometimes, if you want to grab a beer after?”
“Fair dinkum, that’d be great.”
I suddenly worry he could have taken my invite to mean more than it was meant to. Sure, I have a thing for the whole cowboy accent, but he’s not really my type.
