Third Base (The Boys of Summer 1)

“I could ask you the same thing?” he waggles his eyebrows and looks at Daisy who has her eyes focused on the ground.

“We were just leaving.” I don’t want to get into why I’m back here because I’ll never hear the end of it. I grab my jacket and sweatshirt, and motion for Daisy to follow me out. She’s right on my heels, bumping into me when I stop to turn around.

I catch her in my arms as she falls into my chest, using the situation to my advantage so I can feel her against me. It’s a dirty trick, but I never said I played clean. She’s the first one to pull away, adjusting her hat as she does.

“Here,” I say, handing her my sweatshirt. “I’ve kept you out late and I don’t want you to freeze because of me.” It’s going to be huge on her, but seeing her wearing something with my name on it will be worth it.

Daisy takes off her hat and tries to hide her messy hair. “It’s okay. My hair looks crazy when I take my hat off.”

She squints and sort of shakes her head. I guess I wasn’t supposed to say anything about how her hair looks. How the hell am I supposed to know that? My mother raised me to be honest and say what’s on my mind. I guess this is one of those times when media training will come in handy.

As soon as she pulls my sweatshirt over her head, I’m eyeing her backside. I’m not looking at her ass, but at my name and number spread across her back. There’s no bigger rush for an athlete than seeing your name on the back of someone you like. This is a player issued sweatshirt and not available for our fans to buy. The minute she walks out of here people are going to assume she’s my girlfriend. Panic should set in. My palms should be itching and my heart racing at the thought of being labeled with a girlfriend, except none of those things happen.

Instead, I picture her in my jersey and nothing else, with her long hair free from any binding ties and her bare feet walking across my hardwood floors. The warmth of the afternoon sun beams through my window as she kneels on my black leather couch next to me. She’s the only woman I can imagine in my place and while that thought should scare the shit out of me, it doesn’t.

There’s a devil sitting on my shoulder whispering into my ear. He’s telling me that I need to do everything in my power to get Daisy back to my place. The angel on the other side is telling me to walk her home, or as far as she’ll let me, and get her number. The devil is telling me to bang the shit out of her and I like that idea, except I have a feeling that once I have a taste, I’m going to be a greedy bastard and want more. And something tells me that waiting for her might be worth it.

“You look really sex… cute in my sweatshirt.” I pull on the side a little; it’s bulky and I don’t even come close to touching her, but it makes me feel connected. Her eyes go from me to the shirt and back to me. The black fabric against her blonde hair and green eyes makes her pale skin stand out.

“I really should go.”

I nod, agreeing with her even though I don’t want this night to be over. I wish tomorrow were an off day; we could spend all night talking, or just keeping each other company. Taking her hand in mine, I realize how small hers is in comparison to mine. I hold them up together, examining them, before I drop our arms to our sides and start down the hall. Walking with her like this feels as natural as baseball does – only baseball doesn’t make me horny and she’s definitely causing a reaction in my nether region.

Well… well… well… it seems Mr. Davenport has found himself a “friend”. There will be more on that in a minute.

Today’s loss hurt, especially after Davenport set a two-run shot into the bleachers. Renegade fans thought for sure that after Saturday’s loss, we wouldn’t see our guys drop back-to-back L’s.

The Orioles, on the other hand, shelled starting pitcher, Max Tadashi, bringing in early relief, who didn’t fare much better.

Steve Bainbridge looks like the rumors of his impending retirement or trade are starting to get to him as he looked stiff and out of sorts, committing two errors on the night.

The Renegades are home Monday night with Hank Sinclair taking the mound. The fans hope to see a better showing than the previous night.

GOSSIP WIRE:

This year is shaping up to be entertaining and this section might become my favorite part! I, the BoRe Blogger, often receive tips about the players. Some pan out to be juicy details and others fizzle. Last night’s tweet from a patron at the Tasty Burger, in particular, turned out to be a gem.

Yesterday during the game, fans were shocked and some elated to watch Davenport openly flirt with a Renegade fan. I suppose we should be happy that she is a fan of our beloved Boston team and not the Yankees where our wonderful General Manager, Ryan Stone, joined us from. Davenport gave this fan the first foul ball of the game – is there a significance? I’m not sure.

What I am sure about is this: Davenport asked an usher to retrieve the fan and have her meet him somewhere… the wives club maybe? From there we know, thanks to the Tasty Burger’s customer, that they went to dinner. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking Ethan Davenport can afford someplace better...but that’s just me.

I, of course, asked Davenport for a comment, but all I got was, “Call my agent.” My sources tell me that Davenport’s newest conquest left the stadium with him well after eleven wearing his team sweatshirt. Now if that doesn’t say “hook-up” or, at the very least, mean there’s some kind of romance going on...I don’t know what does.

The BoRe Blogger

One thing I learned last night about Daisy is that she’s stubborn. When we arrived at the train station, I asked for her number. She actually balked until I reminded her that we were supposed to be having breakfast in the morning. When she tried to tell me breakfast wasn’t necessary, I told her she could either let me take her or I could make sure she gets every foul ball I catch so everyone could see her face on the Jumbo Tron. Once she realized that I wasn’t giving up, she finally relented and gave me her number.

Now I’m sitting outside the restaurant she chose, waiting for her to get here. We’re close to Boston University and it never occurred to me to find out what Daisy does. I guess I assumed she works but now that I think about it, I’ve seen her at afternoon games before. So unless she has a flexible work schedule, she’s most likely a student.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my notifications. My Twitter is going crazy with the new BoRe Blogger post that went live at five a.m. I’d really like to find this guy and pound his face into the bricks along the Freedom Trail. He doesn’t know jack shit about me, yet he runs his mouth behind the cloak of the internet, never showing his face or telling us his identity. In my book that’s a coward. The shit he wrote about last night makes my time with Daisy feel cheapened. If I didn’t think he’d misconstrue my words, I’d give him the interview he so desperately wants… all we need is a dark alley with no witnesses.

I spot Daisy walking down the street and take a moment to watch her. She’s focused on her phone and is wearing her ear buds, making herself completely oblivious to her surroundings. I have the sudden urge to yell at her and

show her how much danger she’s putting herself in right now, but also to protect her by making sure she’s being driven from her house to every single destination she needs to get to.

Thinking like that is only going to get me in trouble. I doubt Daisy wants me as a knight in shining armor. Her shoulder bag is in the same spot as yesterday but this time she’s carrying another bag and I’m really hoping it’s not my sweatshirt. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want it back, that wants to see her in it again, but getting a fine for not having my uniform isn’t really my cup of tea.

When she’s closer, I get out of my SUV and wait for her at the rear of it. I rest against the back with my hands in my pockets. As she steps into the parking lot, she looks up. Even from this distance I can see her smile. I have no choice but to return one as well. It’s automatic whether I want to or not.