Quit Your Pitchin' (There's No Crying in Baseball 2)

“They treat you like shit,” she said, starting off the same old argument we always had.

“They do,” I paused. “But they’re family. Family is family. You don’t get to choose when you like them.”

She snorted.

“No, I guess you don’t,” she agreed. “Let’s go grab a drink before we sit. God, what’s with all the photographers inside?”

“We’re in the playoffs. Normally this would be just us, but since we’re one of the contenders for this year, the photographers want to be where we are,” I explained.

I led her to the open bar, and she ordered a screwdriver while I ordered a Baileys Irish Cream Coffee.

“Coffee?” she asked. “Did you not sleep well last night?”

No.

I shook my head.

“Why not?” She frowned, looking all of a sudden concerned.

Because I was going to get to see you today, and my heart wouldn’t settle the fuck down.

I replied with, “Because of a neighbor’s dog.”

That wasn’t altogether a lie.

The neighbor’s dog had kept me up. But only because my dog kept barking at him.

Each time their dog would bark, mine would follow.

It was a vicious cycle, and I’d had a really bad night’s sleep. Though, I hadn’t really been to sleep in the first place.

The bartender set our drinks down on the bar in front of us, and we each reached for our glasses.

I took the first sip of mine and moaned.

It was good.

I didn’t have coffee or alcohol very often. When I did, I usually found that it kept me awake a little longer than I would’ve originally desired.

However, tonight was going to be a long night.

We had at least four hours here, if not a little more.

Going to sleep wasn’t going to be a problem for me seeing as it’d be a while before I got to do that.

Placing my hand on Wrigley’s back—and her bare skin—I guided her to our table and tried not to think about how soft her skin was under the palm of my hand. Or how freakin’ hot she was—literally and figuratively.

We found our seats moments later, and I pulled out the seat that was next to mine, offering it to Wrigley.

She sat, tucking her dress in gracefully under her, and I followed suit moments later, sitting sideways in my chair so that my knees were on either side of her.

“If you had to choose one thing to get back in this world, what would it be?” I countered.

She didn’t even hesitate. Not one single second. She didn’t overthink it. She didn’t purse her lips and try to find the best possible answer.

She already knew what she would ask for.

As did I.

She opened her mouth and started to say, “Yo—” but someone interrupted her word by shouting my name.

Then I felt a hand slam down on my shoulder, and I looked up to find Rhys, the third baseman, glaring at me.

“How’s it going, big guy?” he rumbled.

I tried not to yell at him for interrupting her answer.

I grimaced. “It’s been good. How are you?”

“Good.” Rhys took my hand and shook it once before he offered it to Wrigley moments later. “Wrigley, how are you?”

“I’m well,” Wrigley smiled. “Who’s your date?”

Rhys cursed. “This is my friend, Melanie. Melanie, this is Wrigley and George.”

Melanie waved, looking relieved that she was brought into the conversation.

I tended to agree with her discomfort. Nothing was worse than standing off to the side of a conversation, wondering whether you should introduce yourself or not.

“Hi,” Melanie smiled timidly. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

Melanie kept bouncing her eyes around the room, taking everything in, while also staying close to Rhys’ side.

“Big baseball fan, or big Furious George fan?” Wrigley questioned curiously.

“Big baseball fan. I’m pretty sure this is everything I ever dreamed of, being in a room full of Lumberjacks,” she answered honestly, making us all laugh.

“I think my sister about had a heart attack when she came to this our first year. She looked like a kid standing outside of a pet store,” Wrigley explained.

Diamond had.

She’d been quite adorable, really.

It’d also been the last she’d done anything with the team. Which was weird since she’d been to every single home, away, and team event since I’d married her sister.

Though, that was partially due to her accident.

She hadn’t been well enough to come, and then she’d changed. She hadn’t been interested in baseball…still wasn’t if my sources—i.e., my grandmother—could be believed.

“I’ll have to meet this sister of yours, then,” Melanie replied with her semi-harmless response.

All of us around the table went quiet, though.

Melanie, at least, was oblivious to the new tension hanging in the air around us.

“Melanie, you’re right here,” Rhys called, pulling out her chair. “I’m going to go get us a few drinks. What would you like?”

“Club soda would be super,” she replied. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drink alcohol. I might very well embarrass myself.”