The Shortstop, page 8
“You guilt me by using the bad luck argument.”
She’s right. I’m a master at distracting her as well as guilting her. I do it often, and it works to my advantage. Last night, it worked to her advantage. She had no complaints as I devoured her from head to toe. She also had no further arguments regarding our sleeping arrangement, for that matter.
I left her promising I’d call as soon as the meeting ended. In return, she promised she wouldn’t worry until I did call. Her plans are to see the sights so she won’t have a spare moment to worry or wonder about me. So she claims, but I know her worrying is inevitable.
As my dad drives us to the stadium, I catalog every detail of the ride from Manhattan to the Bronx. I’ve made this trip many times to see the Yankees play. I’ve never paid attention before. It’s important to me today to mark and remember the significance of this ride. My heart pounds relentlessly in my chest from excitement and nervousness. Annie claims nervousness isn’t in my arsenal of emotions. Of course, I get nervous—but I just hide it well.
I know Dad is also fighting nerves. It’s only when we hit the Major Deegan Expressway when he finally speaks.
“Son, I want you to know, it doesn’t matter what happens today, I am so proud of you. I can guess what your decision will be even before you hear their offer. As your dad and your manager, I’m here not only to protect you but also your best interests. You have options. If you need time to consider, or if anything they offer isn’t to your expectations, then it’s okay to tell them you need time. It’s also okay to say no altogether.”
“Dad, I hear you. But I guarantee if they offer, I’m accepting.”
He quickly glances my way and waits a few seconds before responding. “Listen, Quint, I probably should have had this talk with you long before now. I’ve put a lot of pressure on you when it came to baseball. I’ve also transferred my obsessions to you. Since the day you could speak, walk, even run, you loved the Yankees. I know they hold the highest bankroll in baseball, but you’re a rookie and they’ll spin it that way. I don’t want you to go in there today so dazzled because it’s the Yankees that it’ll cause you to settle for less than you deserve.”
“Settle? Dad, I know you’re trying to play devil’s advocate, but there isn’t a scenario that would change my mind. I want to be a Yankee.”
“That’s my concern, son. You’re a damn good ballplayer. I can’t even guess what they’ll offer. Just promise me you won’t lose yourself because of a dream.”
His request seems both outlandish and understandable. Yes, I can easily lose myself if this dream comes true. Why the hell shouldn’t I? Then again, I understand what he’s trying to say. In many ways, he’s been living his dream through me. He’s had to endure my mom’s gripes about transferring his obsession to me. Now that we’re on the threshold of our dream becoming reality, I get why he’s concerned. But it’s a bit too late. There isn’t a damn thing on earth that would veer me off course or in another direction. I have one focus…and in about fifteen minutes I hope it’ll become my reality.
Instead of arguing, I simply nod my agreement. “I won’t, Dad. I promise.”
He clasps my shoulder in a firm grip. “Good. Now try to relax and leave all the nitty-gritty to Mr. Furrows and me.”
“No argument there,” I respond with a genuine smile. He and my lawyer can handle all the boring stuff.
I only have two questions:
When do I start? What is my number?
We were at the stadium for six hours, most of the time spent in a conference room. The Yankees’ top brass, my dad, my lawyer, and I sat behind closed doors combing every line of a ten-page contract. I felt much younger than my twenty-two years as they discussed my life and my future as if I weren’t even in the room. In all fairness, I tried to pay attention, but I’d unconsciously zone out while daydreaming of playing in a Yankees uniform.
My dad’s concern of a lowball offer, or even of me settling, flew out the window shortly after they revealed the terms of my contract. They’re offering me one million a year for three years, with the option for an increase in years two and three, depending on my stats. I nearly shit my pants over their offer. My dad played it cool, but I could tell he was internally freaking out.
In exchange for my contract, they’re also offering the Orioles a starter and two minors. Players being traded or, in some cases, stolen is all part of the game. That part had me feeling sick. I’m going to have to learn how to separate the humanity from the business end of playing pro.
They left the room so we could discuss among ourselves. I thought that formality was ridiculous. There was nothing to discuss. The offer was beyond anything we expected. Most rookies start at three hundred thousand a year. The best of the best might get five to six. A million a year for the first three years is unprecedented. Sitting in an empty conference room pretending to be mulling over their offer was a joke. After a few minutes, Mr. Furrows finally agreed and called management back in to seal the deal.
I grinned like a fool as each manager, coach, and assistant filed back into the room. Why pretend that I wasn’t excited? It was clearly written all over my face anyway, as well as my dad’s.
Page by page, I flipped through, signing my name wherever the little flag indicated. I had to pause a few seconds between my first and last names to attempt to stop my hand from trembling. Once I signed the last page, I fucking hooted.
Start date would be effective immediately, after the Orioles confirm.
We discussed my number. Many options were given, but none of the choices had any meaning.
“Can I have 77?” I asked tentatively.
The executive assistant wordlessly flipped through a large book and, a few seconds later, nodded.
“Not a problem. Can we know why you are choosing 77?” the head coach asked with a smile.
I quickly glanced at my dad before responding. “The number seven has been my number since Little League. Since I can’t have it here, I’ll double it for double the luck.”
He reached across the table and shook my hand. “Here’s to double the luck. Welcome to the Yankees.”
“Thank you, sir.” I shook his hand enthusiastically.
“We have high hopes for you, son. We could picture you as our next franchise player. Make us proud, Quint.”
Franchise player?
“Holy shit,” was all I could come up with. They laughed at my dumb-ass response. “I’ll do my best, sir,” I quickly added.
Not until we were standing outside the stadium did my dad pull me into a hug, clutching me to his trembling body. He cried as he held me. There were no words, just subtle sobs of joy. There was nothing he could say that I didn’t already know. I could feel everything he wanted me to each time he tightened his arms around me.
My girl is going to be over-the-moon happy. Besides Dad, she is the only person who could know what I’m feeling. When I was young, my mom once ordered those fake baseball card pictures that you can sometimes choose in Little League photo packages. The year our team was the Yankees, Mom ordered dozens of those little cards. Annie framed one of them and it goes wherever she goes. A second copy holds a place of honor in her wallet. The frayed edges clearly show the wear and tear this card has been through. If there was any way I could have had her in that room today, I would have tried. She deserved to be there.
I sent her a simple text to meet me at the hotel. She immediately responded, asking me to call her. The only reason I haven’t is because she wants details. Giving them over an iPhone is not acceptable to me. This kind of news needs to be personally delivered. I’ve gotten a dozen or so texts calling me every name in the book for leaving her hanging. The last one said I love you. She’ll forgive me.
My mom and Annie’s parents are on their way up to Manhattan. Dad gave Mom minimal information as well, holding back on the gist of my contract. Annie hasn’t a clue they are coming. We are all going out tonight to celebrate.
All hell will break loose tomorrow. A press conference in the morning will announce my trade. I’ll be practicing with the team immediately following and then playing the next home series in Yankees pinstripes.
My face hurts from the ear-to-ear grin I’m sporting.
I knock hard on the door, waiting for her to open it.
“Who is it?” she asks on her side.
I move out of her line of vision in case she peeps through the peephole. “It’s me.”
The fumbling of locks hastily being opened causes me to laugh. I can just imagine her on the other side clumsily trying to open the door.
“Damn it,” she cusses. “Fuck. Don’t move. Fuck.”
When I can’t hold my laughter, she curses me. “It’s not funny.” Finally, the click of the deadbolt resounds through the wood frame. She yanks the door open, practically hitting herself in the face as she does. Her eyes bulge when she sees me standing in the hall wearing a Yankees hat.
“I knew it! I knew it!” She catapults into my arms. “Quint! I’m so happy for you!”
Her legs form a vise around my waist. Her arms have a firm hold around my neck. I can’t get a word in edgewise between all her squeals and giggles. Laughing while carrying her into our room, I use my foot to kick the door shut behind us. She plants kiss after kiss all over my face. The last one lands on my lips. The touch of her lips against mine uncorks all my euphoria. If my father’s hug was a representation of all the emotions he was feeling, then this one kiss would be mine. When we finally stop for air, she gives me a heart-stopping smile. “Baby, every moment I sat in that room, I couldn’t believe what was happening. Even as I signed that contract, I had to pinch myself to be sure it wasn’t a dream.”
She unlatches her limbs from around my body and immediately pulls me to the couch. “I want to know every detail!”
Chapter Ten
Annie
He sits beside me grinning from ear to ear. “That hat looks so good on you,” I say, distracted by the gorgeous sight of him. “I can’t wait to see you in full uniform.”
“I’ll be getting it tomorrow. I’m number 77.” He beams from excitement.
“Really? You must have been so happy.”
“Baby, I’m beyond happy. I have everything I want, including you.”
He proceeds to tell me all about the meeting, touching on every detail that went on inside that conference room. His salary, his option for increase, it’s all too much to grasp. I’m having a hard time wrapping my brain around it. I can only imagine what he’s feeling. They handed him a pot of gold. How do you even begin to understand it all?
I guess if anyone can, it’s Quint. Mentally, he’s imagined this day his entire life. Physically, he’s pushed his limits. The combination probably forced his destiny.
He reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Tomorrow is the press conference. It’s about to get crazy. Are you ready for it?” Obvious concern is etched all over his face.
“Of course. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“Baby, I was prepped today for what to expect.” He takes my hand between both of his, rubbing them soothingly over my skin before continuing. “They used the analogy that tomorrow a tornado will suddenly appear in my life, and instead of running away, I’ll be stepping into the storm. The only difference between a real tornado and what I’m about to experience is a real one ends within minutes. This one will go on and on.” He watches my face, focusing on my eyes. “Through it all, my only concern is that you’re okay. None of this will be worth it to me if you aren’t happy.”
“Q, you don’t have to worry about me. I can handle all the craziness. I’ve had some experience with it so far,” I tease, referring to his many, many pushy groupies.
He scoffs, “That’s not the same.”
“I know those skanks were nothing compared to what you will be facing,” I tease even more.
“Annie.”
I slide my hand from his to cradle his face. “Q, I believe in us. You and I are solid. Tornados can easily destroy a weak foundation that wasn’t built to withstand it. I dare anyone to try to take us down.” I smile warmly, prompting him to reciprocate with one of his own. He leans in and kisses me softly.
“I love you so much. So many times I ached for you today. I wished you were there sitting beside me.”
“I wish I was there, too.”
He kisses me again with much more enthusiasm. “I need you,” he says into my ear before tracing it with his tongue. The instant his lips touch me, I ignite from the inside out.
“Um, Quint?” I ask, breathlessly breaking away from him.
“Yeah?” he responds while kissing my neck.
“Where’s your dad?”
He stops to stare at me. “Annie, enough with this shit.”
“What? I was just wondering if he was going to interrupt us once we got started.”
Tilting his head to the side, he narrows his eyes suspiciously. I flash a big toothy smile, making him laugh.
“You are an awful liar. Dad is in his room making phone calls with Mr. Furrows. My mom is on her way up. We’re all going out later to celebrate. We have at least an hour. So, relax and stop overthinking the fact he’s on the other side of that wall.”
“You just reminded me he’s on the other side of that wall.” I pout.
“Too fucking bad,” he retorts before diving back in to kiss my neck. His hands work quickly to remove my shirt. He bends and sucks my already pert nipple through the silk fabric of my bra. I can feel his fingers working the clasp on my back. Hastily, he removes my bra to stare at my breasts. He does it every time he sees them.
“So fucking gorgeous.” Using one fingertip, he slowly traces a circle around my nipple. “Your nipples are the same shade of pink as your lips. Every time I look at your lips, I think of these.” He’s admitted this fun fact before. I still clench each time he reminds me.
He gently bites down on one, teasing me to the point where all thoughts vanish from my head. For several long minutes, he focuses on my breasts, splitting his attention equally between the two. With each suck, lick, and bite, he reduces me to a squirming, pleading mess.
Last night he made it all about me. Of course, it was to get me to relax and stop overthinking, and it worked.
It’s time to reciprocate. I can feel his pent-up energy in every muscle of his body. Suddenly, I feel compelled to release it. When I pull away, he’s about to reprimand me until I push him to sit farther back into the sofa. “You assume you know what I’m thinking?” Quirking one brow deviously, I watch his face morph from annoyance to surprise. “You happen to be wrong, Mr. Lawson. At this moment, all I’m thinking is how badly I want to taste you.”
When I kneel between his spread legs, a sexy smirk lifts the corner of his lips. Keeping my eyes on his, I slowly remove all his clothes, starting with his shoes and his shirt and tie. He begins to remove his hat until I shake my head.
“Nuh-uh. The hat stays on.”
“You like the hat, huh?”
With both hands wrapped around him, I slowly nod and admit, “I love the hat. I get to give a Yankee a hummer. How hot is that?”
“You’ve never used the word hum…Oh, fuck…” He throws his head back from my brazen assault. “Holy shit. Annie,” he gasps as I set out to take him for all he’s worth. He knots one hand in my hair and grips the edge of the sofa cushion with the other. I’m relentless, not stopping for air until he releases with a primal grunt.
A few seconds pass, yet he remains slumped into the back of the sofa, unmoving. Except for his breathing, he’s completely immobile. Slowly, he peeks open one eye to see me smiling smugly. “Proud of yourself?”
“Yep, very.”
“Gloating doesn’t suit you,” he says just as his eyes drift closed again. I quickly remove my shorts and panties and straddle him. His eyes fly open in surprise. “What has gotten into you? Is it my new job title?”
I already feel him hardening between my legs. A few rubs and I know he’ll be more than ready and able to perform. As I slide over his length, I respond arrogantly, “Hell yes. Now I get to fuck a Yankee. A hot Yankee.”
“I’m not sure I can rise to the occasion again. You’ve drained me.”
Choosing not to respond, I instead resort to my best line of offense. He can’t resist when I shamelessly rub myself on him while sucking on his neck. Instantly, he comes to life, thrusting into me with purpose. He grips my ass with both hands, manipulating my hips to our advantage. It’s not long before he brings me toward a delicious orgasm and follows with a second of his own.
I collapse against him, exhausted from all my hard work. He removes his hat and places it on my head. “Was that my signing bonus?”
Without moving, I mumble into his neck, “First of many to come.”
He wraps his arms around me, drawing lazy circles on my back. I could fall asleep without question. After a few minutes, he asks, “Want to shower with me?”
“Mmm, I’ll be ready for more real soon. We’ll screw in the shower next, I promise,” I murmur against his chest. His warm skin against my cheek feels so good. I would love to stay here in this room all night long and alternate between napping and screwing.
He chuckles at my response. “No, baby. I meant literally. We need to get ready for dinner.”
“Mmm, okay.”
“Baby, are you falling asleep?”
“Just a tiny nap,” I plead, refusing to move.
“My parents will be knocking on that door very soon,” he threatens.
Rising quickly, I blurt out, “Okay, I’m up,” causing him to laugh.
“I knew that would move your ass.” He stands as well and holds out a hand. “Come, let’s shower and then we’ll get dressed. Although, I like what you have on now.”
I glance down at my naked body. “That would make headlines.”
“Good point.” He removes the hat and adds, “Promise me you’ll wear this hat and nothing else when I fuck you later.”
“If you promise the same.”
“Deal.”
