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The battery includes two baseball players, the pitcher and the catcher. A pitcher and catcher from the same team are known as “battery mates.”
SYDNEY
Rula Bula is an Irish pub bar on the ASU strip, which means it’s popular for college kids. Seeing how I’m with two of them, I shouldn’t be surprised they chose it, and I’m not in any mood to complain. As long as they serve me a drink, I don’t care at this point.
The second we walk inside, I realize that I shouldn’t be here. I think, and don’t put much weight on this, but after twenty-five, you steer clear of shit like this. I will say there’s a live band so it makes it slightly more enjoyable.
“This is a college bar,” Nahla notes, standing next to me looking like she, too, is regretting this.
“No, it’s not.” Sadie pulls us forward. “It’s fine.”
Once inside, I see that it’s not a college bar but I don’t see a single person over twenty-three. Aside from me and Nahla.
“Relax,” Sadie adds. “You’re not even thirty.” And then looks at Nahla like she wants to shove her foot in her mouth.
Nahla about bitch slaps my sister and shoves her. “Hey, asshole. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Sadie waves her hand around. “You know what I mean.”
“Bitch, no, I don’t. Got something against being thirty?”
In a panic, Sadie points to a booth. “Let’s drink.”
Within minutes, Remi disappears, and I can’t say that I’m all that sad to have her gone. Every time I make eye contact with her, my throat does that thing like it’s preparing to puke or close up. I’m not sure which one. “I’m not cool enough to be in here.”
“Why?”
“I’m wearing mom jeans.”
Sadie laughs out loud. “Look, baseball players.”
“What? How do you know?”
“That one marked my scorebook once.” She points to one at the bar with his hat on backward.
“Ha. Cute.”
I know a thing or two about baseball players. Remember? My dad was a head coach for years. There’s a group of them near the bar, one getting far more attention than the others, and if I had to guess, he’s the biggest asshole of them all. There. I said it, and I’m not taking it back. Baseball players are assholes. I’ve never met one that wasn’t conceited and only thinking of themselves. I dated one, and only one in high school, and he was constantly cheating on me.
Ha.
I’m running up a tally of cheaters, aren’t I?
“There’s a lot of baseball players here tonight.”
“That guy is the pitcher for ASU.”
I roll my eyes, wishing I could breathe a little easier in these jeans. “Looks like he’s working on his curveball now,” I note, watching him shake his head when a girl asks him to dance.
Sadie leans in closer and points at the kid again. “Word is, he threw 105 tonight.”
I whip my head around toward her. “No way. That’s the major league record for the fastest pitch.”
She smiles. “How do you even know that?”
“That’s not the point. I know shit. I’m older than you, and I’m wise.” I tap Sadie on the nose.
There’s silence among us for the briefest of moments, and I scan the crowd. In the corner, there’s a live band playing Dropkick Murphys songs. Tucked near the entrance is a bar with wooden stools. Scattered throughout the establishment are growlers on display and a fireplace. Out the back entrance is a patio where groups have gathered.