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POP GOES AMBIENT & VANCOUVER SLEEP CLINIC

I t wasn’t a game night, nor was it the night before an away series. So, pulling up to the Sillys’ stadium left me with a sense of worry. I’d been utterly perplexed by the emergency call from Coach Topper himself. The man only made gruff and to-the-point phone calls. Good or bad, his voice never wavered. So, it was always a crapshoot on what to expect.

But this call was different. Part of me was worried that something bad had come down from ownership. If there was even a hint of something off in any aspect of my life, my body went into immediate. “doomsday protocol”, complete with stress sweat and body-aching anxiety. Sometimes I was even treated to a “high heart rate” alert on my smartwatch. I had two alerts just on the drive over to the stadium.

It was no secret that trying to get this whole Entertainment League Baseball thing off the ground had been pretty rough. We still hadn’t managed a sell-out night since the stadium opened its doors. You’d think with all the amazing comedians from the Philly area that this place would be ripe to accept a baseball team like the Sillys. It seemed that Philly sports fans were keener on the serious sort of sports. Hell, the professional soccer team was still trying to get its footing with the fans. And they’d been around longer than we had.

To quell the stench of my pure unfiltered anxiety, I kept my car window down in the hope that the fresh air would give me the smell of Philly pollution instead of BO. Not that I would have much to worry about in the basement-smelling Sillys locker room.

Whatever it was, I hoped the news was good. The guys needed a little boost of something. It wasn't even close to mid-season and I could tell they were losing a bit of steam. The dance routines of late were a bit half-assed and without the usual spunk. It was also deep into the fiery and unpredictable hell that was Pennsylvania weather. The hot and humid temperatures always made things unpleasant.

As I made my way down the steps, there was a murmur coming from the locker room. It was an odd sight to see the guys in their street clothes and not their usual workout gear or uniform. They invited me out from time to time, but that was outside of the ballpark.

“Yo, Cadence, do you know why Topper called us?” Arlow looked up from his seat on the bench, straddling it as he leaned his elbows on his thighs. All eyes turned to me, even the ones from the other coaching staff members.

“What makes you think I know anything? I was just about to ask if any of you guys knew.” There were some murmurs of “no” and a whole lot of shaking heads. That made this meeting even more unsettling. What the hell was so important to call us all in on our day off but not tell anyone anything?

“Do you think it's something bad?” Schmidt stood as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The guys all exchanged looks as if they all had the same feeling.

“I sure as fuck hope not.” I gave them a half-assed awkward smile to reassure them in some capacity. “I mean, if it was something serious, I’m sure Topper wouldn’t have been so casual about the meeting place for whatever it is he needs to tell us. If it really was bad news, he would’ve invited us all someplace that had readily available alcohol.”

That at least got me some enthusiastic nods. Not that I had anything to compare this event to. In all my years with the Sillys, I couldn’t remember a time that we were all called in to meet under such mysterious circumstances. I tried to put on a brave face for the team.

Muffled voices grew louder beyond the main door to the locker room. The strain to hear made the room so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. It was the first time I’d ever experienced any measure of time where all of the guys were this silent before.

From what I could tell, there were at least two voices beyond the door, so it was a surprise to us all to see only Topper make his way into the room. He was in his usual team-branded gear. I once joked to his wife that I wouldn’t be surprised to know that he had Sillys-branded pajamas that he wore to bed. For Topper being such a grump of a guy, he sure loved this team. Maybe to an unhealthy level.

As soon as the door clicked shut it was as if the shaken bottle was suddenly uncorked. All the guys went off at once, standing to confront Topper with their barrage of questions. It was times like these that I wished I wore my whistle around my neck at all times. Not that the guys would have shut up. We were all a mess with anxiety.

“Alright, alright, settle down gents.” Topper shot me a look with a quick nod. “And ladies.” He never needed to personally address me, apart from the men, but he always went out of his way to do so. There was some charm to his rough exterior.

I was always the one who was the first to shut up and listen when the typically quiet manager spoke up, unlike the guys. It was like corralling a room of sugar-high preschoolers most days. “We have a…new player joining the team tonight.”

There was a murmur throughout the room as I cocked my brow. Since I was a part of the coaching staff, typically I was briefed when we had a new player join the Sillys. I reviewed their audition tape and talent background so I could figure out where in the entertainment lineup they would fit. But that was always at the beginning of the season. To have someone join at such a weird time was suspicious indeed. From the looks around the room, it seemed that Topper was the only one akin to this information.

“This came down from ownership today and y’all need to be on your best behavior and show him how it's done around here. Just because he has more of a status , doesn’t mean that we will treat him any differently. Especially since he will be with us for the foreseeable future while he recovers here.”

Now I was completely perplexed. Ownership? This shit had to be serious. Did they find someone in the farm that they wanted to bring up to the big city? Players had to work their way through the minors’ farming system as ownership cultivated them for the big leagues. Was this some hotshot player that they found out of the blue?

“Please give a Sillys welcome to our new starting catcher,” The curious murmurs reverberated throughout the locker room. What player could make ownership pull Schmidt as our starting catcher? The man was the team’s single cheerleader. I mean– “Philly’s own…Jamie Rheems!”

My heart and eyes collided with the brick wall that was the absolute vision of Jamie Rheems as he slipped through the locker room door.

Oh my god.

He was here .

In the flesh, standing easily a head and shoulder taller than Topper. The man of all my fantasies of late was standing in the locker room of my workplace.

As the newest member of my team.

As in, someone I will have to train.

As in, someone I’m going to have to face, on a daily basis, for maybe the rest of the season.

The only time I’d ever been close to Jamie Rheems was from at least two dozen rows back at the ballpark behind fencing and security. Not six or so odd feet away from the man that I had literally orgasmed to thoughts of last night.

Oh, dear god, I was so fucked.

And not in the good way.

Something of a scowl curled at his bold bow of a mouth. He didn’t look happy to be here. Which, granted, made sense given the situation he found himself in .

The Phillies currently had the best record in baseball. They needed to keep the momentum going. A half-assed catcher wasn’t going to get them to the postseason. Aside from the designated hitter, each team member had to pull their weight. They both played their position and had a chance at bat. When the star catcher, in the number two batting spot at the beginning of the season, dropped down to the number eight, something was drastically wrong. Maybe that’s why he was here?

None of it made sense. The Sillys didn’t need the help. Our roster was solid. Maybe Topper knew something we didn’t.

My eyes couldn’t leave the man as Topper slowly introduced Jamie to the players. I couldn’t believe it. My heart was racing so fast I thought it was going to make a break for it, up through my throat and out of my mouth.

Jamie was in his mid-30s and quickly coming up to the “out to pasture” years for a major league ball player. Especially as a catcher. Squatting for long lengths of time and throwing from a crouched position was hard on the human body. Despite all that, he was still giving the younger guys in his position a run for their money. At least before his injury.

Goddamn, he was so fucking fine .

Well-built in all the right ways and with a jawline that made your gaze want to linger, he turned heads with fans. Even with his head in a ball cap, his rich dark chocolate hair was always tousled so perfectly when he took his hat off. His hair color paired so well with his stunning blue eyes. The color was so intense you could easily see his irises through a television screen.

Which was why it was so difficult for me to believe that he was currently only a few feet from me and headed in my direction. I tried to remain calm and desperately wished that my face didn’t give away the distress that I was feeling inside. Topper was making sure that Jamie met with everyone. Since dancing was a healthy dose of the Sillys’ training, meant that he was headed directly for me at the end of the line.

I resonated with a deer in the headlights as Jamie inched his way closer to me. There was a subtle five o’clock shadow along his jaw, his skin softly tanned from the hours on the ballfield. Throughout the baseball season he went from being clean-shaven to a rough stubble but never let it get long enough to be considered anything but. Either look for him sent my female hormones into “fuck me hard” overdrive.

His scowl only deepened as Topper turned to me. My heart came to a complete and shuddering stop being this close to Jamie Rheems, the man of my dreams in my fantasies. I couldn’t help but feel my usually warm, glowing fantasy shatter into a zillion pieces as I faced this grumpy front of his. Those blue eyes were as cold as their icy color.

Great. We were already off to a rough start and neither of us had said anything yet. Those enchanting eyes of his drifted down and back up my body as if he was trying to figure me out. I had to suppress what would have been a delicious shiver. He was sizing me up. Given my five-foot height, it didn’t take long. The thirsty bitch inside me hoped it was for a thorough devouring, but unfortunately, I wasn’t one of God’s chosen ones .

“Cadence Andrews here is the boss on the field when the ball isn’t in play. You listen to her and her alone in between plays for the routines. Half of practice days are for field and batting work. The rest is for choreography.” Jamie’s eyes went dark as his brow furrowed. There was a tightening of his jaw which made me want to slap his sour mood right off his face. This wasn’t at all his normal demeanor.

I wasn’t even blessed with a voiced agreement. All I got was a curt nod. But hell, his gaze was intense. It was akin to his usual look on the ballfield with his game face on, calling pitches to the pitcher. The man was all business. Oddly enough, the longer we were in each other’s personal space, the more intense his look got.

Oxygen slowly vacated my lungs in one long, shaky breath as the duo slowly turned away from me to speak with the other coaches. Holy fucking seven circles of hell. I honestly didn’t know if I should be weirdly turned on, ready to pull out my mace spray or cry.

Jamie Rheems was going to be a tough nut to crack.

That is if I could survive being around him every day first.