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ONE

SCOUT

“ M an, I wish my ass looked like that.”

I winced as my head thudded on the underside of the table, but it clearly hadn’t been loud enough to cause concern, given the current conversation was still in full flow.

“Squats, bro. You gotta stick to squats.”

“I squat. I squat , dude. My ass still doesn’t look like that.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, these guys work out for a living. What’s your gym regimen?”

Cyrus clapped a hand onto Joey’s shoulder, only for him to drop his head with a shameful shake.

“Clearly not good enough to make it look like I’m smuggling a pair of honeydews in my pants.”

There was a moment of silence as the guys continued their observations—let’s say—of the guys at practice, until a slow rhythmic beat kicked in. Alice tapped a stirrer against her coffee cup, enough to serve as a warning she wanted this meeting underway.

Or she wanted the guys to stop talking. Or that she wanted to go back to bed. Probably the latter.

Whatever it was, I could tell she was about to crack.

I gave up trying to get the screen to work, carefully avoided banging my head again , crawled back from the tangle of wires under the table, and slid onto my seat. Taking one look at the presentation I’d written, which was now kind of pointless, seeing as I couldn’t present it, I closed my laptop.

Guess I’d be winging it. At least I’d brought a couple of printouts.

I didn’t bother to look at Alice, I could already feel her eyes lasering into me, urging me to kill the chatter.

“Guys, can you stop talking about your butts for one second? I need your full attention. I promise you’ll have time to discuss them after I’ve briefed you.”

Joey and Cyrus—the two interns who’d been assigned to the social media team for the next three months—and for some reason I’d been put in charge of—managed to tear themselves away from whatever was happening down on the field. Reluctantly, I might add. Joey gave a longing double take out the windows before he sat down.

Cyrus moved to a chair that still allowed him enough of a glance at the field that I knew he wouldn’t be paying full attention to anything I said anyway.

It was like they’d forgotten they’d still be required to work during their internship, that this much-coveted assignment did not mean they’d be doing nothing but hanging around with the players and gawping. Not that they would be hanging with the players, but I was beginning to wonder if they’d picked the social team because it had the most exposure to the Lions roster on a daily basis.

“Sorry, Scout,” they muttered in sync.

“Interns,” grouched Alice, under her breath.

With the tip of my finger, I eased her coffee cup closer to her and mouthed, Drink the caffeine, while declining to remind her she didn’t need to be here at all, seeing as she was part of the sales team, and this meeting was to discuss social media plans.

But Alice Tan kind of did what she wanted.

I still hadn’t figured out if the reason she was working in baseball was because her workdays didn’t typically start until mid-morning, therefore she could legitimately exist as a night owl and party after each game, or because she genuinely enjoyed baseball.

She liked the guys, I knew that much.

“Okay.” I clasped my hands together once I was confident I had the most attention from the interns as I was going to get, attempting to sound as commanding and “in charge” as I could. “Tomorrow is the first game of the season. We have a big year of work ahead of us. In the company meeting on Monday, we were told our team’s key objective is to grow the social channels. Under the entire communications umbrella, we’ve already succeeded in shedding the reputation as being the ‘ loser club of the MLB ’ and, according to the latest set of data, we’re now seen as fun and energizing. The demographic of attendees has become younger, and we’re bringing in new fans to the games.”

Taking a breath, I waited to see if either of the guys wanted to say anything, but unsurprisingly the room stayed silent.

“Great,” I continued. “We’re very hands on in this team, we have a weekly schedule dedicated to responding to comments, and we will continue that. Because we’ve grown so much, we have decided to split the work up for the year. Our focus will be TikTok?—”

“Awesome—”

“It is, and the persona we put out is that we take the games seriously, but we don’t take ourselves seriously.”

“Yeah, we don’t want people to start thinking we have a stick up our butt like the Yankees,” mumbled Alice.

Joey snorted a laugh.

“Exactly.” I turned to her. “That everything?”

She gave one long nod of her head. “Yup. And don’t forget that we also need to keep up team morale while we’re creating content. The guys aren’t going to want to respond to you the second they walk into the club if they had a crappy game the night before, or they’re in a losing streak. When morale is up, we win more games.”

“And let’s not forget Shepherd wants the Commissioner’s Trophy this year.”

The pair of us stared across the table, doing our best to hold the eager gazes of the two boys. Maybe eager was overreaching. Interested? Perhaps not even that. Distracted? Definitely.

It was a miracle I still had a shred of their attention. Cyrus was once more looking out of the huge plate glass windows, where far below a few of this season’s roster were practicing ahead of the Opening Day game tomorrow.

We should have held this meeting yesterday when the stadium was quieter, and there were fewer players around to get sidetracked by. Or earlier this morning before anybody arrived.

“Cyrus…”

His head snapped back to me.

“I get it, I really do. Including and especially the ass admiration. But I need your focus for now, then you can go down there and get to work. Give me twenty minutes, deal?”

“Sure. Sorry, Scout.”

“Thanks.” Over the table I slid the printouts illustrating a couple of graphs from the wider data that had been presented to us earlier in the week. “If you look at this, you can see what worked last year and what we need to change. A key point from the fans was player interaction, they love it when we make the players seem more human and accessible. The best performing posts last year were game day fit, anything involving cute stuff, like puppies and players, or posts that bring out personal details—favorite cereals, soda, what’s in their refrigerator—things like that.”

The pair of them flicked through the pages, nodding as their eyes scanned across the figures. I couldn’t tell if they found it interesting or they were nodding because that’s what they thought they should be doing. Cyrus picked up his pen and began doodling on his notepad.

“As members of the social team, your opinions are valid. Everyone chips in with ideas. We bounce off each other, we learn, we improve. If you have ideas, then you share them. No idea is a bad idea.”

The pair of them sat there in silence. I was half expecting a dust ball to blow past any minute. I caught the end of Alice rolling her eyes.

“Guys? How about now? What’s trending, what’s new? Any ideas?—”

Joey’s hand shot into the air before sheepishly lowering it. “Um, well, you know the mom trend that’s always popular. The one where they empty their bag and go through it…that could work.”

“How’d you mean?”

“When the guys come in the building, we grab them before they get to the locker rooms. Ask them to show us what’s in their bag.”

“Oh yeah, good. I like that.” I nodded in a way I hoped was encouraging. “We can build on that too. A day in the life?—”

“A week in the life of the Lions.”

“Hey, don’t the Lions always have a bat dog for special games? We could do more there if the fans like dogs?—”

“Ha-ha, like who can get around the bases faster,” Joey interrupted.

“A New York Lion or a New York Labrador?”

“You mean Barclay?” I asked, quickly jumping in.

“Yeah, whatever he’s called.” Cyrus continued, “NHL teams always do a doggy day with the local shelters—calendars, or photoshoots, that sort of thing. Bring your dog to work.”

“I like it.” Alice sat up straighter and took a long sip of her coffee. It might have been the light, but I was sure Cyrus’s cheeks flushed a little at her compliment. “We can work more ad sales in for pet brands. Have pet-focused days. The Dodgers hold a dog day, we should do the same.”

“Good, what else?” I asked, spinning around at the knock on the door to find Tom, one of the guys on the comms team, poking his head through the gap.

“Scout, we have this room booked.”

“No, we’re booked until—” My eyes flicked to the clock across the stadium, and I realized that we’d spent so long messing around with projectors and staring at butts, that I’d lost track of the time.

Crap.

Tom walked in and dropped his stuff on the table, not even bothering to wait for the four of us to stand up. What’s more, he was followed by approximately fifteen members of the comms team, so it became a bustle trying to get out while everyone else was swarming in.

“Jeez, give us a second to get out of your way, why don’t you?” grumbled Alice as she finally pushed through the crowd. “There must be a dozen meeting rooms on this floor, how are they all booked?”

Instead of answering, I grabbed the boys before they attempted to take off and pulled them away from the thoroughfare of the corridor to finish the meeting.

“There were some good ideas in there, guys. Well done. Your first assignment is to create a social media posting schedule of ideas for the next two weeks, and we’ll see what we can take from it. Can you send to me by the end of the day?”

“Sure thing. Um, Scout, will we get to watch the game tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Yes. I need you helping the rest of the social team capturing the warm-ups. Also we have a bunch of the Lions shirts to give away, so for the game you’ll be out on the boardwalk, handing shirts out to anyone who catches a home run ball.”

“Awesome!” muttered Cyrus, hitting his fist against Joey’s, who looked equally as delighted at their roles for the Lions Opening Day game, before taking off down the corridor.

“Come and find me if you need anything or have questions,” I called after them, and turned to Alice. “Could they have left any quicker?”

“Yeah, probably. Bet they’ve gone to find the boys on the field, pump them for information on their workouts,” she replied, rolling her shoulders back and letting out a wide yawn. “They have a point, you know.”

“About what?”

“Those butts are noteworthy.”

“Only when I don’t have to concentrate on other things. Come on, let’s drop our stuff and run out for a coffee before we get back to work. Or in your case, start working.” I nudged her shoulder with a laugh.

“Hey, it’s called efficiency, and delegation. Two things I happen to excel at.”

In the short time we’d been in the meeting, the hustle and bustle of the New York Lions communication department—located on the fifth floor of the stadium—had kicked into full throttle.

I’d only been with the Lions for little over a year, but we’d already doubled in size, thanks to the combination of a healthy operating budget and the challenge of turning around the reputation of a club, which, as I told the guys earlier, had been less than stellar. Recruitment for the best and brightest in the industry had gone into overdrive, and there were now more than a hundred people on this floor alone.

It hadn’t always been like that.

The New York Lions had historically been seen as the worst team in baseball. For decades it was found at the bottom of both the National League East and the National League, as well as bottom of the entire points table.

All this changed, however, when Penn Shepherd bought the club a few years ago and injected both some much-needed cash and an infectious love for America’s favorite game, which seemed to have been forgotten.

Overnight, the club transformed from a graveyard where players were unofficially retired before retirement, to being seen as a serious contender in the postseason. Not only did the starting rosters get overhauled, but so did the stadium, the club grounds, and the front offices. It was no secret that Penn Shepherd wanted the Commissioner’s Trophy, and he was fully prepared to pour as much money into the club as needed in order to make that happen.

And happen soon.

In case we forgot our goal, the Lions’ mantra was painted across the back wall of the comms department in giant font above the intertwined letters of the Lions logo.

king of the jungle, king of the field.

we’re not here to play ball. we’re here to win.

Last season saw us win our division and lose in the NLCS. Each season since Penn Shepherd took ownership, we’d progress a little further.

This year the guys were expected to make it to the World Series. And while the starting nine might be there to hit the balls and sprint around the bases, the responsibility of winning that trophy fell on every single one of our shoulders.

Whether that was the crew who kept the locker rooms clean and tidy, along with the shelves and fridges stocked full of the players’ favorite drinks and snacks; the groundskeepers who kept the grass cut at the perfect length for optimal ball rolling—between one and two-and-a-half inches tall—or my social media team, keeping the fans entertained in between games, and the players relevant.

We were all integral.

We were one team.

Alice took my laptop and jogged over to the far-left corner where ad sales sat, dropping it with hers on one of the empty desks.

The marketing team was on the other side of sales, and social—where I worked—was sandwiched between them. With only eight of us, we were the smallest team on this floor, but arguably the busiest. The biggest team—public relations—sat down the right wall.

Finance, legal, HR were all on the floor above, while more customer-facing roles like ticket operations were the floor below. Anything directly relating to the stadium, or games and players, such as security or travel were all on the lower ground floors, nearer to the training facilities.

While the players might have a rest during the offseason, the front office spent the down months planning strategy for the following year, so it wasn’t a novelty that everyone was busy—it was always busy. But since Monday, there’d been a buzz in the air not present since last season—reminiscent of that first day of term mentality I used to get before each new school year.

Spring Training was over, and Opening Day was right around the corner.

The elevator doors pinged open right as Alice reached me and we made our way down to the huge atrium of the New York Lions headquarters.

The vast gold and black logo taking up most of the marble floor glinted in the sunlight as we walked over it, and past the empty plinth Penn Shepherd had installed, ready for the Commissioner’s Trophy to be placed on top. I wasn’t a superstitious person, but I still hadn’t decided whether keeping a pedestal for every single person to walk past each morning was tempting fate, or simply an example of the sheer amount of faith and hope he had in his players.

The gates were already heaving with tourists and Lions fans all lining up to enter the grounds. Over the past few weeks, each day had gotten busier and busier. Most of those waiting looked like they were heading for the store to buy their favorite player’s jersey or new season merch, though a large, excited group in the middle were clearly there for the first stadium tour of the day to begin.

Passing under the huge stone Lion arch, the two of us made our way along the boardwalk and past the giant Lions flags gently waving in the breeze.

In less than twenty-four hours, the Hudson on our right would be heaving with guys in canoes and dinghies waiting to catch any home run ball soaring over the stadium walls. Cyrus and Joey would be positioned on dry land ready to capture all the action and upload it to the social channels.

I briefly wondered if this year I’d convince my boss to get us a Lions dinghy to take out on the water and join them.

Next to me, Alice inhaled slowly and deeply. “Ahh, do you smell that?”

I sniffed the air but came up empty. I smelled nothing except the usual salty, dirty kind of way it was normally. “Nope. What?”

She threw me a wry smile. “The start of baseball season, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” I chuckled. “What does that smell like?”

“Sweat. Popcorn. Baseball pants.” She smirked, nudging an elbow into my side and nodding to the stadium wall on the left.

In the past few weeks, the groundskeepers had removed last year’s ginormous posters plastered against the paneling on the sides and replaced them with fresh ones. Each poster featured a player from the current season’s lineup.

Since Penn Shepherd’s ownership, it had become a popular marketing move to announce the start of the new season. With giant flags flying around the city with the players’ faces on them, and a takeover of the screens in Times Square, the New York Lions were virtually impossible to escape.

The message was clear—the Lions had been forgotten for far too long, it was time to remind the people of New York City there were three baseball teams in contention.

A couple of the posters already had fans posing by them, having their photos taken, and it wouldn’t be long before they were covered in graffiti, messages from fans, and scrawled love notes to their favorite players. It was encouraged by the club, and made for great content, especially from the more enthusiastic fans.

Everyone had their favorite players—Ace Watson, the Lions pitcher, was usually fighting for top spot on the sexiest man of the year list, along with Jupiter Reeves, the Lions’ third baseman and resident bad boy. Alice was a big fan of Jupiter Reeves, along with most of New York’s female population. Something to do with a body covered in tattoos, thick-set muscles, and constant scowl.

If I was choosing, I’d pick Parker King any day of the week.

Owner of the best butt at the Lions, according to an unofficial poll of everyone on the fifth floor, possibly even the entire MLB—otherwise known as the Lions starting catcher.

From the many yet all too brief encounters I’d had with him last year filming content, he was a good guy. Always smiling, and very easy on the eyes with a flop of light brown hair that always looked like he’d just run his fingers through it. He also didn’t seem to take himself too seriously, something I’d quickly learned was rare among elite sportsmen.

I didn’t know a ton about him, beyond what I heard around the club, which was mostly from the girls, but he was usually found cracking a joke or two with Ace.

Alice nodded ahead to where a larger-than-usual group was gathered in front of one. “Who are they crowding around?”

“Ten bucks it’s Reeves,” I replied right as a gap opened up in front of the poster. It wasn’t Reeves. “Huh, I stand corrected.”

Yeah, I would definitely pick Parker King.

His face was usually hidden behind the catcher’s cage mask, but here on the board, his smile beamed out, green eyes glinting mischievously under his Lions baseball cap.

Parker King, along with Ace Watson, Lux Weston, and Tanner Simpson, made up a small group of players known as the Lions’ fab four and were widely regarded as the future of the club. The four of them trained together, hung out together, and when they weren’t on the road hopping from hotel to hotel, lived together.

“He was so into you last year.”

“No, he wasn’t,” I shot back. “It was a rumor. The gossip around the club last year was out of control. If he’d been into me, he’d have asked me out. And he didn’t.”

It was a conclusion I’d come to recently, during a period where I’d briefly questioned my life choices. I’d found myself fantasizing about different paths, one of which was spent wondering if the whispered rumors were true, that Parker King had liked me, and where I’d be now if he had asked me out last season.

It might have saved me some time dating douchebags, or maybe he’d also have turned out to be a douchebag himself.

But you live and learn.

And what I learned about dating my most recent ex was that I had terrible taste in guys, and/or I needed to do better at picking them. Probably both.

Alice shrugged. “I dunno. Those rumors are still going strong.”

I turned to her, my brow furrowed, though more from annoyance that my ex-boyfriend popped up uninvited once more in my thoughts. “According to whom? How do you know all this? The season hasn’t even begun, how is it you’re already at the center of the gossip?”

“Hey, gossip doesn’t discriminate between seasons.”

“Alice—”

“I listen?—”

“Ali—”

“Pablo told me,” she replied with a grin. “I always bring him a coffee in the morning, and we spend a little time catching up before I head up to start work. He doesn’t take time off during the breaks, he sees everything that happens here and keeps me updated on the news.”

Pablo Garcia was the security guard who manned the reception desk. He’d been with the New York Lions longer than I’d been born, as he liked to remind me, and nothing got past him. He knew everything and everyone.

“That’s how I knew about Lux Weston dating Radley Andrews before the papers got it. He brought her to the gym.”

“And he told you that Parker King is into me?”

She nodded solemnly. “Yup. According to Pablo, Parker King’s had the hots for you for a while now, but then you started dating Shit Head and he thought he’d blown it. He’s been waiting for you to be single again so he can swoop in.”

“Oh come on.” I scoffed so hard it burned my throat, and I coughed out the rest of my sentence. “There’s no way that’s true.”

Alice jerked a shoulder up. “Hey, I’m just telling you what I heard. You wanna know what else? Which we could possibly call bigger news, it’s gonna cause some problems at least.”

“Sure—”

“You know how Ace Watson screwed up last Opening Day?”

“Yeah.” I shuddered, because how could we forget.

It was unlikely we ever would. A day to go down in history.

It had been a blood bath. Ace absolutely crumbled on the mound in Philly, and in front of President Andrews, who’d made the first pitch, then stayed to watch her precious Philadelphia team annihilate us. I could still feel the humiliation and tension that clogged the air when the guys returned to the hotel after the game.

It was the worst start to a season the Lions had ever had, and for weeks everyone was on edge.

Ace had been immediately replaced by Riley Rivers as starting pitcher, and rumors quickly spread he had the yips.

It didn’t last. Miraculously, Ace turned it around to make last season his best season ever and ended it by winning the CY Young Award.

Probably the first pitcher to ever win after tanking an Opening Day.

“I heard it was because of a girl.”

I tore my eyes away from Parker’s face and the daydream I was about to slip into, and glanced at Alice. “Is it just everyone’s sex life that you and Pablo gossip about?”

“Unless there’s something more interesting and worth discussing,” she replied with a pursed lip, “but I’m not there yet. Anyway, Ace tanked because of a girl, and after what happened between Boomer Jones and Leanne in accounting?—”

“Wait, what? What happened?”

She looked at me like there was a possibility I’d grown two heads, then tutted loudly. “Oh right, I forgot that was the week you finally ditched Shit Head, and you went through your single-girl-surviving-on-ice-cream-chopping-your-hair-off phase, then disappeared to Spring Training.” Alice turned to look over her shoulder, before tilting her head closer to mine and lowering her voice. “Okay, according to Pablo, Boomer and Leanne hooked up a couple of times right at the end of last season. I think it started the night the guys celebrated getting into the postseason. Anyway, I guess they didn’t clarify their relationship status or whatever, so when he was photographed after New Year’s with that model, Leanne made her displeasure known and she emailed HR about it.”

“Okay…”

“All the players have been asked to sign a workplace dating clause. The email went out this morning.”

My eyes bugged. “Whoa.”

“I know.”

Opening my phone, I scanned through my emails. “I don’t see it. When did it go?”

“It’s just the players. I guess they don’t care if front office staff date. But if we want to date a player, we have to declare it. HR is covering their ass, I guess. And Penn Shepherd doesn’t want another Opening Day disaster like last year, or any distractions. Apparently his view is that the dating clause will discourage players enough, they won’t even bother trying.”

“Boys will just have to keep their dicks to themselves.” I laughed, shaking my head.

“Only on club grounds.” She snorted, before nudging me gently. “How long are we betting it takes Parker King to sign one and date you?”

Out of nowhere, somewhere in the depths of my core, there was the tiniest flicker of interest as I once again very briefly wondered what it would be like to date Parker King. And just as quickly reminded myself it was a terrible idea.

“He can take as long as he wants. Not interested.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alice replied with a pursed lip and a thickly raised eyebrow.

“ I’m not. This year is about making better relationship choices. Dating a professional athlete does not qualify for that. Or anyone working with professional athletes,” I replied, slashing my hands crossed through the air. “No one in sports. Period. I want to be single for a while. Plus, HR is right, dating at work is a terrible idea.”

“Okay. Chill.” Alice chuckled. “I take it Shit Head is still messaging you? You should block him.”

I was about to reply that I intended to block him, I just kept forgetting, when a couple of girls stopped next to us.

“Hey, are you two just going to stand there and stare? Or can you move to the side so we can get a picture?” One of them huffed.

“Actually, we’re not staring, we’re making better relationship choices. Isn’t that right, Scout?” Alice smirked as she tugged my sleeve. “Come on, let’s get our coffee.”

My gaze flicked back for one last look at Parker and his grin, before turning to the girls. “You’re welcome to him.”