Page 8

EIGHT

SCOUT

Alice: Have you seen him yet?

Scout: Seen who?

Alice: Your new boyfriend?

Scout: What are you talking about?

Alice: *eye roll emoji* Parker King, who else would I be talking about?

Scout: I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time

Scout: But no

Scout: And he’s not my anything

Alice: He wants to be

Scout: We’re just friends

Alice: He asked you on a date

Scout: And I said no. Hence, we’re friends. And you swore you wouldn’t repeat it

Alice: I’m keeping my promise, but that doesn’t stop me from saying you’re only friends until the day he’s in your panties *smirk emoji*

Alice: How soon will that be?

Scout: Why do I hang out with you again?

Alice: Because your life would be dull AF without me

Alice: How’s Chicago anyway?

Scout: Dull without you

Alice: See, told ya. Bring me back some deep dish, will you?

Scout: I’ll see what I can do. Gotta go

Alice: Same, probs should do some work and get selling

I shut my phone off, slipped it in my pocket, and glanced up.

Joey and Cyrus, along with a few of the other guys, were standing around in the loading bay of Wrigley Field, waiting for our rookies to arrive. A couple of them were tossing a baseball to each other; Jess, one of the comms girls, was on her phone, and the rest were leaning, bored, against the wall.

While it was—unfairly, I might add—assumed the social team did nothing more than stand around and capture whatever they happened upon, we did actually work our butts off. We ran to a tight schedule, especially on away stretches when we were under more of a time crunch.

Not to mention when things went wrong, we couldn’t wing it as easily as we might be able to back at Lions Stadium.

Because something always went wrong, which likely accounted for the reason why we still hadn’t started yet.

We were definitely too busy to have—one, two, three…seven of us—waiting like this. Usually there were three guys here max, all working on rotation because we always needed someone back at base in New York. But the first away game against the Cubs was always a popular one to travel to.

I checked my watch again, then the schedule on the clipboard. We were going on thirty minutes delayed. Any longer and it would get pulled because the rookies would be needed at practice, or whatever they did before a game.

“Does anyone know what the holdup is?”

The response I got was either a shrug or a head shake.

“I walked past the locker room an hour ago and could hear a lot of swearing, mostly,” added Cyrus, without looking up from the mini handheld video camera we were using.

“Did any of you see the dress-up?”

Joey shook his head. “No, but they’re big. I saw the carriers for them.”

“Okay. We’ll keep waiting, I guess,” I replied as my phone buzzed again.

Shit Head: Scout, please answer.

Shit Head: I miss you. I want to explain.

Shit Head: Are you really going to keep punishing me for one stupid mistake.

Shit Head: It wouldn’t have happened if you’d come with me like I’d asked.

W ith a scoff and a heavy eye roll, the phone was shoved back in my pocket. Unzipping my backpack, I rummaged around for the packet of Twizzlers I knew was in there somewhere and grabbed a couple of strands.

Urgh, boys were so annoying.

I didn’t even know why he was still messaging me.

We’d broken up over three months ago, just after New Year. I’d seen him once to return his things and get mine back, and since then he’d barely stopped texting me. Possibly more than when we were officially dating last year.

Douche.

I bit down on the strawberry licorice, before stuffing the entire strand in my mouth and starting on the next.

As I stood there, trying my best to chew without my teeth being stuck together, the annoyance, the pain, all the infuriation I’d worked hard to rid myself of came surging back up. It sat on my chest and squeezed hard.

“Ugh,” I grunted, pulling my phone back out.

Scout: Stop texting me. You explained yourself just fine the first time. I didn’t come away for New Year and you found a girl who would. Congratulations. We’re done, Mark. Get it through your dense skull.

W ith a deep breath, I hit the Block button on his contact—something I should have done a long time ago. This time my phone was chucked into my backpack, zipped away, and slung over my shoulder, but not before I grabbed another couple of Twizzlers.

I’d met Mark—or Shit Head —on a night out last summer.

The Lions had beaten the Yankees during the Saturday afternoon and a bunch of us had headed for drinks after, riding that winning high. We’d been at the outdoor pop-up market in DUMBO, and he’d been standing next to me at the bar when it was my turn to pay. He’d leaned over me to grab a napkin before picking up the beer bottles in front of him.

He was cute, with deep dimples that were present whether he was smiling or not. In hindsight, those dimples were the whole problem. They gave the illusion he was a decent guy, because no one with dimples like that could ever be a dick, right?

Fucking dimples.

For the next two hours we’d caught each other’s eye from across the seating area, lit by twinkle lights. As the sun lowered onto the horizon, we snatched glances, traded soft smiles, locked gazes. When the guys and I called it a night to head home, we stood up. Mark decided this was his last chance, and before I knew what was happening, he’d rushed over to get my number.

In front of all my friends.

He messaged the next day.

Our first date I discovered that he worked for the New York Rangers. But the Mets was his favorite New York team, followed by the Giants. He was not a Lions fan, he told me.

So what? No big deal, it’s just where I work, I had thought. New York has three baseball teams, it stands to reason not everyone is going to be a fan. And sure, it was kind of funny that he didn’t ever seem to have any interest in my job, or whether I’d had a good day as it revolved around a team he’d hated since he was a kid.

Because it was my first year with the club, I was still learning about all the players and their history, so I didn’t always notice the small gripes he made about them.

Or how his mood always seemed to be so much better when the Lions lost, even more so than when the Mets won.

One time, I got him tickets to the Lions and Mets. The Lions won and I didn’t hear from him for nearly forty-eight hours.

He ignored me for two whole days.

Once the baseball season finished, we had time to hang out more because I wasn’t traveling with the club. We went for dinners, we spent Sundays walking through the city or spending time with our friends. He took me to see Rangers vs. Bruins and afterward we headed up to Vermont for a couple of days. It was cute.

Except, looking back on our time together, I realized it wasn’t all that cute because every five minutes he had to reply to one of a thousand group messages from his friends. Annoying is a better word.

Then New Year came around.

The week before Christmas, he’d been invited to one of his friend’s ski cabins for the weekend, and I was invited too. Sounds awesome, right? Getting out of the city, breathing in that mountain air.

Any other time I would have jumped at the chance, but Alice had invited us to her New Year’s dress-up bar crawl that she’d meticulously planned, and it’s all we’d been talking about for two months.

We’d given our word, that’s how we’d be spending New Year’s. We could go skiing another time.

On Christmas Eve, Mark announced he’d changed his mind. He was going skiing. What’s more, he didn’t seem that bothered about me joining him either. That alone would have been the final nail in our coffin if a couple of weeks later one of his friends hadn’t uploaded pictures onto Facebook of their weekend without properly vetting them.

Mark might have returned to New York after the holidays pleading apologetically with claims of missing me, but that wasn’t entirely true.

Instead, he’d found someone to help him get through the difficulty of being without me. I found out later that she was his ex-girlfriend—the one he used to complain about all the time.

As is always the case in situations such as these, she did me a favor. My eyes had finally opened wide to what a dick he was, and no doubt still is. We broke up. I cried for a couple of days, ate some ice cream, and cut my hair.

And felt a whole lot better for it.

I’ve mostly got over my annoyance, until I’m reminded of it when my phone buzzes. I’m pissed I could have enjoyed the offseason doing what I wanted to do, instead of spending it with a douche. But now I had the time to make up for it, plus a new job opportunity to work on.

I’m free to figure out what I want from my life and can make the most of being single.

“Hey, Scout?—”

My head shot up to the sound of Joey’s voice and I swallowed the giant lump of red licorice I’d been attempting to chew my way through.

“Two minutes.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, trying my best to remove the candy wedged in my back teeth.

My fingers were still working against my molars, when a loud laugh echoed out as the doors to the changing rooms clattered back against the walls.

“Awesome. So awesome. Cy, make sure you’re getting this,” cried Joey.

“We’re going viral with this, for real.”

“Dude, watch where you’re going!” yelled someone, jumping out of the way as a giant, bright yellow Minion almost knocked them flying, followed by another one.

“What the—” Was all I could manage, simultaneously amused and horrified as I watched nine Minions—all easily eight feet high—make their way into the corridors where we were waiting for them.

They were so wide that only two could fit down at a time, and given whoever was inside each Minions costume couldn’t really see where they were going, they all ended up colliding into each other—between bursts of loud laughter and a lot of swearing—before bouncing back to the walls, like we were playing bumper cars. A couple of them had already ripped the shirts they were wearing—custom, Minion-sized Lions shirts, all bearing their name and number.

“You’re on my foot?—”

“It’s like a furnace in here?—”

“I can’t see?—”

Now I knew why we were running late.

After one of the Minions was knocked so hard he fell over, and it took five minutes to get him back upright, it quickly became clear this was going to take way longer than I was expecting it to. There was also the issue of their legs—easily half the length of mine, and I didn’t have long legs.

We were supposed to be going to the coffee shop across the other side of Wrigleyville, but there was no way we’d have time.

At this rate we’d miss the start of the game.

I leaned into one of the guys. “Hey, is there anywhere nearer we can visit?”

Joey pulled up the local map to search. “Yeah, there’s one in the other direction, it’s a five-minute walk instead of fifteen.”

“Let’s go there. No one’s going to miss us.”

“Got that right. Or we could get an Uber.”

“How are they going to fit? We’d need one each.”

“Yeah,” he replied, looking back at the guys. “Maybe not then.”

I stepped back, the small space we’d been waiting in was now overcrowded with Minions, a couple of the coaching staff, and definitely more of the comms and social guys than were here earlier. I was half expecting to see the guys from the starting roster join us, but I guess they were all in practice.

Spotting a small box over on the side, I grabbed it and stepped up. Didn’t help—I was still towered over by giant yellow cartoon characters, who couldn’t see me anyway, given the size of their heads.

“Okay, are we all together?” I yelled, and several of them jerked to where they thought the voice was coming from, only 50 percent got it right. I waited as a low chorus of yesses mumbled through them. “Who has the coffee order?”

A yellow hand—belonging to Luke Coggings, according to the name on his shirt—shot as far into the air as it was able.

“Cool. We’re running a little behind, and we’re short on time to get you back here, so we’re going somewhere closer than planned. I’ll lead the way, so follow me. Anyone not in dress-up, grab a Minion’s hand and be their guide,” I added, jumping off the box and waving them forward.

They were going to need all the help they could get.

Have you ever tried walking down a busy road with nine giant Minions?

How about giant Minions in baseball uniforms walking around a rival territory on game day?

I thought it was going to take forever to walk five hundred yards to the coffee shop. It took way longer.

Every single person stopped us.

Cubs fans took selfies before loudly pronouncing the Lions were going to lose this series.

Several of the guys were jostled enough that I wish we’d brought security.

Luckily no one else fell over, but only through sheer luck. Traffic stopped to let us cross the road, people got out of their car and videoed us, and by the time we reached the coffee shop there were almost two hundred tags on social.

I stepped inside with a huge grin on my face.

Last year the guys had been dressed as Where’s Waldo, which isn’t as immediately obvious, and we had some traction, but it clashed with Ace’s poor throwing streak, and many of the comments on social were from fans who felt we should be paying more attention to the game.

This year was a different story.

I stepped to the side, holding one of the doors open, while Jess held the other. One by one, the Minions stepped inside, guided by their helper. Luckily the doors were bigger than the costumes, and no one lost their head.

Amazingly the place was relatively empty, and the Minion with the list was guided over to stand in line behind the only other person waiting.

“Hey, Cyrus, make sure you capture them ordering, and who each order belongs to.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied, hurrying over to the counter and peering down at the crumpled-up form, clenched tight in the little hand.

It took ten minutes of ordering, plus another ten for the drinks to be made and stacked up before the Minions were ready to get back to the stadium. It was a good thing so many of the staff had come with us, because there was no way we’d be able to carry back all the coffee and guide a Minion at the same time.

“Hey, guys,” I called to Cyrus and Joey from where I’d been editing the footage from this morning’s game day fit content. “Let’s hang back and edit what we’ve got, then we can get it uploaded before the game.”

“Sure.” Joey slid into the booth next to me and removed the ID card from the video camera, turning to Cyrus. “Hey, Cy, pass your footage over.”

“Man, I can’t believe Parker King drinks that,” he announced, pulling out the chair opposite Joey and me, and placed the camera down.

I glanced up from my screen, trying not to focus on the jolt zipping through me at the mention of Parker’s name. Or simply the thought of Parker.

“Drinks what?”

“The coffee he ordered is a tragedy. I figured he’d be black with half-and-half at the most, not a heart attack waiting to happen.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I replied, but as mine could be considered a little skewed, my opinion on others’ wasn’t always valid. However, Parker had been very clear on his thoughts about my coffee order yesterday.

“Here. Read it and tell me you don’t think that’s sick. And not in the good way. I mean, who drinks that?” He scrolled back through the video and paused the screen before passing it to me.

I looked down at the list. Out of nowhere my belly flip-flopped, giving way to a warmth that had my chest pounding. Parker King wasn’t a coffee-ordering freak like me.

This wasn’t his coffee order. It was mine with his name next to it.

He’d ordered my coffee.

Joey was peering over my shoulder and making gagging noises. “Urgh, that sounds disgusting. How can he drink that and be in peak physical fitness?”

“Yeah, if it hadn’t been a ball player dressed as a Minion asking, there’s no way she would have made it. Coggings had to hand the form over to her because she didn’t understand it. Neither did he.” Cyrus snorted.

But I wasn’t listening.

Parker had not only remembered my drink, he’d ordered it. And this did not bode well for my plans to make smart relationship choices.

Not bode well, at all.