Page 9 of The Fake Out

“Fans like Dragon.” Hannah shrugged, brushing her dark hair over one shoulder.

Despite my best efforts, a lump lodged in my throat in response to that simple comment. I wasn’t the fan favorite. Even at the start of my second season with the team, I was still the new kid. It shouldn’t have bothered me. I’d sported the title from the time I was drafted out of high school. Until now, I hadn’t thought twice about it. But the idea that the Revs didn’t think I was worth a contract renewal hurt. After this season, I was up for my first extension since I’d moved from triple-A to the majors. The thought that they wouldn’t bring me back was like lead in my stomach.

“Fans love me,” Bosco scoffed.

“The ball bunnies love you,” she corrected. “As long as it’s not Tristian, I have no preference.”

Our head of PR and the left fielder had some sort of history. And it wasn’t good, from what I could tell. But it made sense. Tristian was a tool.

Without another word, Hannah spun on her heel and took off.

“So, how’s living with Gianna?” Kyle waggled his brows at me as we followed after Hannah.

I shot him the side-eye. Loaded question. Like I would tell Mr. Gossipy anything about how I felt about my new arrangement. Plus what could I say, mostly I was tongued idiot around her. I wasn’t sure I could be anymore awkward if I tried.

“Chris said she ditched her boyfriend, so living with that goddess sounds like a good time.”

“She makes our apartment smell like oranges,” I said vaguely. Figuring he wouldn’t know what to do with that.

“Huh. Citrus fruit.” He nodded. “I can see it.”

“Let’s go Tweedledee and Tweedledah.” Hannah pushed open the door to the team room and held it for us. “Let’s try to get through this without it being a thing.”

The normal three-person media crew was standing in front of a rectangular table set up in front of a banner with a Revs logo behind it.

Kyle stepped up to the table and eyed the two Revs scarves draped over it. “What are these?”

“They’re blindfolds,” Hannah said.

“Kinky.” Turning on his heel, Kyle smirked at her.

“No.” Hannah huffed a breath through her nose, her jaw locked. “Not kinky. Fan friendly.” She held up a hand. “All-age fan friendly.”

Before Kyle could piss her off, I grabbed both scarves and turned to him. “Let’s do tradesees.” With a step closer, I held one scarf out and reached for him.

“The fuck?” He reared back, bringing his hands to his head to protect his hair.

“You do me, I do you. I’ll be careful of the hair,” I promised, knowing it was his thing.

Kyle yanked the scarf I was holding out from my hand. “Do me first. I’m not letting you blind touch my hair.”

Hannah huffed a breath. “Neither of you are doing each other.”

Snickers echoed around us as one of the women from the crew came over and took them out of our hands. She waved us behind the table and showed us the marks on the floor where she wanted us to stand.

“This is going to be a blindfolded taste test. I’ll feed one of you, then you have to explain to the other what it is. That person then has to guess the food.”

“Easy.” Bosco nodded. “We’re on the same wavelength. We back each other up, so we’ve got the silent communication down.”

“Hell yeah,” I said, pounding his fist. It was true. With me on third base and him in the outfield behind me, we relied on each other pretty heavily and had worked well together since I was brought up to the Revs.

Quickly, the crew blindfolded us both. I guess it made sense. This way, neither of us had to blindfold the other without being able to see. Even if it would have been more fun our way.

Hannah did a countdown and then gave a welcome spiel before she dove into the game. “Okay, Emerson,” she said, using her media voice, “here is the first plate.”

“Plate?”

What was she talking about? Was it a baseball reference?

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