Page 72 of Totally Fanatic

“Here, I can carry that,” he says, taking my bag and swinging it over the shoulder of his other arm, and we head over to the pub to meet the team. “Are you sure you want me to come?”

“Of course I do. Why do you not want to?”

“I do. It’s just, there might be some Banana-Ramas there like that guy today. They aren’t all my biggest fans just yet, and I wouldn’t want anyone saying anything when we’re there. Tonight, you’re all celebrating a huge win against the OG’s.”

“What did that guy say to you, anyway?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing worth repeating, and nothing I want you to have to defend me against either when you should be having fun.”

“I will never make you do anything, so if you don’t want to come, that’s cool. I can walk you home and catch up with the guys later, but if you do want to come and you’re worried about what someone might say to me, don’t. I don’t care what anyone says. I know you.”

The more time I spend with Lion, the more time I want to be around him. At first, I worried that I was just getting addicted to being adored, then I realized, after a few therapy sessions with Dr Hamlyn, it was more than that. Like now, it isn’t Lion’s adoration for me that’s pulling me closer, it’s my own sense of protection for him. I don’t want him to have to put up with douchebags, and I don’t want him to worry or be sad. I want to protect him from those things. But how can I when being with me is the reason he has to go through all of that?

“Okay, I’ll come. But if the Banana-Ramas start trouble, I’ll leave so you can have your night.”

“None of them would dare start anything with all the guys there. Maybe this will finally shut them up.”

“Maybe.”

We get to the pub, and half the team are already there, celebrating, and they cheer when we enter. I can feel the eyes of the other people in here on us, and my gut twists into knots as I scan the crowd for Banana-Rama shirts, and more specifically, the guy that was giving Lion a hard time at the game. He betternot be here, because if he is, I’ll be damn sure to let him know what a dickhead he is.

Lion is quietly sitting beside me at one of the huge, long tables the pub set up for us out in the back courtyard area. He’s nodding along to what the guys are saying, sipping his soda water, but not really getting involved. It’s the first time he’s been around the whole team plus their partners. Maybe it’s just too much, or he’s still worried about what they think about us. I reassured him that the team is cool, they get why he did what he did with the profiles.

“When are you going to start posting again?” Ian asks Lion from a few seats down.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen anything pop up on your feed in a week,” Calvin adds.

Lion shrugs. “I’ve been letting all the other fans post while everything settles down with the Banana-Ramas,” he replies, and I feel terrible that I hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t posted on his feed. He’s been sending me messages with links to posts, but they’re right, none were actually posted by him.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, and Calvin lifts his glass.

“I’ll second that. Your posts were great, you always got really good videos of the dances, too, and were almost always the first person to get something up online. I’d get off the field and you’d already have a bunch of comments and likes and shares on them.”

“I swear they were not all me,” Lion says, and Calvin laughs.

“Dude, we know that. Tim explained it all, man. I wish I had thought of it, though, cause Tim’s followers have been skyrocketing and I get like a handful a week. Can you tag me in anything you do post with me in it? Maybe it will help get people onto Team Calvin.”

“I mean… sure, I can. I think I got a video of the grounder you threw out Oden Grasinski in the third before he hit first base. I can post that if you want?”

“Oh wow, really? Did it look awesome? Thanks, man, my handle is at Calvin-The-First-Born-Parks.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Really?”

“What? People should know who’s older,” he reasons.

“You just want Tony to remember who’s older,” Duckie says, passing Ian a beer, and then handing one down to me. “You have another thing over him now with tonight’s double-trouble win. Fuck, it was so good finally being able to do that dance, too.”

“Wow, you’re all here,” a woman says, coming up to the table behind me. “Can I get an autograph?”

“No problem,” we say, and she passes us her hat. It’s mostly white with a green brim and the Funky Monkey logo on the front, just like the ones we wear. We pass it round the table, getting everyone to sign, and when we hand it back, she’s joined by a guy I recognize right away.

“Can we help you?” I ask, trying to keep my distaste for the dickhead who was giving Lion a hard time all game from coming through in my tone. As much as I was all ready to have it out with this guy if I saw him, Enzo would pitch a fit if I started something in front of a pub full of people.

“I… umm, saw you were signing autographs, so I thought, maybe I could get one, too, if that’s okay?”

Wow, a Banana-Rama actually asking for an autograph instead of just shoving photos and swag in our faces yellingsign here!

“Sure, what would you like us to sign?” I say and place my hand on Lion’s shoulder. “Hey, hun, can you pass me the marker? We’ve got another request.”

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