Page 46 of The Strike Zone

This would be a bigger role than I’d originally thought. Much bigger.

Full days. Longer hours. More traveling. I’d need to go out to White Plains, for sure.

I wasn’t even entirely sure where White Plains was.

Could I do the job? Maybe.

Did I want the job? I hadn’t decided.

Was I excited about a new opportunity?

It wasn’t the word I would use. Or perhaps I would, but I’d also add nervous, anxious, and apprehensive. Even though I was sure they all meant the same thing.

I’d only been at the Lions for a year. I’d come from a small social brand agency where I’d started as an intern straight out of school. Moving from an office of six people to one where it seemed to double in size every week was daunting.

It took me a month to learn everyone’s names, and a year on, I still saw a new person every day.

It was only now, with one season under my belt, that I felt fully comfortable in my role. I’d worked my butt off. I’d learned from mistakes I’d made and gotten better at my job as a result. All I’d felt coming into my second year was excitement. Excitement about building the team and watching it grow.

Now I’d have to start over, find my feet again, figure out how to do a job with three times the amount of work. Plus I’d never built a social presence from scratch before. The comfort zone I built wasn’t quite so comfortable anymore.

It wasn’t like anyone was forcing me to take the job

Or that I’d even get offered it if I did apply.

Yet a small,tinypart deep inside me was whispering that I’d be letting someone down if I didn’t, and I wouldn’t be given another opportunity like this again.

I should begrateful.

“You’re missing a piece of the roof,” Parker announced, pulling out the chair and sitting down opposite me.

Leaning forward, I peered over the top of the house and spotted the gap he mentioned, snapped off another strand of red licorice, and stuck it down. “Thanks.”

“Is this what counts as work in the social team?” he asked, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back.

His biceps flexed so impressively I almost forgot what I was doing. I didn’t even think he was doing it on purpose, that’s just how they were.

Giant biceps from years of baseball. I wasn’t sure if his black Lions tee made them look bigger because it was slightly on the snug side, or if the tee was snug because they were so big. Becausehewas big.

Athletic. Honed. Taut.

Take a picture, Scout. It’ll last longer.

I managed to tear my focus away from his body to his face and watched as the corner of his mouth lifted higher on the left, almost disappearing into the stubble on his cheek.

A crooked smirk, shooting straight at me, that said he knew exactly what I was thinking, or not thinking, because that smirk vanquished all the questions whirling around in my brain and the anxiety in my belly, and replaced it with a heat I’d not felt in a while.

“Yeah. You get to catch a ball for a living, I do this.” I laughed back eventually.

“Fair argument.”

“Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

“I’m on my way, happened to be walking past and spotted you,” he looked around the empty dining hall, “and I’m never going to pass up an opportunity to say hello to myfriend.”

There was that word again. Or rather, the way he said it.

Like there was so much more to it.

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