Page 2 of Nailed at Home Plate

“You mean the lastfewtimes,” Roman Stevens, the second baseman, added with a snort laugh.

“Tru here and his melodic ass.” It was Camden York, third basemen, and Truitt’s partner in most of the chaotic crimes around here. His cropped, blonde curls bounced as he chuckled. Truitt answered back with a punch to Camden’s bicep.

“Hey, the ladies love my ass. Its musical talents are just a bonus.”

That got me to laugh. It was never a dull moment with this squad and their seemingly unending antics. They knew not to mess with me, but they did go out of their way to try to humor me. Laughter seemed to be the energy they needed to keep up with their nonsense on the field to entertain the crowds. Laughter and cheers.

With the crowd sizes not being where ownership wanted yet, the boys had a rough go from the established date of the team. Except for me, I was always entertained by them. They thought I was always a worthy audience. Considering my good nature and love for humor, I was probably a prime person for their audience.

Some days the boys got on my nerves. But most of the time they were adorable giganticknuckleheads. The more absurd they were to me, the more obscene the dance moves and training I made them do. They hadn’t caught on yet. Or perhaps they were just indulging me. I couldn’t tell.

All the guys were charming in their own right. At that moment no one was seriously dating anyone. Designated hitter, Martin Pitt and Schmidt were happily married. Sure, I heard about the occasional conquest from the single guys. Mostly while on the road. Philly girls weren’t as keen on their antics.

The guys wereintense. With an equally intense work schedule, it was difficult for any of us to have a lasting relationship. Martin and Schmidt lucked out with getting married before they became serious ball players. Once the season kicked into full swing it was baseball all day, every day. The ELB had more off time than the majors, but the schedule was still hectic. If you didn’t have an understanding partner, it was a tough life to support.

Not that I overly minded it. Dating wasn’t a huge focus in my life. It added unnecessary complications. I loved my job. My job was my life. Not many men could understand that. Especially due to the fact that I was around attractive baseball players for six months out of the year.

Maybe I would have more of a chance to have a lasting relationship if I found someone in the offseason. But even then, it took a few months to mentally and physically recuperate from such a vigorous season. I needed to focus on myself before trying to split my attention with anyone else. It wouldn’t be fair to them, and it wouldn’t be fair to me.

Sometimes the quiet overwhelmed me and I found myself wishing to have someone to hang out with. To have a body to snuggle up to. Someone to chat with about everything and also nothing at all.

I’ve had people tell me, “Why don’t you just date a baseball player?”. Okay sure, it kind of made sense. We’d have similar schedules and training demands so we could be supportive of each other, right? Well, that would only work if we were part of the same organization. And it would only work if said organization was cool with a player dating a member of the admin team. Which was pretty much the equivalent of a CEO dating their secretary. Not a smart idea.

But I did what any sensible person would have done when an attractive baseball player asked them out. I said “Yes”. Just once though. Roman was the only one that I sort of had a crush on at first, even after working with them all for a few months. Neither of us were stupid about it. We made sure we didn’t do or say anything suspicious around the guys. Our dates were always outside of the city, so we had less of a chance of being caught by anyone who even had an inkling of who we were.

While it was a lot of fun we ended it as friends. Or well,I ended it as friends. Things got too real for me. Roman wanted to make it into something more serious and I…I just didn’t feel that way about him. He was a nice guy and I had fun, but that’s all it was. Not something that I could see being forever. It just wasn’t fair to either of us to keep it going when we had to do so much to hide it.

“Cadence?”

“Huh?” Iblinked and suddenly center fielder Tomas Lopez’s face came into focus. His Dominican lilt made my name sound like music as it left his lips. I thought he looked like a charming lawn gnome with his always joyful and expectant expression.

“Yo, earth to Cadence.” Truitt had to add in his two cents with a dramatic wave of his hand in front of my face.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.” I batted Truitt’s hand away and sidestepped the crowd of guys who looked on in some mix of concern and humor. “I was…just going over my grocery list. To pick up. On the way home.” The cadence of my voice was choppy. I could tell from the looks on the guys’ faces that only half of them believed it.

“Shit, I don’t even remember what’s in my fridge,” Kellan Bristol added, looking rather worried as he massaged the leather of his glove while deep in thought. The guys cracked up in laughter. Thank god for the lanky, blonde-haired shortstop. He broke the tension and turned the attention of the guys off of me.

Hurrying down the hall, I made a beeline to my office to leave the guys to shower and head out for the day. It wasn’t exactly a secret that I had “zone out” moments here and there. Mostly I was just deep in thought. For some reason today my brain wanted to hyper-focus on my dismal dating life instead of dreaming about the next dance routine.

Call me old fashioned, but I only wanted to date guys that I had a spark with. A connection. Someone who I could see myself with forever. Dating just for the “fun” aspect of it wasn’t me. It was such a sappy and outdated notion, but why waste my or anyone else’s time when the next one could be forever love?

It was probably my dad’s fault for getting me hooked on Molly Ringwald movies from the 80s.Sixteen Candleswas his cult classic favorite. He only ever admitted it to me, but his favorite part was when the heartthrob crush, Jake, showed up at the church in his fancy little red sports car. Sometimes I caught my dad in the middle of a dreamy sigh as he watched the scene unfold.

So yeah. I was looking for my Jake. A man who was a literal dream on two feet. Someone who smiled whenever he thought or spoke about me to anyone. The kind of man that would be happy to see me when I got home, even when we were in our eighties.

Someone like Jamie Rheems.

Well, at least that’s what I imagined.

Jamie Rheems. The star catcher for Philadelphia. The man I rushed home to see just a glimpse of his face behind the wire cage of the catcher’s mask on television. The man with corded biceps and forearms that flexed with every catch and throw. The man with an ass I could bounce a quarter off of.

The man that didn’t even know I existed.

The man that I’d never had a face-to-face interaction with. The man that I’d never spoken to. A man that I didn’t have to work into my hectic schedule. My imagination worked him in for me. In all the delicious ways possible.

It wasn’t always a full-blown fantasy per se with a house and a future. It was just little glimpses of a shared space with the man. A smile that was just for me. A darting look into the crowd to see me in the sea of people. A lingering touch of those strong hands as we…

A knock on my office door made me jump almost three feet in the air. Unless I was showering or changing, I always kept the door open. So, it was safe to say that the new rookie pitcher for the Sillys, Ender Roche, saw my startle.

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