Page 7 of Rocking Player
Rodriquez didn’t need an answer. I signaled Aaron, the water and errand boy of the team, to join me.
I jumped up to where she was, and she made sweaty stands somehow smell like summer. “Georgie?”
“Yeah?” She asked and clutched her son with her face white and tight, like she expected a bomb to go off.
I snapped at Aaron to help me out again and said, “Can you get to the family seating area already so you're both safe?”
Georgie looked around and then nodded. “On our way.”
I couldn’t walk with her. I rejoined my team, but I saw Aaron walking her to the family seats, where no one else would ever hit her off the back of the head or scream in her face.
Georgie had no idea, but she’d been the only girl I’d dreamed about and the last person in my pathetic bed for years now, and that was pretty telling as I traveled around the country for a living. Rodriguez had married, divorced, and married another while I’d been in fucking limbo waiting for Georgie.
The next inning went better.
I caught every ball and light had returned to my step.
This time, I followed all my usual routines and when I went up to plate, I didn’t hear a word of the pitcher's smack talk. I hit the ball like it was a softball, and it made it over the wall.
The crowd jeered as the announcer said, “Homerun.”
“That was awesome.” Rogers dug his cleats into the field as I neared the dugout.
I detoured to go to the family area as I said fast, “My lucky charm is here.”
I didn’t care that the cameras heard me or that my team saw.
I returned to where she was and smelled the dewy sweetness.
The cameras were all on me, and adrenaline from the homerun was still in my veins, as I grabbed her soft sides like no time had passed.
Georgie softened and her eyelids lowered.
She still felt good in my arms as she said, “Michael!”
Her fingers twirled in my hair and I pressed against her and said, “We’ll talk after.”
Without thinking, I pressed my lips to hers and fireworks exploded in my veins. My memories had all been right. She was fucking perfect.
She kissed me back, her hands in my thick hair and her soft lips that set me off made me forget where I was. I’d shaved part of my skull and she massaged it in a way only Georgie had ever done.
For one second, I was transported back in time to when I’d met her in the pool. She’d not asked for my rookie autograph. She’d just been pretty in her yellow bikini that I’d found a way to get off her that very night.
As the kiss ended, the world returned to color. I remembered where I was and saw the open mouth of my father in her young son’s face.
The announcer overhead said, “Michael Irons caught on the kiss cam.”
I glanced at the Jumbotron. Everyone in the stadium must have seen it. My agent would call this reckless unless I claimed her as mine fast.
I winked at her and as I made it back to my dugout, I heard the announcer ask, “Will Michael be joining the Pirates next season? His son is wearing a Pirates shirt.”
That would be corrected. I went where the money was. The Sooners hadn’t shown up with the right dollar sign to show their desire to keep me, and I wasn’t fucking waiting for them. Team loyalty was for players who wanted to stay poor and this was quite possibly my last million-dollar contract before I retired.
I guess it shouldn’t matter. I had enough money to not care, except I did. I needed the money as evidence I was the best. It validated my years of hard work to perfect my game.
I refused to ever be a poor kid from the cornfields who didn’t know any better than how to lose a dime of my money.
In college, I'd studied finance. That time, combined with my skill of the game, had secured my future, for when this ended.
