Page 3 of Wild Pitch
“Great, I bought the rum you like!”
“Cacique?” I gasp in an exaggerated way. “You sure know the way to my heart.”
We leave the new couple behind us, but it doesn’t mean I’m not boiling on the inside. For the first time I wish I hadn’t joined this Friendsgiving, and I vow that next year I’m going to bring a new damn boyfriend that will erase the pity on everybody’s faces.
CHAPTER 2
CADE
FEBRUARY
Nothing like spending St. Valentine’s at a swanky restaurant waiting not for a hot date, but for your sports agent. I’d have preferred to hit a bar downtown, see if I could score a date for tonight, but Lou was adamant that we meet. For a guy who mostly ignores me, I figure this has to be important.
So, either I’m about to get sacked by my team or by my agent.
Judging by how late he’s running, I hope it’s just the latter.
I check my watch. It’s half past six. Then I lift up my phone and click around until I locate his text message—it indeed says to meet here at six.
Sighing, I lean back on my chair. He’ll show up eventually, even if it means waiting with a lukewarm glass of water for two more hours. In the meantime, I do my usual rotation of doomscrolling through socials, stop to watch a whole two-minute video of a panda playing on some swings, and catch exactly zero sightings of my face or name on the profiles of sports channels and magazines.SPORTYgave me a feature in the offseason that made me hope my time was finally arriving,but the answer has been no. I am, in fact, still not arriving—just like my agent.
Now in a crappy mood, I put my phone facedown on the table and look around for entertainment. Of course this fancy ass place doesn’t have any TV screens showing games. There’s some jazzy music in the background drowned by the quiet hum of polite conversation and the occasional laughter. The tables around me are overwhelmingly taken by couples because of freaking course, except it’s easy to tell if it’s a long-enduring couple or a new one.
For example, the two in the table off to my right, closest to the bar. They both wear wedding rings, and it seems like they’ve reached the stage where much conversation isn’t necessary. They’ve either learned to communicate telepathically or the relationship is in the rocks—no in between. I calculate they’ve been going at it for about fifteen years.
Then there’s the couple on the left, in the row by the wall. These ones are clearly on a first date. How do I know? Because the guy is doing all the talking and the woman sits ramrod stiff, oozing awkwardness through her pores.
My phone buzzes with a text from Lou that says one single word.Traffic. That can mean he’s near to arriving and the half hour delay was due to the fact that Orlando is one hour away from Orlando, or it could mean that I have yet to wait an indeterminate amount of time. Guess I’ll just take it as W that he’s really on his way.
For lack of anything to do, I take the glass of water and glance at the first date couple over the glass rim. He looks like he put some effort—his shirt is ironed and hair freshly gelled, not like he came straight from work. But she must have not been on the same page, going by the simple polo and trainers she’s wearing. Maybe she didn’t look up what kind of restaurant this was—therich people kind—or this is her way of saying she’s not really into it without using actual words. With women you never know.
Stomping feet distract me and there’s only one person I know who walks like he has a vendetta against the floor. Lou makes his way through the tables, bumping into a couple of people and not bothering to apologize. You can take a New Yorker out of New York, but can’t take New York out of the New Yorker.
Meanwhile, I’m from Texas. I make eye contact with the two offended people and say, “My apologies. Sorry for my friend.” TheMystill comes out likeMah, no matter how many years I’ve been away from Texas because clearly the same adage applies to me. People will pry myy’allfrom my cold dead hands.
Huffing, Lou dumps himself in the chair across from me. “I hate this town. Everyone says living in Florida is like being on vacation year round and that’s bullshit.”
The corner of my lips lifts. “Good to see you too.”
“You should’ve ordered for me,” he says while taking the menu for a quick scan. “I only have a short moment before my charter flight to Miami.”
“Well, I feel special now.” The bulk of his clients are actually there, so if he came in person to see me this can’t all be bad, right?
“You should, I came to?—”
Of course, this is the exact moment the waiter chooses to drop by. “Welcome, would you like to see the wine menu?”
Lou drops the food menu like it burns and says, “Oh, yes. That would be great.”
“I thought you have a flight soon?” I mask a snort with a polite cough.
“It’s in two hours.” He waves a hand at me and gleefully receives the drinks menu. As the waiter retreats to give us a moment, Lou says, “I assume you’re not drinking, right? Spring Training starts soon so you better be in shape.”
“Right.” I fold my arms over the table and lean forward. “Speaking of, is there going to be a Spring Training for me?”
That pulls his attention away from the idea of booze. “What the hell do you mean? Of course there is.”
“Just checking.” I clear my throat. “So what are the news, then? Am I getting traded? Or fired?”
