Page 12 of Wild Catch
Meanwhile, Beau’s worried about my health?
Taking a deep breath, I resolve to store this in a neat little box in my mind and analyze it later. Beau’s right in that I have to go change—not because I’m weak enough to get sick from a little A/C on wet clothes, but because I have to warm up for the game.
Then after that I will dissect every minutia of this topic until it starts making sense.
CHAPTER5
ROSE
Is it bad if what I’m most excited for about this trip is the food?
My favorite restaurant in Mills Avenue back home is a taqueria that people say sells the most legit Mexican tacos in all Orlando. I can only assume that tacos here will hit it out of the park.
But first, I have work to do around the literal park where balls are hit out of.
My personal preference is to use the Canon that belongs to the team for the wide angles and the faraway takes, but my phone for the up close and personal interviews. The former looks more professional that way, and the latter more genuine to a social media audience that is used to consuming content that comes from other phones on their own phones.
It’s why I hang out with two cameras at the same time. One is strapped to my neck and I hold it on my right hand. The other one is strapped to my left hand, ready to rock and roll the second the next unsuspecting player joins me for a water break.
For I am standing right next to the coolers in the shade, while the players warm up across the field.
That’s the privilege I get from being part of the team’s organization. Meanwhile, the press has no choice but to camp out at their designated area in the stands, which happens to be somewhere behind me where they can stare me down in jealousy.
We have maybe half an hour left before switching back to the gym so that the Miami Hurricanes can use the field, and then a meal before the game. I’m so excited about that. I don’t care if it’s healthy food for athletes. I have no doubt it’ll be delicious.
“Okay, that’s enough,” a voice breaks through my taco fantasies.
I search for the source and find Logan Kim rising to his feet and lifting his mask. “No more pitching until the game.”
From a distance, Cade Starr groans. “But I was just getting the hang of it.”
“Finish getting it during the game,” Logan fires back with clear annoyance. “Let’s get you hydrated, c’mon.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I’m too young to be your mother, Starr.”
“You’re also too hairy.” The latter laughs.
I gasp a little. Crap, where do I go?
But I’m too far from the dugout to make a retreat appear natural. I’m definitely not hiding under the table. And the rest of the players are strewn across the field—some running, some stretching, some throwing and catching—and I can’t just sidle up to them without interfering.
I resign myself to staying in the path of Logan Kim. As they approach, still having their intellectual conversation, both guys note my presence and give different reactions to it. The catcher—nothing. The pitcher—a grin.
“If it isn’t my favorite social media professional,” Cade says, stopping at the table to grab a bottle of water and squirt it in his mouth.
“If it isn’t my favorite starting pitcher in franchise history,” I return with amusement. After framing him in my phone camera, I ask, “What is it like to be starting pitcher for tonight’s game?”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Logan stop by the table smack between Cade and I, but staying out of reach from the camera. It also means that we’re not letting him grab a bottle.
Maybe Cade notices this because he gives a very brief answer. “As a Texan, it truly is an honor to visit the land of actual tacos not butchered by Texans. Oh, and I’m excited about the game too.”
I burst out laughing. What talent he has of charmingly insulting everyone, from himself, to his home state, and to the opponent.
I shift my phone toward Logan as he finally grabs a water bottle. Unlike Cade, though, he squeezes it on his face, spraying water to refresh himself rather than quench his thirst.
And I got it on camera, which is great because this is the definition of a thirst trap.
