Page 9 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

“Caroline,” Manny says, looking at the phone. “You don’t need a travel buddy. Tell her she’s out.”

“Fine,” Caroline snarls. “Are you coming straight home?”

“Yeah, I need to drop off Alex, but I’ll be home after that.”

“All right. I’m timing you.” I hear the phone hang up as Manny slips it back into his pocket.

“Man, you have the most dysfunctional relationship. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“It works for us,” he says, shrugging as he clicks the doors open on his car. “Not every couple can be as perfect as Seb and Sophie. Hopefully, they’ll be out of that whole honeymoon phase before long.”

“That’s never going to happen. They’ll still be pawing at each other when they’re senior citizens.”

I stop to high-five a food vendor who works the box seats. She always slips me chicken fingers in the dugout. I pull a couple hundred out of my wallet.

“Is this enough for the past month?” I say, handing it to her.

“Two-hundred? Seriously, Alex, how much do you think chicken fingers cost?”

“Well, I mean,” I say, trying to shove the bills into her hand, “I know stuff costs more in the stadium.”

“Yeah, more, but not that much.” She plucks one of the bills out of my hand and gets into her money pouch to give me change. I stuff both bills into the pouch.

“Just take it, Marcie. It can be a downpayment for next season.”

“Really?” She smiles as her eyes widen. “Then you’re coming back next year?”

“God, not you, too. No comment.”

She laughs and turns around. “If I don’t see you tomorrow, have a good off-season. Be safe.”

As we drive out of the stadium, the fans swarm our car. Manny waves as he maneuvers around them. I sink down in my seat.

“Do you want to stop to sign a few?” He looks over at me.

“Not at all. And isn’t Caroline timing you? I don’t think she allows for autograph time.”

“Probably not, but you always want to stop. What’s up with you? You’ve been way crabbier than usual lately.”

I pull my T-shirt over my face as some fans peer in the windshield.

“Is it the contract? Jeff’s been texting me non-stop trying to get me to talk to you about it.”

“Well that pisses me off even more,” I say from under my T-shirt. “Just because we share an agent doesn’t mean he can ask you to work me.”

“Come on, man. You know he’s an asshole. He didn’t leave either of us alone for months before Seb signed. He’s the best agent in the business, but only because he’s a jerk.” He beeps his horn as a fan tries to block the car. “Are you hung up on the money? Damn, they’re offering you the world, especially since you’re almost thirty. And with what they just paid Seb, I can’t believe how much they’re willing to give you.”

“It’s not the money,” I say, letting out a long breath. “I told you I don’t know if I want to play anymore.”

“You really want to go back to school? That’s crazy. You already finished four more years of college than the rest of us. What percentage of players have a degree? It has to be less than five.”

“It’s not a competition.” I sit up when we finally get past the last of the fans. “I’ve got different goals. I want to go to law school. I have since I was a kid.”

He flips open his sunroof as we leave the stadium parking lot. “How are you going to get into law school? You said your college grades were marginal.”

“Marginal at UCLA. It’s a good school. And I was playing baseball full-time. If I could concentrate on school, I’d get good grades.”

“Your dad’s going to kill you if you leave before your playing days are over.”

---