Page 11 of Totally Ducked

“Yep,” I reply, waving over the bartender. “Just a beer, thanks. Whatever you have is fine,” I tell her and Rob asks for the same, then pulls out his wallet. “I’ll get it,” I tell him, and he smiles before putting it away. “Did you like today?” I ask him.

“It was definitely different. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I have to say, today was a first for me.”

“I remember reading your articles when you were writing forThe Runner. You scooped the coach change for Texas mid-season.”

“A young fella like you could hardly have been old enough for that one.”

“I’m older than I look.”

“Sure thing, partner. Well, the boys are all over here if you’re joining.”

He heads toward the back corner, and I follow behind. This is my chance to get to know the other writers better. Get them to know me better. Or at all. My hands shake the closer we get. What if they all feel the same way Brendan does? What if they know the guy in the photo, too? What if they don’t want to get to know me? I can’t spend weeks on a tour ostracized from them all. Fuck. This is a mistake. I should chat with them one at a time like with Rob.

“Here he is,” Sherman Olderton, major writer forBaller Days, says, standing. Actually fucking standing from his seat to shake my hand.

“Ahhh, hi,” I say, giving his large hand a firm shake before letting go and sitting in the open seat to Rob’s right.

“You even gave our numbers a boost with that thing.”

“I’m sorry. What are we talking about?”

Craig Spencer and Eddie Wolf both turn their phones toward me and the image of the rubber duck pic I shared earlier is there.

“Your post is trending,” Spencer says, and I pull out my phone.

“Wow, this is…” I start but can’t find the words as I zero in on the number of views my last article, the one I linked to in the post, now has. Thirty-one thousand and seventy-two and counting.

My cheeks start to warm. “Whatever helps us build buzz, right?” I say and put my phone face down on the table. I’m trying so hard to play it cool right now, but all I want to do is jump up on the table and cheer. My article istrending. “So I guess you’ve all known each other for a while, right?” I ask as a way to open the conversation up to introductions. Not that I need them. I know all their names. They’re the writers whose articles I’ve been reading and pining to work with all these years.

Craig shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, these old boys have crossed paths a few times over the years, but I’ve been coveringminor league baseball forThe Blastfor about a year now, so I’m relatively new to sportswriting, too.”

“What did you write before then?” I ask.

“General news pieces, mostly small-town stuff. I sold a few articles to some of the big papers and got lucky whenThe Blastneeded a temp to cover the minors. That was about to end when this came up. If it takes off, hopefully, I can stick with it.”

“That’s what I hope, too.”

The conversation moves on, and after a few minutes or so, I find I’m just listening to them talk, my attention moving from one conversation to the next, not really a part of any of them. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, my gaze turns to the entry just as Brendan walks in with the girl from reception.

Chapter seven

Duckie

Alice is beautiful, totallythe type of woman I’ve hooked up with in the past, but tonight I’m just not feeling it. I spot the other writers already sitting at a table, all of them immersed in conversation. I catch Ian’s eye, but he immediately twists to the side to talk to Sherman without even a nod my way, as if he didn’t even see me. Dick. Alice is still by my side, and I turn to her, a sorry smile on my face.

“My friends are over there. I’m gonna go catch up with them. Have a great night,” I tell her and turn before I can watch her smile fall. She did say she was meeting her friends here tonight, and hopefully, that’s true. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I also don’t want to be here with her as bad as that sounds.

“Hello, boys. What are we all talking about?” I say to the table and wave at Rob to move down so that I can sit.

“Our plans for the tour, mostly. My editor wants me to focus on the game and less on the dancing and theatrics. Do you have a plan you have to follow or want to follow on tour?” Sherman asks.

“No. I think at first, I’ll probably focus on experiencing Banana Ball for the first time, you know, how it differs from real baseball. I guess I’ll probably look at how it’s gaining popularity as they expand their reach, too. Me having zero exposure before now might make it easier to connect with that new crowd.”

“Sounds like you do have a plan, after all,” Sherman replies. “Maybe don’t refer to the Majors asreal baseballin your article, though.”

I shrug. He’s probably right not to call it that, but I played baseball a little in college, and from what I’ve seen online, this is nothing like it. That was what I wanted to do. Play baseball. It didn’t work out for me back then, and writing was always something I loved, too, so I turned my focus to it, and it’s worked out pretty well, I think.

“Can I grab anyone a drink?” I ask, standing.

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