XXX CHAPTER 4 XXX

Pushing away the post-first-date anxieties about appearing too eager, Emmett stared at the message box and struggled for something pithy to say. Best to move off the topics of beauty and sleep and start fresh, he decided.

I hear Ronald McDonald is inconsolable this morning.

Emmett sent the message and distracted himself by scrolling half-heartedly through the retweets. This morning's batch were less visceral and more fact-based than the knee-jerk emotional reflexes of last night. Galarraga's "28-out perfect game" was invoked all over the place, and many fans were calling for an apology from last night's scorer, similar to the tearful one Joyce had issued after his mistake in 2010. McCarty was praised for "taking it like the pro we know him to be." Seaver expressed his remorse and received an outpouring of support. Impassioned pleas were made to the commissioner for an exception to be made or at least for an asterisk in the record books. More clever hashtags appeared, their creators grasping for fifteen minutes in the sun, but Emmett wasn't interested in anyone new. He liked what was behind door number one.

A bubble popped open on his message bar, and grinning like an idiot, Emmett slid the mouse to the top of his screen and clicked open the message.

In other news, the Burger King was captured on video performing backflips on Safeco Field.

Emmett fired back quickly. No use playing hard to get when the guy was already wearing his number, right? Hope he hadn't just eaten!

A sentiment shared by your groundskeeper, I'm sure.

No doubt. Taking advantage of the opening—slim though it was—Emmett pressed into more intimate territory. Speaking of day jobs, what do you do when you're not creating problems for the commish?

Hey! I'm not the one who made that terrible call!

Hmm, prickly about sharing the personal stuff? Emmett left a noncommittal, True. If the guy didn't oblige with an answer, Emmett would let it slide . . . though, damn, was he curious now!

Actually, my day job IS creating problems – for math students.

A math teacher. That explained the fascination with Emmett's stats. No shit? What grade?

I'm certified for all levels but about to start teaching 6th grade at a private school in Sept.

Hmm, could it be? Oh yeah? Which one?

Seven Hills. You know it?

Holy shit! This was too damn good to be true. My sister's kid is enrolled in next year's kindergarten class. Guess he won't have you quite yet.

Wow. Small world! Is he a prodigy by any chance?

Emmett chuckled. A baseball prodigy maybe! He can count to 100 but gets a little fuzzy after that.

100's solid for pre-K. You grooming him to be the next Big Mac?

Not exactly. He's more of a batter at this point. First base, maybe shortstop. But it's still early.

You knew at a pretty early age.

Ah yes, Emmett was going to have to keep in mind that his backstory was an open book, the one glaring exception being his sexual orientation. Clearly, this 69er had soaked up all the human interest stories out there—including the piece about the talent scout who drove 140 miles to Forks to take a look at the amazing arm of the third-grade pitcher nicknamed "Mighty Mac."

Yep.

Awkward silence. The urge to learn more about his mystery fan was a powerful one, but even stronger was Emmett's desire not to scare him away. What Emmett had found here was no foul-mouthed, fly-by-night, beer-saturated, fair-weather fan, whose superficial interest in baseball ended when his ass left the stadium seat. No, this man was thoughtful, smart, and devoted to the game from "pitchers and catchers first workout" to the last out of the Series.

Shame you're not available. I think the Mariners have a job for you in their PR dept. You handled that interview like a pro. Flattery was not Emmett's forte; he was no more comfortable doling out compliments than he was receiving them, but this guy seemed worth the effort.

I wouldn't be any good at that. I'm more of a behind-the-scenes type.

Dude, you rocked it! Seriously. I think you made me blush!

You're easy!

Um…excuse me? Christ, he was blushing for real now and couldn't imagine his friend wasn't doing the same.

I meant it's easy for me to spew positive things about you.

Emmett was feeling a bit warm. Was the A/C broken or was that an honest to goodness heat coming over him? He sure as shit wasn't about to leave his chair now to find out. Don't believe everything you read.

Don't worry- I'm a mathematician, remember? I'm ruled by logic and proof.

Why on earth did Emmett find that the hottest thing he'd ever heard? This guy was pulling him into dangerous terrain, making him want to get reckless. Or maybe it was all that kale piling up in his system. You're Mr. Spock then?

I might've been compared to the Vulcan once or twice.

Always loved Spock. I'm more of a McCoy myself.

Hmm. I would've said Kirk.

How so? Emmett felt the grin spreading across his cheeks. The Trek speak was rich, neutral ground.

McCoy has a tendency to lead with his heart and think later. He'd have made a lousy captain. Kirk is passion tempered with wisdom.

Definitely getting hot in here. Thanks, I think?

Sorry. Did that sound like I think I know you? I realize that's idiotic.

No, not idiotic. I'd love to live up to your version of the captain. Emmett paused and reread his message three more times before muttering, "Oh, what the hell," and hitting send.

How do you know you don't?

If I told you, you'd have to trash your Twitter profile and start over.

That would suck. Never mind.

There was that dry sense of humor again. Hero worship with a sly twist. Emmett was afraid he could get addicted to this. This what? You don't even know the guy's name, dammit! And what the hell did he mean by invoking the gay pride Whopper? The nagging questions dug their claws in a little deeper, pushing Emmett to press his fan.

I take it you're a season ticket holder?

Yes. Dad's had the seats for 27 years. Been a bit challenging with school but I go with him every chance I get.

That's nuts! You might be a bigger fan of the game than I am!

You probably don't want to get me started on my love for the game.

Actually, I think I might. Believe it or not, it can get to be a grind at times. Don't get me wrong-baseball was always my dream. It's just…

69er finished Emmett's sentence when he maxed out on characters. The season is long. Avg # of pitches per game is rising. # of pitching changes per game is rising, slowing down the game. I get it.

So tell me, what is it you love about baseball?

It would take me a week to list everything.

Hmm I have to leave for practice in 4 hours. Damn, the idea of talking to him for another four hours does something to me.

Tell you what. How about if I spread it out for you…keep the inspiration going through the season, a little at a time?

Through the season? Yes, Emmett liked the sound of that. Very much. Thankful his smile was hidden behind an anonymous screen, Emmett typed, How so?

Daily tweets.

That's a tall order. You have four months' worth?

Easily. I bet you do too, once you sit down to reflect on it.

Yeah, maybe. You sure you're not too optimistic to be Spock?

Optimism and logic are not mutually exclusive. Besides, Spock had his human side too, Captain.

That he did, Professor.

Oh, Professor is it?

Here we go. Headfirst. I'm at a disadvantage. You know pretty much everything about me. I don't even know your first name.

Waiting, waiting . . . waiting, waiting.

Awkwardly long pause, more waiting.

Shit!

Edward.

Emmett leaned back in his chair and stared at the name on his screen. Edward, Edward, kind of old-fashioned, just a touch stuffy. No, not stuffy exactly—formal. Edward, the logical, optimistic math teacher. Yeah, that worked. While he was sitting there pondering the name, another message came in.

Ugh, maybe we should go back to Professor!

No, I like Edward. Anyway, who am I to talk? Who the hell names their kid Emmett?

Mr. and Mrs. Kelly?

The CLOWN? FUCK YOU!

Haha. Sorry, couldn't help myself. You don't have a clown phobia, do you?

That's a bit personal, isn't it?

I was always a bit terrified of the bearded lady myself.

Emmett sputtered at the image, thinking back to last night's not-so-veiled reference to Tammy. It must have been this semi-flustered state that caused Emmett to type and send the next message without thinking things through.

Note to self: Don't take Edward to the circus.

Fuck, what was that? Did I just invoke some hypothetical date? Jesus! Emmett sat paralyzed over the keyboard, willing something clever into his fingers to paint right over his little slip. The harder he pressed, the blanker his mind.

It was Edward who saved him from further mortification with his response: Hell, I'd take the circus any day over the Space Needle!

Not a fan of heights?

I don't really mind heights as long as I'm viewing them from the ground.

Emmett twirled his chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows, folded his hands behind his head, and set his gaze on Elliott Bay. Water was the one thing that calmed him, and he'd jumped at the Alki Beach property when his broker told him it had become available. The Needle was visible at the right edge of the farthest window, a hop, skip, and jump from the ballpark. He'd been up there a dozen times as a kid, part of his parents' "Look at all the places you can go" propaganda. Kind of ironic he'd ended up right where he started after all that, but Emmett truly loved Seattle, loved the fans, and loved that his family and Tammy were here to cheer him on and lift him up.

The view is pretty sweet. On a clear day, you can see the top of Mt. Rainier. There's even a Starbuck's up top!

Thanks but no thanks. I like my coffee at low altitudes.

Emmett had to laugh at the grouchy edge he seemed to have poked to life. Okay, okay, message received. Don't take Edward to the Space Needle. Damn, we're running out of places here!

I'm perfectly happy at sea level. That leaves plenty of options.

Emmett was sure of it now; they were both skirting around getting together. He still had no idea what this guy's deal was or what he thought Emmett's story might be. Emmett was playing a dangerous game of you-tell-me-first, not even sure he'd reveal himself at all. But he was having a nice time, he realized. This felt good, and it had been so, so long. Worst case, this Edward made a damn fine conversationalist.

Sure, at 140 characters a pop.

But the thing was, they were adding up. All strung together, there was a story here, and Emmett wanted to hear more of it. He threw down the gauntlet, praying Edward would pick it up. I'm all ears. What did you have in mind?

Really?

Yes, really.

Are we talking hypothetical here or…?

Fuck it. Let's say we're not.

Waiting, waiting . . .

WOW. Okay. Well, it's kind of been a dream of mine…ugh, this is embarrassing.

What did he want? Emmett moved to the edge of his seat and tapped out his response. C'mon! You can't leave me hanging like that!

Okay, fine. This is going to sound really lame, but I've always kind of wondered about the locker room.

Emmett's jaw dropped. His gaydar antennae burst through his scalp and made a beeline for the ceiling. Something else was rising too, pushing at his boxers and shorts. Fuck me. Now, let's see how bad Edward wants inside that Mariners' locker room.

Of all the places in Seattle, your number one choice is honestly a smelly locker room? Emmett's smile could not have been any bigger when he clicked "send."

I told you it was lame.

Damn, this guy was downright adorable when he was embarrassed. Emmett was going to need more of that. He'd always been a sucker for a blushing boy, and this one promised to be an easy target. Tammy was right; Emmett was a wicked tease, but he wasn't a jerk, and it was time to let this fish off the hook.

Not at all. I'll give you the VIP tour after Thursday's game. I'm pitching.

Thank you! And I know ;)

Of course he does. Hope you won't be disappointed.

Author's Note: Did you happen to remember a certain math teacher's locker room fetish? Heehee! Let's DO THIS!
I hope you were smiling as big as Emmett as you read that. I love making my boys and my readers happy!

XXX ~BOH