XXX CHAPTER 3 XXX

The next morning brought Emmett the new challenge of sneaking a peek at his Twitter feed while attempting to convince himself he really didn't care whether "69er" (as he'd come to think of his fanboy) had tweeted something new or messaged him again. This was no small feat, but fortunately, Emmett was a professional.

Throwing on shorts and a t-shirt, he padded into the kitchen and prepared his standard baseball-season breakfast, a kale-banana smoothie with the trainer-recommended potions and powders and whatever berries happened to be lying around. The drink was tasty enough, and he liked that he didn't have to think about what to make. There was no doubt Emmett's workouts had been more productive since he'd started on this green shake kick; his pitching coach was particularly pleased with the improved muscle tone in his upper body, but Emmett had made sure not to neglect his legs and ass at the gym, a strategy that had clearly paid off—not that there was anyone around who much cared about Emmett's firm ass.

Calm, cool, and outwardly collected, Emmett set his shake on the desk and jiggled the mouse. Ignoring the Twitter tab, he checked the Seattle Times headlines first, largely to prove to himself that he could. The byline hit him like a fastball to the nose: The fans have spoken: #MacPerfect.

Emmett skimmed the rehash of the glorious innings leading up to the bad call; he could have recast the game from memory, and the churning of strikeouts and pop flies and ground outs offered him zero comfort. Halfway down the page, he found the first mention of 69fanatic, and Emmett held his breath and repeated his mantra from last night: Please don't turn out to be a douche.

The original tweet was quoted, along with some of the more colorful retweets, including several from Emmett's teammates. The harsher comments toward the official scorer were tactfully absent from the article, a mercy for which Emmett was immensely grateful. Nothing good ever came from antagonizing the officials. He wasn't holding out for a tearful apology.

Traffic stats were provided—retweets and favorites had soared overnight, as expected—but most impressively, 69er's fan base had multiplied from double digits pre-tweet to over 12K. Ah, a following, the holy grail of social media. How much of their private conversation would Emmett's new chat partner share to gain celebrity status? Emmett groaned into his breakfast shake as he recalled the quirky comments that would certainly sound even weirder taken out of context, everything from laundry to beauty sleep. Christ, why had Emmett broken his own rules and given in to his stupid urge to chat with this stranger? He forced his eyes to the screen.

The man known to the world of Twitter as "69fanatic" spoke with The Times this morning about the hashtag that circled the globe, fueling conversations about the unfortunate call that cost Mariners pitcher Emmett McCarty his chance to enter the record books for a perfect game last night.

When asked why he's a longtime fan of McCarty, 69fanatic answered, "I've always admired Emmett's focus and work ethic. He's out there grinding as much as the coaches will let him, working on his weaknesses as much as his strengths. Two years ago, he was a knuckleballer; today, because of the sweat equity he's put in, Emmett McCarty owns the league's most dangerous fastball. His teammates talk about what a role model he is for the other guys on the team both on and off the field. Of course, I don't know what goes on in the locker room, but from everything I've heard, Emmett McCarty is a true leader and a personal inspiration."

Clearly, 69fanatic lives up to his screen name. So, how did he feel when McCarty retweeted his now-famous post? "I was incredibly honored he took the time to thank me. I'm sure he had plenty of other things on his mind last night."

69fanatic, who requested to remain anonymous, seemed genuinely surprised his hashtag had gone viral but reportedly was "quite pleased that other fans—as well as scores of other players including Seaver—spoke up in McCarty's defense."

What was 69fanatic's response when he learned that McDonald's is considering purchasing the rights to the hashtag for a new ad campaign for the Big Mac? "I'm actually more of a Proud Whopper guy, but as long as McDonald's leaves the 'a' in MacPerfect, it's fine by me."

"Well, shit! No mention of our chat, and this guy makes me sound like a saint!" Emmett shook his head at his crazy self-talking and wondered whether his fanboy belonged in a straitjacket or beside him on the damn pedestal he'd erected for Emmett. And what the hell was that comment about the gay pride Whopper? Could this guy be into boys, and could he possibly have an inkling about me, or does he just like mayonnaise more than special sauce? A treacherous thrill tore through him, and he quickly closed the tab as if the internet police were about to bust down his door and drag him out of the closet.

Once he was able to slow his heartrate, Emmett checked his texts. Call me, from his agent; We're so proud of you, from Mom and Dad; That was fucked up, from his sister Alice's husband; and Love you, from Tammy.

Emmett stared down the Twitter tab while he guzzled the rest of his smoothie and finally decided the kale shake had earned him a visit to the Land of Swelled Heads. He'd already read the stats, so the sheer volume of activity didn't surprise him. Quantity wasn't what he was after anyway.

After five minutes of scrolling, Emmett dropped the pretense that he wasn't searching for his 69er. This stranger had knocked quietly on the tightly sealed door guarding the hidden chambers of Emmett's heart. The man's approval meant something to him, and the pride Emmett had experienced while reading the article was now evaporating as he scrolled and scrolled and found nothing further from his fan. Clicking on 69er's profile confirmed what Emmett had already suspected: nothing since the original post. No replies, no new tweets, not even a "Look, Ma!" link to the article in the Times. The guy was most definitely not an opportunistic jerk. He also, apparently, was not a pest, Emmett observed with clear disappointment as he found his message box empty.

Isn't this what you wanted?

Emmett had no opportunity to earn another tweet on the pitcher's mound for another five games, and if the waiting didn't drive him crazy, the added pressure was likely to fuck with his head just enough to be a problem. That was a risk he couldn't take.

Opening their chat box from the previous night, he gave himself a mental high-five for not responding to the 69er's comment about Emmett's beauty. Then again, maybe Emmett shouldn't have left that indelicately laid egg sitting there all night to weigh on the guy and make him worry he'd gone and overshared. Maybe 69fanatic had barricaded himself inside the nearest cave for the duration.

I have to let him off the hook. It's the decent thing to do.

In Emmett's kale-coated brain, all neuron paths led to the same solution: your turn to send the next message.

Author's Note: Looks like Edward isn't going to turn out to be a douche! Thanks for the love for these boys.
XXX ~BOH