XXX CHAPTER 10 XXX
ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Baseball is played without limitations of a game clock.
Emmett was beyond pretending he didn't check his Twitter feed first thing in the morning. His friend Ed was either a night owl or an early riser, and Emmett's money was on the latter. Edward's tweets were the gateway drug, each little tidbit an invitation to a conversation Emmett was keen on having. And when they exhausted the topic of baseball—a feat Edward would probably assure him was impossible—there was always Star Trek.
With a light, post-pitching day ahead of him, Emmett pondered Edward's comment while he fixed his breakfast. Hmm, maybe a couple of eggs today and an English muffin . . . Relaxed and happy and in no rush, Emmett found himself humming as he spread the cherry jam across the nooks and crannies. Tucking his Oakleys behind his ears, Emmett filled his arms with his breakfast plate and a glass of juice, snagged his iPad from the counter, and set up his little slice of paradise at the table on the deck.
Ahhh. Life was sweet. Damn, he loved this place—a sentiment Emmett made sure he was unambiguous about with his agent. He'd grown up a Mariners fan and had every intention of staying right here as long as his arm held out.
He pierced the yolk and delivered a forkful of fried egg to his mouth, chasing it with a sweet, crunchy bite of muffin. Kale smoothie, you just don't do this for me. As he chewed, Emmett's gaze drifted to the empty chair beside his, a seat that had been occasionally filled in the past by a teammate or relative. Wouldn't it be nice if . . . Oh, go on, you sap. You know you want to . . . With a you're-a-damn-fool-Emmett-McCarty shake of his head, he tapped open his pictures and selected the third one he and Edward had taken together.
A screeching seagull drew Emmett's attention out to the water below, and he was struck by an awful realization—a man afraid of heights might not exactly share Emmett's exuberance for his thirty-fifth-floor view. Maybe we can work up to it somehow. He'd ask Jasper's advice next time they talked.
OH MY GOD! Seriously? Emmett laughed out loud at the ridiculous leap he'd just taken. As if Edward Cullen would be visiting his penthouse any time soon—or ever. Note to self: See point (a) above, re: pitching career.
Crap. He shoveled in the rest of his ruined meal and allowed Edward's baseball tidbit of the day to overrun his own snarly thoughts.
So you like those extra innings, eh?
Only a beat or two separated Emmett's direct message from Edward's response. Emmett couldn't help picturing Edward sitting at his desk, sipping coffee, perhaps smiling while he typed. As a spectator, yes. I'm guessing it's not so much fun as a player or closer.
Not so much. Or the starting pitcher waiting for the decision.
Fair enough. But even so, don't you think it's better than sudden death or worse—ending in a tie? What IS that?
I'm right with you there. I have no idea how grown men can battle for hours and settle for a draw. That would make me nuts. Damn char. limit
Ha! Maybe we should go back to our phones.
What about watching the debate you sparked? You know ESPN is retweeting your #whatilove posts?
Really? That's cool I guess.
He really doesn't know and doesn't seem to care. If you're not careful, you'll have color commentator job offers banging down your door!
[Dear readers, please insert a Facebook emoticon here for 2 straight-line eyes and a straight-line mouth]
What the hell was that? Emmett didn't even know how to Google it. Dude, I think your cat just walked across your keyboard.
Nope. That's my meh face. I have a job thx. And double meh to cats.
Agreed. I'd love to get a dog but it wouldn't be fair with all my travel.
Yeah, that'd be one lonely pup.
Not sure the team wives have it much better. Fuck! What the hell did I just do? Tick, tock, tick, tock . . . tick, tock.
The Twitter chat box had become their virtual Ouija board, fingertips balanced on the edges of the message indicator, the subconscious desires of two men sending the plastic disc on a treacherous ride across the game board. What would Edward's turn reveal?
I'm sure the sacrifice is worth it.
And there it was. Emmett guessed most people would agree. Looking in from the outside, the life of a baseball wife probably seemed glamorous and privileged, and indeed, in many ways it was. Fame and fortune and testosterone abounded, and that was all good for a while. For the ones who truly married for love—and Emmett would put that figure around fifty percent—surviving their husbands' road trips was certainly doable. Then again, the folks back home didn't know everything that went on when the boys took their show on the road, which was usually a very good thing. He felt for some of the wives, though, and he wondered if this was the deal they knew they'd signed up for. He loved his teammates in his own way, but Emmett didn't see most of them as marriage material, at least not now in the prime of their playing years. And how about you, Big Mac?
He shifted his gaze to the picture again, pictured the whole "Ward Cleaver-honey-I'm-home scene":
Edward, sitting at the table, looks up from grading a stack of papers, sets down his red pencil and smiles. "Hey."
Emmett's duffel slides to the floor with a thud. "Hey."
Edward stands. "You must be hungry. Can I heat up some leftovers?"
Emmett crosses the room in three giant steps. "Nope,"—grabs Edward and kisses him hard—"I've got everything I need right here."
Okay, that was a first. Emmett shook off the G-rated fantasy moment and attempted an answer. I suppose with the right match, any sacrifice is worth it.
He sent the message, sat back in his chair, and stared at what he'd just typed. And while he was marveling over what had just percolated from deep inside him, a word popped up on his screen.
Agreed.
XXX
Emmett was not a big fan of sharing a room or submitting to a curfew or being holed up in a hotel in downtown Cleveland, for that matter. Pet peeves aside, Fuller was a perfectly compatible roommate; the Renaissance wasn't bad, and Emmett understood the need for order and decorum. Not everyone on the team exercised self-discipline when left to his own devices.
"You ready to hit the breakfast buffet, Mac?" Fuller asked.
"Nah, I'll be down in a few," Emmett told him. "Go ahead without me."
"Need more time to put on your makeup?"
"Yes, and I have to pluck my eyebrows, so I might be a while."
"TMI, pal." Fuller chuckled and slid open the chain.
"Don't eat all the bacon."
"Must be nice to have a few days off."
"Yeah, thought I'd really let myself go. Maybe hit the Flats tonight for a couple pitchers of Buckeye IPA and start a bar fight or something . . ."
"Haha, okay. You do that. See ya downstairs."
The door clicked shut behind his teammate, and Emmett opened his Twitter account like a guy hiding a smoke from his wife. Just one hit, and I'll go. Sure enough, old reliable was waiting for him.
ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The game can be enjoyed on the simplest or most complex level.
C'mon, Edward. Let's play. When's the last time you enjoyed the game on a simple level? Something tells me you've been keeping stats from day one.
Very true. I always score the Seattle games, but on Mariners' days off, I just watch and don't think too much. How about you?
Same answer, different reason. I try to have dinner at my sister's on our off days. Sawyer and I usually watch whatever game is on.
Ah, your nephew. Nothing like seeing things through the eyes of a child.
They were getting dangerously close to puppies and wives again. He's a great kid. He has this pure love for the game, totally unjaded. It's kind of beautiful.
I remember that feeling. Pre-steroids, corked bats, and Barry Bonds' balls.
Emmett would've bet his last dollar that Edward was blushing big-time right now. Yeah, growing up sucks.
Yes and no. Maybe I know more than I'd like about a few things, but overall, the integrity of the game is still intact. Still a proud fan.
Mr. Spock is getting all romantic again.
Romance is not entirely illogical, Captain. Survival of the species and all…
Good God! How did they always end up on quicksand? Emmett sat with his fingers poised above the touchscreen, hoping something safe would pop into his head. Luckily, Edward took a second turn. So how's my daily blitz of #whatilove working?
You mean aside from getting you job offers?
Yes. I mean how's it working for YOU? That is why I'm doing it. Remember?
Emmett pictured Edward tugging on his hair, watching and waiting for an answer. He deserved something for all that effort.
You might be starting to get to me.
XXX
By the time Emmett got around to Monday's tweet, it was nearly time for Tuesday's. It bugged him that he felt guilty about not messaging Edward sooner, and it bugged him even more that he'd felt as if something had been missing all day. Not that Edward had ever asked for a response. No, this feeling of commitment—because let's be honest, that's exactly what it was—was coming from Emmett and Emmett alone.
He wasn't sure what to do with all that, but for starters, he headed straight to his desk when he returned home from the airport even though it was nearly one a.m.
ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball The game has a long and storied history, including desegregation before the rest of the world caught up.
Oh good, something light and breezy. Emmett snickered and favorited the tweet. Though he strongly suspected Edward was sleeping, he went ahead and messaged him anyway.
Score one for the Dodgers! Sadly, I think we still have room for progress where certain minorities are concerned.
Before sending, Emmett read and reread his message. Too transparent? Did Edward already suspect that Emmett belonged to a certain "minority"? Would Edward press him on his meaning? Was Emmett ready for that conversation?
No, he decided, deleting the second sentence. See you at Jimmy's at 8:30 a.m.
There. Safe. Send.
Author's Note: Edward's starting to get to him. Understatement of the year right there! *wink*
Why the heck is BOH posting today? you might be wondering. I'm celebrating a few things today. By any chance, have you seen the awesome rec Rita01tx wrote over at Rob Attack for Benched and Wild Pitch? Every Friday, Rita makes someone's day/week/month, and last Friday, she surprised me with a most wonderful review of both stories, bringing me some new readers *HELLO, YOU GUYS!* and just generally making me happy as hell! Here's the link to the Friday Feature Fic for May 15, after you doctor it up a bit: (robattack-dot-wordpress-dot-com). MWAH, RITA!
Secondly, today is Mr. H's birthday. Now, I'm not saying that what he wants more than anything today is another chapter of Wild Pitch, but we're in a festive mood here!
And finally, but not at all leastly, YOU GUYS are blowing me away with your love for these boys. And while I'm not a 'you-review-and-I'll-post-more' kind of gal in general, I do have to let you know that your thoughtful, insightful, sometimes hilarious, and sweet as heck posts DO motivate me and make me want to share more and more of the story with you. So here ya go! And yes, if all goes according to plan, I will post another one on Friday.
ALSO, slightly off topic, here is an enthusiastic plug for the Twific Meetup of 2015, which will be held in Philadelphia this June 25- 28 (or parts thereof). I will be there, participating in an author panel with some really talented ladies (some of you, in fact!) and possibly, maybe, if it works out, leading a little some'm some'm I'll tell you about when it comes together. After attending the regional meetup in NYC last summer, I'm a huge fan of these gatherings! I sure would love to meet you! If you are curious about the goings-on at such an event, message me or check out the TFMU 2015 blog: (twificmeetup-dot-com). After June 1, registration fees rise like a fanboy's shorts in a crowded locker room. *WINK*
XOXO ~BOH