XXX CHAPTER 21 XXX
The Mariners milled about the private terminal, catching last-minute snippets of phone conversations with wives, girlfriends, and kids while the ground crew fueled their jet. The extended road trips were hardest on the newlyweds, and no other professional sports team traveled as many miles as the Seattle Mariners, with their nearest opponent 600 miles away. Between the travel and the anti-batter reputation of Safeco, the Mariners suffered a long history of trouble attracting and keeping talented players happy.
That wasn't an issue right now for Big Mac McCarty; he was one happy pitcher this morning, and he was itching to share his victory with the man who'd helped make it happen. Time zones weren't Emmett's friend right now, though. Back home it was . . . ugh, 6:38 a.m, and it was almost time to board.
With no better option, Emmett shot Edward a quick text. We did it, Coach! Heading to Houston soon. Text me when you're awake. Before sliding his phone into his pocket, Emmett sent one last message: Thank you.
His phone buzzed before he let go. I'm awake.
Finding himself a private corner, Emmett dialed Edward's number, grinning when Edward picked up.
"You've reached the annoying bastard. Please leave a message."
"You're up early."
"I'm not up, just awake."
Edward is lying in bed. Perfect.
"Tell me about last night," Edward said, his voice still sounding sleepy.
"Easy as a ten-dollar hooker. It was the first inning all night long. Never once felt tight . . . reminded me of my college days."
"That's really fantastic, Emmett. I'm so happy for you. What'd Trey have to say?"
Emmett chuckled. Poor Edward wasn't quite letting go of his little crush on Trey. "He wants to have your babies."
"Perfect. My work here is done."
"Are you kidding? Your work has just begun! You're not just my running coach anymore; you're my pre-game guru. Hope you're up for the task."
Edward's joyous laughter pumped into Emmett's ear. "Wow. On call morning and night? You're lucky I don't start work until August."
"August, huh? I might have to have a chat with your boss and see if I can push that back to mid-October. I plan to take this team to the World Series."
"Do you, now?"
"I don't see why not."
"If anyone can, it's you, Emmett."
Emmett swallowed over the lump in his throat. "Your confidence in me is . . ."
"Well-founded. Infinite. Contagious, I hope."
"I was thinking more along the lines of outlandish."
"Not at all. It's completely logical."
"Of course it is. I almost forgot I was speaking to a Vulcan."
"Half-Vulcan, or I wouldn't be so happy for you right now."
"Right." Emmett had practiced what he was about to say, but still, his tongue suddenly felt thick and unwilling to cooperate. He forged ahead because the alternative—sitting on a plane for the next two hours berating himself for wussing out—was not an option. "I'd like to show my appreciation by taking you out to dinner this Thursday, if that's okay."
A long pause followed Emmett's offer. Emmett stood, giving his heart more distance to plummet. Had Edward seen through the thinly veiled excuse? Had he pegged Emmett for the coward he was? Emmett dragged his sweaty palms one at a time across his shorts, switching the phone from the left ear to the right to no avail. Edward wasn't speaking into either.
"Hello? Did I lose you?" Emmett checked his phone—still connected.
"No."
"No, I didn't lose you or no, I can't buy you dinner?"
"No, I'm still here. Sorry, I was pinching myself again."
Emmett rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Jesus, this guy was putting him through the wringer. "So that's a yes, then?"
"Sure, I mean, if you want. Don't you usually have dinner with your sister's family on your day off? I don't want to mess anything up."
"I'll take Sawyer to the batting cage after lunch. He'll like that better anyway."
"What a lucky boy."
"Nah, I'm a lucky uncle. He's a great kid. They're calling us to board now. I gotta run. Oh, and Edward?"
"Yeah?"
"Stop pinching yourself. You're gonna get all bruised up."
XXX
ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Every field is a unique slice of Americana.
Yes, and Minute Maid is the most hitter-friendly slice of Americana in the league. Thanks, but no thanks! Bring back the Astrodome!
What are you complaining about? You're not pitching in Houston!
I'm partial to Safeco. Plus life on the road isn't exactly what it's cracked up to be.
So you've said. Although I'm still a bit stuck on the 8 guys + 2 beds equation.
Emmett laughed out loud, and Fuller looked over and gave him a glare.
"Sorry, man, did I interrupt your channel surfing? Carry on."
"Why don't you just go in the bathroom or something if you want to sexy-text your girlfriend?"
"Classy." This was the moment. He and Tammy had worked out their story, and there was no better time than the present. "Tammy and I broke up."
Fuller's hand froze in midair, the TV blessedly settling on one channel. "Shit. Sorry." Fuller turned back to the television and clicked about ten more times before his conscience got the better of him. "You want to talk or something?"
Emmett grinned at the terrified look in Fuller's eyes. "No, thank you. I'll live."
"Okay." Much relieved, Fuller let go of his tight breath and clicked the remote a few more times until he found something he liked.
Emmett turned back to his iPad. Right now, the math is 2 beds + 2 guys.
Who's your roommate? Edward fired back immediately.
Fuller.
Yeah? He seems like a good guy. Do you two get along well?
Most of the time. He's a little freaked out right now.
Do I want to know why?
I don't know, Edward. Do you? Bombs away! I just told him Tammy and I split, and he's afraid to look at me.
Wow. Sorry to hear that.
That he won't look at me?
No! You're exasperating! Are you okay?
Emmett was laughing again and starting to feel giddy. He'd nicked away at half of the lie, and damn, did it feel liberating! Yes, thanks. I'm okay.
Weren't you and Tammy together for a while?
He knows exactly how long we've been together. Yes, over 2 years.
Long time! Come on, Edward. Cast your line a little farther, and see if you get any nibbles. I'm here if you want to talk.
Not much to say. We're friends. No drama, no scenes, no cheating.
That's good. The last thing you need is a disruption.
Tell me about it, Mr. Disruption. So true.
Did this happen before you pitched Sunday?
Yes. Sat. night.
Wow. You pitched your best game in 4 outings right afterward? Pretty damn impressive.
They pay me to pitch. Nobody cares about my love life.
I do.
Emmett jerked away from his iPad as if the thing had bitten him. He'd give anything to see Edward's face right now. Had he typed those words slowly and thoughtfully and sent them with great purpose? Or was he hasty with his response and now regretting it? Or neither? Maybe he was simply referring to his new role in Emmett's pre-game routine.
Seeing as Emmett would respond completely differently to all of the scenarios, he really would've liked to know. And as the seconds turned to minutes, the awkward chasm grew between them. Emmett considered a wide variety of responses ranging from sweet to sarcastic before typing, Thanks. He figured Edward could fit that to match his own meaning.
Would you like me to stop pestering you about it? I'm not trying to be nosy.
I know. It's okay. Not a sensitive topic. As I said, we're friends. We talked it out and decided we both deserved better.
She sounds like a highly rational woman.
Yes, one of her best qualities. She and Spock would get along quite well.
I'm afraid she's not my type.
Edward's last message caused Emmett to laugh so hard, he nearly slammed his head against the wall. How tragic would that be? Tammy running from Emmett straight into the arms of another gay man—none other than the man Emmett wanted!
Truth be told, I think she's got her eye on someone already, so don't worry.
Ouch.
Whatever.
Well, for what it's worth, I'm sure you have a long line of women to choose from.
Emmett was about done with the false front. At this point, the only way to tell no lies was to stop talking. Good pep talk, Coach. Talk tomorrow?
XXX
I don't get it. I thought one game of chess was supposed to take hours. That last game took all of 12 minutes.
Don't get discouraged, Emmett. You're getting better!
Really? How can you tell?
It took me five moves to get your queen that time.
Go me!
You have time for another game?
Sure...unless you slip up and it takes you too long to beat me.
The length of our games is purely a function of how well you strategize.
Huh, maybe it's a function of how good a teacher you are and how quickly I improve. Teasing Edward had quickly become Emmett's favorite new pastime, but only because Edward so quickly took the bait each time.
HA! So I'm screwed either way? If I win quickly, it means I'm a poor teacher?
Now you're catching on, Prof. You do know the ultimate test, right?
Please enlighten me.
Visualizing the eye roll Emmett had no doubt just received stretched his grin even wider. When I finally beat you, you will have reached the pinnacle of chess coachinghood.
That's impossible. I might as well resign right now. You're not ever going to beat me at chess.
You're awfully sure of your skills.
On the contrary. I merely admitted I'm not a good enough teacher!
Emmett's grin grew into a full-on belly laugh, but nobody was paying any attention to him in the corner of the room. Touché! You remind me of that conundrum—if God is all-powerful, can He make a rock so heavy He can't lift it?
So I'm God in this story?
Yes, and I'm the one with rocks in my head.
Hardly. You plot out your battle plan every time you pitch. I have to believe you're always several steps ahead of your batter.
On a good night, yes.
Same thing with chess.
But you keep messing up my plan! Understatement of the night.
As Edward filled Emmett's iPad screen with lessons about short-term tactics versus long-term strategy, Emmett could only imagine the animation on his friend's face. This was a conversation better held in person, where Emmett could experience firsthand the passion for the game flaring out of Edward's sexy green eyes. He pictured the two of them lazing on Emmett's bed, naked and relaxed with the chess board between them, the hours stretching in front of them, a roaring fire at the foot of the bed . . .
That's where knowing your opponent comes into play. You've got to jump inside his head.
Oh, Professor, if you only knew what was going on inside my head right now . . . Sorry, Edward. I have to pack up now. Looks like that next game will have to wait.
No problem.
See you tomorrow night at Capital Grille.
Looking forward to it. Safe flight home.
Author's Note: Looks like they're about to have another non-date! :)
Looking for a fantastic read? Check out Planetblue's Crazy Like That...she has my head spinning right now!
In the mood for a sweeter Bella? Shadow Masen's Come Back Tomorrow will keep YOU coming back for more!
Both stories are climaxing now at a laptop near you! Enjoy!
Have a happy, safe Fourth of July, all!
XXX ~BOH