Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“I might want some reps at second,” I say. My contract is up at the end of the year. Going into free agency with slightly more defensive versatility wouldn’t be bad. If it means us working together, well…I don’t hate that either.
He smiles. “You looking to switch it up?” Asked with an undercurrent I shouldn’t be thinking about when I should be focused on my next at-bat. Or, really, thinking about during the game at all. “Definitely,” I answer. I’m not talking about baseball positions though.
“Positional flexibility is really important,” he says, solemnly, like ice wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Except for his faint smirk. So he’s not talking about baseball either.
We descend the dugout steps. I’m grateful for the chatty press of our teammates. I can’t risk looking at him. Not when what I’m thinking is as obvious as the logo on my hat. I want you. All the things I can’t say. “Agreed,” I say, belatedly.
He draws an audible breath. “Good to know, Chason.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
And we’ve negotiated one of the most awkward and essential convos two guys need to have. Even though we can’t do a thing about it.
Still, the good mood lasts as we change for the flight, load the bus to the airport, then ourselves onto the team jet. I answer my agent’s texts as we wait for take-off.
Maddox: Tell me things. Is Seattle treating you right? Your stats seem to say so.
Adam: Can’t complain.
Maddox: You never do. But seriously? Everything okay? Need help with anything? How’s the living situation?
I turn toward the window, angling the phone so no one can see. He’s not just my agent. He’s a friend, so I write back with a little…hint.
Adam: Better than I expected. A lot.
Maddox: There’s a story there, Adam. You’ll tell me when I take you out to dinner next time I’m in town.
Adam: Maybe I will.
Even though I can’t. Not the whole story. Right now, this hazy, warm feeling lasts through the flight and for the drive home to Derek’s place. The easy vibe carries us up the elevator as we chat about the next series, down the hall as we talk about favorite players from years ago, to his front door as he slides in the key.
We’re barely in the front hallway when he says, “You hear that?”
A telltale noise. A drip-drip-drip. Water.
We check the place, starting with the bathroom, and find nothing: no overflowing faucet or a running toilet. No issues in Derek’s bedroom. I haven’t been in here much, but it’s as neat as always, homey with a big bed and a soft gray comforter.
Which means the noise must be coming from—fuck. My room.
When I walk in, the room looks okay, except for the center of the bed, which is soaked. Water drips steadily from the light fixture above it, leaving a splotch on the bedspread.
Great. Just what I want to come home to. Home, a word I’m not unpacking right now. And I feel bad that it’s my room causing problems. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Derek says, lightly. “I’ll hit the breaker.”
He leaves. A second later, there’s a flicker, then the lights in the bedroom and bathroom power off. He returns, holding a pile of towels.
The bed makes a vague squelching noise as we strip it down. “What do you think did it?” I ask as I peel back the sodden sheets and toss them in the laundry basket.
“You’re obviously cursed,” he teases.
“Shut up,” I say, smiling.
“I mean, seriously, you didn’t need to apologize for a leak,” he says. “Unless you planned it.”
“Yep, you caught me.” This must have been going on for a while, because the room smells vaguely mildewed. “For real, what do you think caused it?”
He shrugs. “Leaky pipe. Maybe the lady upstairs took one of those self-care baths and left the faucet running.”
“Self-care bath?” I ask, because I’m sure he doesn’t mean what I’m thinking.
Maybe he does because he laughs. “You know, candles, glass of wine, that kind of thing. I’m more of a shower guy.”
I’d like to see his self-care in the shower.
“Yeah, big fan of showers myself too,” I deadpan. Because as ballplayers we take an almost excessive number per day.
“I meant long ones, Chason.” He smirks. “There’s a rainfall fixture in mine if you ever want to check it out.”
Which sounds like…an invitation.
“Anyway,” he says, “I’ll call maintenance in the morning.”
I press my palm against the bed. It squishes. Yuck. “Mattress looks pretty well done for.”
Derek presses his hand down too and cringes as water wells up. “This is not self-care.”
“Definitely not. Guess I’m sleeping on the couch,” I say, gesturing toward the living room—and my temporary bed.
His couch is comfortable by couch standards. Not if I’m going to spend a few days there while the leak gets fixed before I can get a new mattress. “Maybe there’s a hotel nearby.”