Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Elliot was stunned. He had no idea that the account existed, which doesn’t surprise me at all. And he was too distracted by it to wonder how I knew about it, so I didn’t have to admit to cyber-stalking him the other night.
When he finally relaxed and turned his cap around to down his first beer of the night, I called it a win.
Since then he’s been telling me behind-the-scenes stories about players he knows that are funny as hell and highly informative.
For example, I now know that somewhere in the world there’s a shortstop who wears his girlfriend’s bra for luck, and not in the place you’d expect him to. I now know that a man I’ve seen in a dozen sexy underwear ads and billboards is also a compulsive knitter with his own Etsy shop—under an anonymous name, of course, so it doesn’t hurt his macho street cred.
I’ve also learned that Elliot likes puzzles as well as mysteries. That he taught himself how to cook and is a comparative lightweight in the drinking department. But after a few samples, he likes the spicy Firecracker brew the best. JD told me there was a story behind its creation, but I can’t remember what it is.
“More,” I say, tapping the bar with my fist. “I need more embarrassing locker room info. It’s turning me into a fan. I’m going dark side. I swear, next year I’m buying season tickets.”
His laugh is a short puff of air. “This is what’s turning you into a fan?”
“That and the uniforms.” I lift my eyebrows suggestively. “What about you? I notice you’ve been avoiding the subject. Any embarrassing stories or habits you’d like to share?”
“I don’t wear a bra, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Elliot.”
“Fine. They call me Reverend Ransom.”
Now I’m confused. “I thought they called you Flash.”
“The fans call me Flash. My team occasionally calls me Rev.”
So many possibilities spring to mind. “Please tell me this involves a priest costume and a sex tape. Wait, don’t tell me.” I wait a beat. “Okay fine, tell me.”
He smirks. “Nothing like that. Mainly it’s because I don’t do this anymore.”
“This?”
He gestures around the bar. “Go out to a bar or club with them when we have the night off. Get laid. Also, I’m the one the rookies come to when they need to talk about their issues. I have no idea why. So Rev.”
Rev, Flash, EJ. The man has a lot of nicknames.
I like Elliot.
“Why don’t you?” I ask. “Go out and get laid, I mean. You’re handsome, unattached and still in your twenties for a few more years. Why not enjoy it?”
Practice what you preach, babysitter.
“I used to. In college, before I was signed, and for a few months after, I went out all the time. The attention was nice. At first. Fans wanted pictures and bought me drinks. Women… Like you said, I’m a guy and everything works. It went to my head, I think. Being wanted.”
I can only imagine. “What happened?”
He grimaces, taking a drink. “Nothing. Or maybe the same thing, one too many times. I watched my teammates make bad decisions that fucked up their lives and their game over a few hours of fun. It didn’t seem worth it to me.”
“That tracks.” His career meant so much to him. He wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.
“Other than that one night with Rue’s mom, I focused on the things that mattered. My game. The fans. The kids who looked up to us. But the women?” He shook his head. “The ones who kept lists of ballplayers they wanted to take home? They weren’t that happy when I took myself out of their rotation. But some of the things they said made me realize I’d done the right thing. It wasn’t me they wanted. Not really.”
“Oh, Elliot.” I shake my head at his naivete. “You live in a land of mirror-free denial if you think they were upset because of some list. Have you seen you?”
His ears turn red and I’m fascinated, but it doesn’t stop me.
“You’re the whole package,” I continue. “Good guy. Talented but humble. Great with kids. Not horrifying to look at.”
Nice save. A little late, but you tried.
“Not horrifying?”
“Needy much? Fine, you’re incredibly handsome and you have a great ass. Feel better?”
The red has spread to his cheeks. “I wasn’t fishing.”
“Don’t lie.” I smack my hand down on the counter. “We’re riding the honesty train now, son.”
You told him about the honesty train? Stop. Drinking.
“Honesty train?” He downs his beer. “I don’t know if this is the kind of conversation we should have in a bar.”
“What kind of conversation is that?”
“About us. About sex.”
I lean forward so I won’t slide off my stool in shock. About us and sex? Together? Is that what we’re talking about? “I’m not sure where this is going, but for the record, those are exactly the kinds of conversations people have here. There’s video proof that I’m right on this.”