My girl… shit. I turned the water on cold.
“I thought since she’d told me, she told you too. I thought that was why you called me out, but then realized it wasn’t when you gave good feedback about my swing.”
I was only half listening. So my sweet little Holly wasn’t so sweet. She lied, not to this tool, but to me. She went out with this guy twice, blowing me off in the process. What else didn’t I know about sweet little Holly? Was she like everyone else, after all?
“She told me you two were just friends, with benefits actually. But, that you weren’t interested in anything more, nor was she with you.” He added to the pot of disappointing information.
“Yeah, that’s all it is,” I said, keeping my voice casual.
“So, no hard feelings?”
“Nah. Why would there be? She’s just a piece of ass. That’s all. Have at her. I’m growing tired of her anyway.”
Just as the words fell out of my mouth, Calvin stepped into the shower. I wanted to take them back, sort of. Another part of me wanted to leave them out there where they belonged. I was stupid to think there could ever be anything more between Holly and me.
That wasn’t my style anyway. I didn’t need a girl cramping my style. That was Calvin’s gig, maybe even Marty’s if he ever finds the right one. Ace Newman is a loner, a Beast, and you can’t tame a Beast.
All the work Gary had done to loosen up my muscles had gone to hell. I was even tighter now than before. This news had ruined my mood and bound me up like a wad of rubber bands.
I dressed, walked out of the locker room, and found Calvin standing in the corridor. “What the fuck do you want?” I snapped at him.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You looked pretty upset over the whole Holly and Jack thing.”
“I didn’t realize there was a whole Holly and Jack thing. You telling me there’s more?” I laughed, but the sound was bitter even to my own ears.
“No. I didn’t know they’d gone out again,” he said.
“But you did know about the first time?”
“Yeah. I was there. Me and Whit. It wasn’t a date exactly. Jack was with me. Holly was with me. We drank. No big deal.”
“I knew Whitney wanted me out of the picture, but I didn’t realize you did too.” I glared at him as he walked beside me, practically running just to keep up.
“She didn’t stay out late with him after we left. An hour maybe. She said they had pizza.” Calvin’s words weren’t helping my situation, or my mood.
“So, you left her with him?” I asked, stopping to stare him in the eye.
“Yes.” He gave me a hard look. “Why the hell do you care?”
That shut me up because I didn’t know how to answer him.
“Look,” Calvin said, lightening his tone. “Holly is Whitney’s best friend, and she wants her to be happy, and she knows being one of your groupies won’t do that.”
“Whitney wants?” I laughed. “Look, it’s no big deal. She can fuck anyone she wants,” I added and turned to walk away.
“Yeah. She can. You do. She deserves better,” he yelled behind me.
I circled on him. “I’ve been nothing but honest with her. Honest. That means she knew right up front that I don’t do relationships, and I won’t be stuck in anyone’s corner.”
He took a step towards me. “Guess what? You can say that all you want, but you know she’s special. And you know she’s good for you. If you weren’t such an arrogant asshole, you might realize that.”
I turned to walk away, not wanting to hear any more of this.
“Go ahead and run,” he called after me.
I slammed through the doors and into the hot Florida sun. The shuttle was on my right, so I went left, heading around the building. It was hot, much hotter than usual. My collar made my neck itch, and my hat felt sweaty against my head. My face was on fire. What the fuck was this feeling?
I didn’t want to go back to the hotel, not if Holly was going to be there. I called a cab and sat down on the curb, listening to the other guys pile into the shuttles. When my cab arrived, I had him drop me on Seabreeze Boulevard. I walked into the club Luke and I had been in a week or so ago and found the place virtually empty.
“What can I get ya, sweetie?” The bartender smiled as she leaned over the bar towards me.
“Patrón. Miller Lite in the bottle, and a Jack and Coke.”
“Wow. Bad day, babe?” she asked as she poured.
“You could say that.”
“You want some music or something? The TV?” she asked politely.
I shook my head.
The shot was the first to go, a toast to myself — time is never wasted if you’re wasted all the time. I gripped my beer, chased the tequila, and then sipped my Jack and Coke.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I knew it was her. There was no one else who would be calling, unless it was Eve to tell me Dad was dead. Either way, I didn’t want to talk to either of them.
The jukebox kicked on to Lynyrd Skynyrd, instantly lifting my mood. “Now that’s good drinking music,” I yelled to the bartender who was on the other side of the room loading the vending machine with snack cakes.
“You need another shot?” she asked, walking back towards me on my side of the bar.
She was short, petite, blonde, and her tits weren’t bad. She wasn’t exactly my type, but then again, who gave a shit. “You know who I am?”
Her eyes squinted as she stared at me. Her mouth curled. “I don’t. Should I?”
“You should if you know anything about baseball.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t really.”
I pointedly looked at her shirt, a striped jersey with the Yankee’s emblem on it. “Maybe you should take that shirt off then. It’s false advertising.”
She laughed and made her way around to the back of the bar. “Another shot? You driving?”
“Nope. I’ll take a cab so keep ‘em coming. Why don’t you do one with me and take off that misleading shirt.” I smirked.
She rolled her eyes. “Shirt’s staying on, but I’ll do a shot with you.”
Cocky. Nice.
Chatting like this made me feel more like me. No feelings being shared. No fucking emotions. Just two people getting to know each other for a few minutes.
“I’ll bet you your shirt that if you turn on the TV right now, you’ll find me on one of the sports channels.”
It was a dirty trick, but it worked. During spring training, all the TV crews loitered at the fields, and any time of the day, one of the channels had coverage of the practice, the rehabilitation, the scrimmages.
“And if you’re not?” she asked.
“Name it.”
“Fifty bucks.” She smirked. It was obvious she didn’t think I could afford the bet. It was even more apparent she thought she’d win if I did offer up the cash.
“Make it a hundred.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Deal.”
She picked up the remote and turned on the TV above the bar. “Which channel?” she asked.
I reached over the bar, took the remote from her hand, and switched it to ESPN. I lifted my chin to the screen. “That’s me.”