“Hey, hot shot!” he yelled loud enough to echo through the fucking stadium.
I exhaled and opened my eyes in time to watch him wrap a towel around his waist and head my way.
“What was going on with you today?” he asked. “Your little lady giving you shit?” His smile was smug, and the hollow laugh that sounded like it rolled directly out of his chest was condescending. “I told ya, never a good idea for a rookie to have a girl, always gets in the way,” he continued without any provoking. “Guess I’ll see you at Sunoco soon. I take premium unleaded, by the way.”
I closed my eyes, continued rinsing the soap from my hair and let his words roll down my back with the warm streams of water. Let it go, Calvin, he’s not worth it!
His laughter trailed behind him as he left the room, and I opened my eyes, shut off the water and grabbed my towel. I didn’t take much time to get dressed and left to meet Marty with my hair still wet.
“C’mon, I’ll buy you a beer,” Marty said as he climbed into the passenger seat of my Porsche. The car roared to life, and I spun my tires for the hell of it just as Ace walked towards his car.
Marty offered plenty words of wisdom, empathy, and advice, but I wasn’t sure how many I actually heard. He was a good guy, not a womanizer, not a heavy drinker, and certainly not an asshole like Ace Newman, but for some reason, I didn’t respect him the same way I did Ace. Even pissed off at him, I still had respect for the man.
I think Marty got the hint I wasn’t really listening once we pulled into the parking lot of Home Plate. The valet took my keys, gushed all over me in the same way that he had over Ace the first time I’d been here. For some reason, that gave me a strange satisfaction.
Inside the club, I received the same treatment that Ace had before. The hostess was quick to recognize me and took me to the VIP section where I received that fateful lap dance from the nasty blonde Ace was finger fucking. I slid into the booth, claiming it as my own and felt an even stronger, yet not so strange satisfaction.
“Two beers,” I ordered quickly from the brunette I vaguely recognized from that blurry night as Marty slid into the booth next to me.
I knew the television screens that surrounded the sports themed bar would soon blast the replays of the earlier scrimmage game, if they hadn’t already. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to be,” I smirked to Marty as if he had the ability to read my mind.
“Shit happens,” he mumbled and then took a long swig of his beer.
Frank arrived with a smile and an energy that felt nothing like my own. It was as if it hadn’t even bothered him that we had such a rough day, but then again, he didn’t play a position that was scrutinized as much as me.
“I’ve gotta make a phone call,” I said, excusing myself from the booth.
I dialed Whitney, and when she answered I wanted to climb through the phone and melt under her sweet voice. “Hey, babe.”
I jumped straight to the point. “I stopped for a beer with the guys. It was a pretty bad fucking day.”
Her voice went from sweet to sour in an instant. “Oh great, so you’re going back to hanging out with Ace and his whores now that Holly’s gone?” she snapped.
Jesus Christ, that fucker just keeps ruining my mood!
“I’m not with Ace. I’m with Marty and Frank,” I snapped back.
I stopped listening to her once her tone hit a certain pitch; it was like a dog whistle just falling on deaf ears. I couldn’t win for losing, and tonight I guess it was a fucking lose, lose!
“I won’t be late, I just need to cool off,” I said with forced patience into the phone, “I love you.” I hung up while she was still ranting about something.
Marty and Frank were arguing over another baseball statistic, a past time that I guess kept them both happy, but annoyed the fuck out of me and anyone else who was close enough to listen. “What do you think?” Frank pulled me into the argument as I sat down. “Who’s the better pitcher, Nolan Ryan or Cy Young?” They both fell silent and waited eagerly for my response, like somehow my opinion was going to be treated as gospel.
“Young won 511 of his 749 games, pitching over 7,300 innings. He had one hell of an arm, but Nolan Ryan was a machine, pushing out fastballs, throwing seven no-hitters and won the strikeout title 11 times.” I spouted out my useless knowledge of some of the greatest baseball pitchers of all time. “So, I guess I would say Nolan Ryan,” I gave my final answer.
“But, he never won a Cy Young award,” Marty pushed, obviously the one who was arguing that pitcher as the best.
I shook my head, realizing that the argument was going to continue no matter how I interjected. “They are both better than me, that’s all I know.” I laughed at my own remark to lighten the gloom on their faces and then guzzled half of my beer quickly to ease my pain of the day.
“Hey, Ace!” Frank called out, waving him over to my booth. Yes, my booth!
“Thanks for keeping my seat warmed up, boys.” He smirked before sliding in next to me as if we were best friends. His hand reached for my shoulder and squeezed as I refused to make eye contact. “I’m sorry I was hard on ya, kid, I know you had shit to deal with at home,” his words felt like tiny needles digging into my ears.
“You realize that the only mess I had at home was yours,” I snapped back sarcastically and offered up the same crooked smug smile he was famous for. I watched his jaw jerk back and forth, and his eyes twitch as he worked on a response.
C’mon, make it good. Can’t let the kid, the hot shot, get the better of you. Can ya, Ace?
“If you’re referring to Holly, she’s the one who clamped her small town lips around my big league dick and wouldn’t let go,” he finally said.
Marty began pushing towards Frank to move from the booth, and after a few good nudges, Frank got the hint, and they were both gone and moved to seats at the bar, away from whatever they feared was about to explode between the two of us.
“That’s just it, women line up to suck your dick, why fuck with my girlfriend’s best friend?” I asked.
The brunette who brought my first round showed up to drop off two more beers and a couple shots of Patrón. Her perky smile quickly washed out once she realized the tension floating between Ace and myself, and quickly left, leaving only the drinks and the wafting odor of her cheap perfume.
“You were there. She practically jumped on my dick. What do you care?” Ace barked and then gripped his beer. He leaned back in the booth, relaxing as he took a long swig from the bottle. “Is that your little side piece or something?”
My fists clenched, and my jaw tightened as the offense of his words fuel my anger. “She’s like a sister to me, Ace, and Whitney thinks she may be falling for you,” I blurted out.