Page 38 of The Strike Zone

“You think?”

“Yup. So, what are you going to do? That was a cool move with the coffee.” He snorted out.

I shoved him hard in the shoulder. “Oh, fuck off.”

“What? You didn’t know.”

I groaned. On our first day in Chicago when one of the travel staff had come around for our coffee order, I didn’t think twice before I gave them Scout’s nausea-inducing morning special. If you’re wondering how I remembered something so complicated, I’d ask you how could I forget?

The thing was burned in my memory.

Anyway, I thought it was funny.

I knew she’d be down with the rookies making her TikToks and taking them out to get the coffee order. And I thought it was cute that one of them would ask for hers. I figured she’d see it and think,Wow, Parker’s so amazing, he remembered my particularly disgusting order, he must really like me. Maybe I should rethink my decision to not date him.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, the coffee order was posted as part of the reel on the Lions TikTok.

I was outed as having the most repulsive coffee order anyone has ever seen.

The post went viral.

In three days, it clocked up seven million views. I was publicly mocked by the Jimmys FallonandKimmel, by sports journalists who questioned my diet, regimen, and dedication to the club, and by the guys in the locker room who said that coffee order had clearly gone straight to my butt.

An amazing butt I’d hard earned through thousands—no,millions—of squats.

I hadn’t spoken to Scout, but every time I’d seen her, whether it had been by the field or on the plane, or walking through the lobby of the hotel we’d stayed in, she’d smiled at me. A sly smile, with a crooked curve of her lip. A smile I chose to interpret as her telling me how funny and cute I was, but she was funnier.

A smile which held a little secret only the two of us knew.

A coffee order–shaped secret.

I hadn’t seen her at all yesterday, or the day before that. Now I come to think about it, I hadn’t seen her properly since our flight from Chicago to Milwaukee when I’d walked down the plane to find my coach, and she’d been a couple of seats farther along.

“Something else will be news next week,” Ace added, pulling on my bag and dragging me over to the reception desk. “Come on.”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” greeted Pablo from behind the desk, his balding head looking shinier than usual.

“Morning, Pabs, how’re you doin’?” saluted Ace.

“Never better. I’m living the dream, especially this week. Well played, boys, well played. You got some good hits in, Parker.”

“Thanks, Pabs. Thanks for holding down the fort while we were gone,” I added, swiping my access card against the reader.

“It’s what I do best. How’re you feeling about the games this week?”

“Goddamn awesome,” Ace replied, flexing his bicep. “We got this.”

Over the next few days, we were playing the Yankees. It would be the first time we’d play them this season, and given last season we lost 90 percent of the games every time we met, the air should have been thick with anticipation.

Instead, we were buzzing off the best start we’d ever had. We were eleven games without a loss.

On the flip side, we were going to lose at some point.

Statistically there’s no way we were going for much longer without a few foul balls and thrown away runs, but it would be better all-around if we didn’t lose to the Yankees. We were playing the Nationals after that; we could lose to them instead.

“So, what’s the news here?” Ace leaned across the reception desk, propping his chin on his fist. “What happened while we were gone?”

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