Page 4 of The Strike Zone

Alice took my laptop and jogged over to the far-left corner where ad sales sat, dropping it with hers on one of the empty desks.

The marketing team was on the other side of sales, and social—where I worked—was sandwiched between them. With only eight of us, we were the smallest team on this floor, but arguably the busiest. The biggest team—public relations—sat down the right wall.

Finance, legal, HR were all on the floor above, while more customer-facing roles like ticket operations were the floor below. Anything directly relating to the stadium, or games and players, such as security or travel were all on the lower ground floors, nearer to the training facilities.

While the players might have a rest during the offseason, the front office spent the down months planning strategy for the following year, so it wasn’t a novelty that everyone was busy—it was always busy. But since Monday, there’d been a buzz in the air not present since last season—reminiscent of that first day of term mentality I used to get before each new school year.

Spring Training was over, and Opening Day was right around the corner.

The elevator doors pinged open right as Alice reached me and we made our way down to the huge atrium of the New York Lions headquarters.

The vast gold and black logo taking up most of the marble floor glinted in the sunlight as we walked over it, and past the empty plinth Penn Shepherd had installed, ready for the Commissioner’s Trophy to be placed on top. I wasn’t a superstitious person, but I still hadn’t decided whether keeping a pedestal for every single person to walk past each morning was tempting fate, or simply an example of the sheer amount of faith and hope he had in his players.

The gates were already heaving with tourists and Lions fans all lining up to enter the grounds. Over the past few weeks, each day had gotten busier and busier. Most of those waiting looked like they were heading for the store to buy their favorite player’s jersey or new season merch, though a large, excited group in the middle were clearly there for the first stadium tour of the day to begin.

Passing under the huge stone Lion arch, the two of us made our way along the boardwalk and past the giant Lions flags gently waving in the breeze.

In less than twenty-four hours, the Hudson on our right would be heaving with guys in canoes and dinghies waiting to catch any home run ball soaring over the stadium walls. Cyrus and Joey would be positioned on dry land ready to capture all the action and upload it to the social channels.

I briefly wondered if this year I’d convince my boss to get us a Lions dinghy to take out on the water and join them.

Next to me, Alice inhaled slowly and deeply. “Ahh, do you smell that?”

I sniffed the air but came up empty. I smelled nothing except the usual salty, dirty kind of way it was normally. “Nope. What?”

She threw me a wry smile. “The start of baseball season, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” I chuckled. “What does that smell like?”

“Sweat. Popcorn. Baseball pants.” She smirked, nudging an elbow into my side and nodding to the stadium wall on the left.

In the past few weeks, the groundskeepers had removed last year’s ginormous posters plastered against the paneling on the sides and replaced them with fresh ones. Each poster featured a player from the current season’s lineup.

Since Penn Shepherd’s ownership, it had become a popular marketing move to announce the start of the new season. With giant flags flying around the city with the players’ faces on them, and a takeover of the screens in Times Square, the New York Lions were virtually impossible to escape.

The message was clear—the Lions had been forgotten for far too long, it was time to remind the people of New York City there were three baseball teams in contention.

A couple of the posters already had fans posing by them, having their photos taken, and it wouldn’t be long before they were covered in graffiti, messages from fans, and scrawled love notes to their favorite players. It was encouraged by the club, and made for great content, especially from the more enthusiastic fans.

Everyone had their favorite players—Ace Watson, the Lions pitcher, was usually fighting for top spot on the sexiest man of the year list, along with Jupiter Reeves, the Lions’ third baseman and resident bad boy. Alice was a big fan of Jupiter Reeves, along with most of New York’s female population. Something to do with a body covered in tattoos, thick-set muscles, and constant scowl.

If I was choosing, I’d pick Parker King any day of the week.

Owner of the best butt at the Lions, according to an unofficial poll of everyone on the fifth floor, possibly even the entire MLB—otherwise known as the Lions starting catcher.

From the many yet all too brief encounters I’d had with him last year filming content, he was a good guy. Always smiling, and very easy on the eyes with a flop of light brown hair that always looked like he’d just run his fingers through it. He also didn’t seem to take himself too seriously, something I’d quickly learned was rare among elite sportsmen.

I didn’t know a ton about him, beyond what I heard around the club, which was mostly from the girls, but he was usually found cracking a joke or two with Ace.

Alice nodded ahead to where a larger-than-usual group was gathered in front of one. “Who are they crowding around?”

“Ten bucks it’s Reeves,” I replied right as a gap opened up in front of the poster. It wasn’t Reeves. “Huh, I stand corrected.”

Yeah, I would definitely pick Parker King.

His face was usually hidden behind the catcher’s cage mask, but here on the board, his smile beamed out, green eyes glinting mischievously under his Lions baseball cap.

Parker King, along with Ace Watson, Lux Weston, and Tanner Simpson, made up a small group of players known as the Lions’ fab four and were widely regarded as the future of the club. The four of them trained together, hung out together, and when they weren’t on the road hopping from hotel to hotel, lived together.

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