Page 55 of Third Time Lucky

Chapter Nine

Joey

Beer was the right call.

I’m loving everything about this decision, from the conversation to the atmosphere. But for the first time since I started visiting my brother before I decided to move here, I’m grateful that I don’t see anyone I recognize at the pub. This is already the best date I’ve ever had.

Not a date.

Whatever. I’m not going to analyze it into the ground tonight. All that would do is kill my buzz.

When we entered the bar, Elliot wore his baseball cap and pulled it down over his eyes. He tensed every time someone glanced our way and I realized he was worried about being recognized. I’ve seen those Costner movies, so I know athletes are basically rock stars, and I understood why he was wary. But we wouldn’t have any fun until he relaxed, so I went ahead and introduced him to Ransom’s Beard.

Yes. His beard has its own Instagram account. And since the most recent post claimed that “he” was currently taking some time for himself in New Zealand, no one would be looking for him here.

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.”

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