Page 1 of Naked

The seafood sounds delicious

Hunter

Iwas so bored. But I wasn’t allowed to be bored. So I shook my damn head and focused on the batter. Good thing too, because he connected with the ball and sent in zinging to my left. I just barely dodged, stuck out my hand, and caught the sucker.

The crowd booed.Again.

Like I cared. I actually fed off their disgruntled anger. It meant we were kicking their team’s ass. Which was also why I was so fucking bored. That, and our pitcher was having a mind games contest instead of just throwing the damn ball. I hated when Matthews did this. It dragged the game out and made it no fun at all.

Besides, we had this. We were up by eight runs with an inning to go. I’d say anything could happen—because it's baseball and anything can happen, which is why we all love this sport so damn much—but Seattle had no heart today. They phoned this game in and wanted it to end as much as we did.

If only someone would tell Matthews.

Our new manager, Isaac Anson, trotted out to the mound.Thank fuck.The rest of the infield circled up, patting Matthews on the back as he was sent away. Anson cocked an eyebrow at me. “Don’t say it.”

I threw up my hands and shrugged. “I don’t have to. We’re all thinking it.” Thinking he should have pulled Matthews an inning ago and that the last four batters were an unneccesary torture. Wes, our catcher, snorted. He was a tall goofball and we got on alright, even if he was a lot older than me.

Erik, our second baseman and de facto leader, put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get these last two outs and go get some dinner. Zoe told me about a seafood place right around the corner from the hotel.”

Wes clutched his belly. “Seafood. God yes. Get in my belly little shrimpies.”

Anson rolled his eyes and stepped to the side to let our new closer, Everett Anson, onto the mound. “Strike ‘em out.” He dropped the baseball into his hand with a nod, and a sharp look at the rest of us. “Talk about seafoodafterthe game.”

While Everett warmed up I stretched my legs and wondered what kind of fish they had in Seattle. My favorite part of being a St. Pete Manta meant that I got to eat seafood whenever I wanted. Wes and Erik both loved to fish and took me out with them a few times. I wasn’t technically the new guy any longer, but I appreciated the way they made an effort to make me part of the team.

Mercifully Everett struck out the last two batters in only six pitches. We all gathered in the middle of the field to high-five each other. As usual I skipped and danced my way down the line, gifting each of my teammates with a different signature move. As a kid it drove my family and friends nuts. They said I had way too much energy. But here, I fit in. My energy was welcomed. And my eccentric need to make everything into a party made everyone happy, not annoyed.

In the locker room we showered and changed, talked to reporters and goofed off with each other. One of our pitchers, Chris Kaine, sat in a low slung folding chair between Erik and Wes, fully dressed because he didn’t pitch today. “Five more games. These long road trips suck.”

We’d been on the road for two long weeks playing road games with our West Coast rivals. I didn’t mind it so much, but Chris, Erik, and Wes all had ladies they missed. A lot. I knew because they talked about it. A lot.

“You’ll live.” I kicked him. But in all honesty, I mostly ignored these conversations because it made me think about the one person I was really trying tonotthink about these days.

Wes looked at his phone and flashed the screen at Erik, who laughed. “Guess Eve is hosting dinner.”

“Oh yeah, she has VIP guests in town. Her husband’s cousin. You know, the race car driver.”

I perked up instantly. “Driver?” For some reason my palms began sweating and my heart started beating a lot faster than it had been a moment ago.

“Yeah.” Erik slammed the locker shut and brushed his damp hair back. “Did you watch that streaming race docu-series? Man I love a good underdog story. Anyway, the older guy, the team owner, Adam Callaway? That’s Jake’s cousin. He’s in town because he stole one of our eggheads and now all the eggheads are having a big egghead convention.”

“Stop calling them eggheads,” I growled.

Everyone looked at me.

I tried to shrug off my sudden, intense defensiveness. “What? It’s derogatory.”

“I say it with love.” Wes covered his heart with his hand. “I can’t do what they do, but their information sure makes me look good. I love those eggheads.”

“Stop—you know what, never mind. So this Adam guy is in town and having dinner with Eve?”

Eve Spencer was our Director of Fan Experience. Her family was baseball royalty and she’d been with the Mantas forever. She took all of us under her wing, so we all knew her. Erik and Wes were friends with her because their wives were good friends with Eve.

Adam Callaway was one of the owners of Vector Racing, a professional racing team based in the UK. I’d never met the man, but I loved and hated him anyway.Forreasons.

Erik looked at me like I’d just grown a second head. “Yeah...Adam and the egghead...err,statistician...he hired from us are in town to discuss data in sports. Honestly I’m mad it was this weekend because I really wanted to be invited to dinner. I think this stuff is fascinating.”

Tilley.

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