Page 35 of Fair Trade
sixteen
I’ve been a goodboy.
Or so I tell myself as I wait for the special delivery to arrive at the Monarchs clubhouse.
We’ve been on a winning streak lately, and tonight is looking to be no different.
Our starting pitcher, Mateo Martinez, has been striking out almost every batter that’s stepped up to the plate.
Guess he was worth the seven-hundred-million-dollar contract after all.
I’ve only stepped into the clubhouse once. It was on opening day, and only to give a “go get ’em team” speech. Because I’ve never really been inclined to make any other visits to spaces that hold air thick with body odor and sweaty athletes.
But today I’m making an exception.
It’s been almost a month since I’ve laid eyes on Luisa, and that comes to an end now.
During her travels with the team and my attempts to keep physical distance from her here at the office, I’ve learned a few more aspects of the baseball culture.
There was one in particular that caught my attention. It seemed juvenile and silly at the time, but then again, I live for shit like this.
I can feel the stadium vibrate above me. The crowd is going absolutely mental over an out caught by our new shortstop, Samuel Juan, signaling the end of the ninth inning and making the Monarchs win official.
I watch on the screens around the room as the players topple over one another in celebration. The camera pans to the dugout, and I spot Luisa, smiling as she pats Coach Weston’s back in congratulations.
I haven’t spent much time with Luke, and the little I’ve heard alludes to the fact that he’s a bit of a recluse. But now I’m wondering if maybe that was a mistake on my part. Luisa and Luke travel with the team and have most definitely spent a considerable amount of time together so far this season.
I wonder if he’s Luisa’s ty—
Enough.
I didn’t come here to act like a jealous fool.
I’m not sure exactly what you would call the relationship Luisa and I have, given that we only communicate via email.
But those messages have become more and more consistent. I find myself emailing her multiple times a day, never having to wait more than half an hour for a response.
We’ve both ditched the signatures and work-related pretenses and have somehow fallen into becoming pen pals.
It usually starts with me asking her a barrage of questions, none of which have to do with her actual job. And she responds with the quick wit and snark that I’ve begun to crave.
So much so that I have taken things a step further in my teasing and have arranged for a special surprise in hopes that Luisa will engage in that new baseball tradition I have recently grown quite fond of.
The team slowly filters in, along with the coaching staff. They don’t seem to notice me standing in the middle of the room, as they’re all filled to the brim with excitement, high on their win.
The players head to where their belongings are stored and start pulling out various bottles of champagne.
Luisa walks in last, alongside my sister.
My heart softens for a moment when I see them together. My sister would never admit to it, but I know she struggles to make long-lasting connections. The friends in her life are shallow, social connections at best, and her relationship with her brainless fiancé is a whole other mess.
The fact that Luisa is a close confidant to someone as tender-hearted as my sister further proves that there is more to that woman than I know. Which is maddening for reasons I won’t allow myself to dig into.
But tonight, we are all here for some fun.
And, hopefully, at Luisa’s expense.
Daisy spots me first, as cafeteria staff start wheeling in tables full of red refreshments.
