Page 8 of Pitcher Us
By the end of the week, I had boxes and bags piled so high in Adam’s living room I thought he was going to break into my place just so he could get the clutter out.
But once the keys were in my hands I was just as eager as he was. It’s only taken me two days to get everything where I want it. Granted I’m working on a budget with the little I have in my savings, so it wasn't exactly a ton of stuff. I’ve filled the whole place with color and it’s wonderfully chaotic.
Mismatched patterned pillows on the couch. Mixed antique kitchenware and cutlery from at least five different thrift stores. A lot came from thrift stores honestly, and I won’t apologize for it. What’s that saying? “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.” That pretty much sums up my apartment. I did draw the line at thrifted bedding and towels. Those I bought brand new. But everything else is my treasure.
Folding my last throw blanket and tossing it in one of my baskets I collapse on the couch. I’m pooped. My eyes shut for a minute before there’s a knock at my door. “Cals, it’s Adam. Let me in.”
“I think it’s open,” I holler back. I went this morning to get tea from the shop two blocks down and I’m pretty sure I forgot tolock my door. I was so focused on letting my tea fuel me putting the finishing touches on my place that the thought of locking my door never entered my mind. I’m sure I’ll get a comment on it, but eh, who cares? The lobby is locked, and Christi talked for a solid ten minutes about the building’s “low crime” rating.
Shutting the door behind him, Adam plops on the couch next to me. “Place looks nice. Too bad someone will steal it all because you leave your door unlocked.”
Hard eye roll. I knew it. “At least the robbers have good taste.” As I breathe in, the smell hits me. “Get off my couch! You’re all sweaty and you smell!”
I’m pushing him to my best ability to get his nasty ass up, but he puts all his weight against me. “Ugh, what are you doing here anyway?”
“I just left the gym, I’m not even that sweaty.” Still fighting against me, he laughs. “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me?”
“Years, Adam. I’ve had years of your catcher’s gear smelling up everything. Please don’t ruin my new couch.”
“Alright, alright.” Finally standing up, he relents. “But me leaving comes at a cost. We’re all going out with the new team tonight.”
“Noooo, I want to stay in my apartment. Leave me be, you Social Sally.” Reaching for one of my pillows I swat it at him before readjusting to lie down. A nap is calling my name, not socializing with a bunch of baseball players.
As soon as my eyes shut my pillow gets ripped out from under me. “Hey!”
Adam holds it over me and only holds it higher when I reach for it. “Not up for negotiation, Cals. These people are our co-workers now. I’ll drag you and Will out, kicking and screaming.”
“Will’s not been home in days.” Probably shouldn’t be something that I can say so confidently, but it’s true. I haven’tseen him since he moved in, and I’ve been in my new place for two days and haven’t heard a peep.
“He was visiting his family in Rowley, but he just got back, so no excuses. Be ready at six.” Adam throws the pillow back at my head.
“Dick,” I grumble.
“When I come back at six your door better be locked,” he calls as he walks out.
Chapter 5
Will
Why do I keep letting Adam drag me places? I barely made it in my place before he was knocking on my door telling me we were going out tonight.
There was no way I was going. None. I was ready to fight him on it, and I started to, but when he mentioned he was forcing Callie to go out too, my arguments weakened. We’re not really going to dwell on that fact or that I’ve drank a chai latte every day this week.
Finding a place to park my bike, I’m a half hour later than when Adam told me to be here. The Blues were in charge of getting our vehicles sent over and I didn’t trust them to drop off my Indian Motorcycle at the stadium for whoever to sign for it. So, I had them drop it off at my mom’s. Going to get it from her place gave me a good excuse to see my family…and get some space from my new neighbor—who I definitely haven’t thought about doing the lame “Hey neighbor, got any sugar” bit just to see her.
I head into the bar where Adam texted me to meet them. While this wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of things to do tonight, I get what he’s doing. We might know the major playerson this team already, but we don’t know them as teammates, and if I want to make this no-trade clause work I fear it’s going to involve a little more effort than Olsson let on. I don’t think small talk during practices or in the locker room will cut it.
Walking in, the bar is packed but you can still hear the cracking of pool tables off to the side and one fiery redhead’s laugh.
“Damn, Callie, I didn’t realize you were a hustler.” Beck Daines, the Boston Blues star first baseman, stands off to the side with a pool cue in hand.
“I might know my way around a pool table,” Callie says, leaning back down to take what looks to be her final shot. “Eight ball, corner pocket.”
With a simple tap of her cue the ball goes right in. That soft smile plays on her lips as it goes in, and once she stands back up, it breaks into a full-on grin. “I believe I’m the winner.”
“I call for a rematch,” Beck says as I walk up. “Well, well, William fucking Anderson. How are you, man? Welcome to the Blues.”
I’ve always liked Beck. He’s a solid player and seems like a stand-up guy, a little too personable for me, but I’m trying.
