Page 7 of Crew
“Absolutely. League rules,” I deadpanned.
Singleton rolled his eyes. “Right. And what’s the initiation process for guys who hit game-winners against division rivals?”
Payne grabbed a Gatorade bottle off the bench and held it up like he was about to make a toast. “Gentlemen, I present to you the rookie of the night.”
Before Singleton could react, Payne upended the bottle over his head, drenching him in the blue sports drink.
Singleton cursed and jerked back, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the second one Neal dumped on him.
“You just earned your first soak, dude!” Davenport shouted.
Singleton wiped his face, blinking through the liquid dripping from his hair. He let out a slow breath, then stood.
We all braced, waiting for his reaction.
Then he grabbed the closest water bottle and chucked it at Neal.
Laughter exploded as Neal barely dodged it. “Oh, it’s like that, huh?”
Singleton laughed, shaking out his soaked hair. “Damn right, it is.”
Neal grinned. “I like this guy.”
Latham nodded. “Yeah, he’ll do.”
I leaned against my locker, arms crossed, watching as the guys ribbed him.
Knox Singleton looked like he belonged on a damn billboard, not a baseball field. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and stunning cornflower blue eyes. His brown hair was just long enough to shove back with his fingers, which he did like it was second nature. He had the build too. Tall. Lean. The cut you get from years of grinding and not just lifting weights. His body was built by swinging a bat, fielding grounders, and putting in the work. He carried himself like he knew exactly what he was capable of, and damn if that confidence didn’t make it impossible to look away.
Yeah, Singleton was gonna fit in just fine, and I’d never tell a soul I thought he was hot as hell too.
After a game—especiallyafter a win—some guys and I liked to go out for a drink to unwind. We headed to a bar a few blocks from the hotel and just before we got there, I said, “First round’s on the rookie!”
Latham clapped Singleton on the shoulder. “Yeah, that home run bonus kick in yet?”
Singleton huffed out a laugh. “Right, because Triple-A paychecks are so generous. You guys trying to bankrupt me?”
We walked inside, found an open table near the back, and settled in. The place was packed but not overwhelming. A couple of fans lingered near the bar, but no one was making a scene by reacting to us being there, which meant we could actually relax.
Beers were ordered, toasts were made, and the conversation bounced between game highlights and continuing to razz Singleton about his big night. He handled it well, rolling with every joke like he’d been part of the team for years.
At some point, Neal leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Allright, Singleton, you’re new here. We don’t know a damn thing about your personal life. You got a girlfriend, or are you living the bachelor dream?”
“No girlfriend.” Singleton shook his head.
“Ah.” Neal nodded. “So, just playing the field?”
Singleton arched a brow. “Something like that.”
Robinson’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he was catching on. “What’s your type, then?”
Singleton didn’t skip a beat before answering, “Guys.”
The table went quiet for half a second. Not awkward, not tense, just a pause, like everyone was processing the information at the same time.
Then Latham grinned. “Well, shit. You could’ve led with that.”
Singleton smirked. “Didn’t know it was required information.”
