Chapter Text
San Antonio, Texas
2014
(In retrospect, it’s not exactly the worst way to meet one’s hero.)
The idea of Lawson being ‘farmed’ probably had to be more horrifying for him that for the fans. It was sad enough that he’d been DL’ed at the start of spring training but when news began to circulate that he was going to spend the season out in to San Antonio of all the places (like the double-friggin’-A, hello?), it would be natural to say that Ginny wasn’t the only one shocked.
The day of his arrival was a day of conflict.
Literally.
Ginny had bid goodbye to Will the previous day with mixed feelings. Not only was she going to miss Will, there was the annoying realization that her new agent-to-the-stars Amelia Slater was a woman who clearly did not understand boundaries.
Suffice to say, Ginny didn’t sleep well that night. She kept dreaming of Pop and the accident.
Her morning started with Amelia getting into a fight with Ginny’s landlords about the apartment. The pittance pay of the minors forced her to live in a dingy studio above a grungy bohemian gay couple who were lenient on the rent but stingy on basic amenities like continuous water supply and electricity.
Amelia kicked up a fuss about her shoddy and smelly living conditions, threatened to sue the owners for neglect, and then threatened to sue for wrongful eviction when they served Ginny notice out of spite for her interference. To add fuel to the fire, the guy from Big Joe’s sports apparel yelled at her on the phone about the terms of her contract departure which (surprise, surprise) Amelia had negotiated.
All this before she had her first cup of coffee.
Despite Amelia’s promise that she’d take care of Ginny’s ‘situation’, Ginny felt the need to get away from the infuriatingly controlling woman. She went earlier than usual to the park feeling disconcerted and doubtful about Will’s idea to let Amelia take the reins, hoping that the sight of young girls waiting on a picture or her autograph would inspire and convince her of her decision.
Ginny was not prepared to see a larger fraction of males in the crowds that day; more teenage boys and grown men than the pre-adolescents. That was when she recalled the Skip mentioning about Lawson’s arrival.
That filled her with renewed positivism, even helped her forget the morning’s debacle.
Sure, she was going to meet the face that was still up in her bedroom was at her home in Tarboro and play with him. Sure, there was enough to believe that Lawson was as nice in person as he seemed on TV. Sure, he was the one active ballplayer who consistently held her admiration even through her nascent adulthood.
Sure, these might be reasons sufficient for excitement – but they weren’t. Ginny didn’t have any unrealistic expectations of her hero. Pop had drummed it into her, long ago: meeting your heroes is almost always a disillusioning experience.
Ginny knows how she is perceived by even the nicest of men with the best of hearts: A mascot, a distraction, punchline to a joke – a girl. Even without the overt sexism, Ginny’s been ridiculed and scoffed at enough, to be aware that no male player takes her seriously at face. (Can’t hold that against them, Y-chromosome stupidity and all - she’s made her peace with that.)
She was excited - because of the potential to learn.
A real major league player on the team.
The experience he brought along with him would be a treasure, there was enough to gain by just observation alone. And sure, if she managed to make a good impression, maybe even befriend him, then that was just an added bonus.
As a habit, Ginny was always the first in and last out of the locker room. There was no space for her to change or shower, so ensuring that she was the only one around pretty much ensured her dignity and her safety.
She yawned wide as she drifted in, rubbing tired eyes, burning from lack of sleep and mental exhaustion. She snapped the lock shut thinking that she’d have the clubhouse all to herself having arrived earlier than usual, kicked off her shoes, peeled off her t-shirt in swift motions, hopping out of her jeans, bending to rummage through her duffle for her uniform, ‘Wide Awake’ by Katy Perry buzzing in her mid.
She was mid-way humming through the chorus when she turned around and –
Time stopped – literally.
Her hum turned into a wimpy squeal, her jaw fell and she felt her eyes jumping out of her head.
Literally - that is the first thing she sees. (- And yes. That is forever going to be the story of how she met Mike’s penis.)
That thick, long, monster-sized dick.
Seeing man parts aren’t really a big deal for Ginny. Spending most of her time in skeevy locker rooms mean it’s an occupational hazard for her. Her father had that conversation about boys, and it was so awkward that it completely stripped her of the thrill of seeing a boy’s junk for the first time. And really – it’s not like she’s never seen big boy-parts before.
(Okay so maybe the fact that it’s way too early in the morning and the fact that subconsciously she knew it was Mike Lawson has something to do with it, but -)
But this was no boy here.
No sir.
She drags her eyes up, away from that well-hung appendage, away from that patch of hair that thinned into an apex below his navel, over that buff body, over those thickset arms folded over his burly pecs, right up over that distracting beard, half-open mouth, sharp nose and straight into the shocked widened hazel eyes.
There he was - the man on her wall – and his…organ.
(She ought to apologize. She should turn away…and stop looking.)
It’s just that her brain’s disconnected from her body.
She tries to focus on other things except her eyes won’t go anywhere but…there. She gulps repeatedly, even manages to glance at his blank face weakly - but yeah that thing between his legs – it’s quite the eye-magnet.
She’s expecting his shock to change to anger but it doesn’t.
“Look what we got here….” Ginny hears the words loud and clear while her eyes are fixed on it. “Ginny Baker…” (It knows my name! He. He. Not ‘it’. ‘He’. He knows my name.) “…In the flesh.”
Flesh – yeah – lots of it.
Ginny lets out a shrill squeak and spins around, breathing heavily.
Because – yes – she just saw Mike Lawson. Naked.
And turning around didn’t help at all, because it-he’s there as well – in the mirror, still naked. Mouth wide, teeth bared, cheeks appled – he’s grinning.
He meets her eyes in the mirror; doesn’t look remotely apologetic when he's caught trailing eyes down her exposed mid-riff to her ass.
Ginny’s aware that she’s only wearing athletic boyshorts and a sports bra with the rest of her skin on display. She’s aware that she’s got a body that goes with her face that usually predisposes for getting ogled at. Usually, this is the point where she’d chastise a man for leering – on principle. Except, the grown-ass powerful lioness in her does not want to roar about the fallacies of objectifying women. (She pretty much spent the previous couple of minutes gawping at his monster sized member and she still can’t stop thinking about it. So – yes, if Mike Lawson, Ginny’s idol, man on her wall, occasional visitor of her dreams is standing there ogling at her half-naked posterior view – she’s going to let it slide. Just this once. On principle.)
He grabs a towel, covering himself and looks at her meaningfully.
Her loud exhale of relief has him double over in stitches, as though it wasn't a big deal that she saw him naked. “I’ve been answering questions about you forever.” He says, jovially. “And that is not easy for me y’know…talking about other people? They tell me I’m a narcissist.”
Questions about me?
“I uh…” She stutters. His eyes jump up to meet hers in the mirror. She makes a helpless expression at his reflection. “I should tell you…I have your rookie card…”
He shakes his head, stilling laughing silently.
“…you’ve been my favourite player since I was…” She rambles on.
“Yeah, don’t.” He cuts her off, and then turns around, like he’s acknowledging her discomfort. “Makes me look old, makes you look stupid.”
She clamps her mouth shut and hurriedly gets dressed with her hands shaking, and everything moving like it’s slow motion.
“So, is this a thing for you?” She hears his jaunty voice, as she tucks her shirt into the pants.
Ginny looks at his broad back in the mirror. She can see large freckles and moles.
“A little pre-game ritual? Like to see men naked before you warm-up?” He drolls.
She’s too ashamed to get riled up at his taunt.
“No…I um…” She explains, hurriedly. “Usually no one’s in at this time. I – there’s no separate locker room for me so I uh – come in early to change.”
“Oh?” The humour leaves his voice. He turns his head to the side, sounding almost – like he cares.
“Um – you’re good.” She says, not meeting his eyes, when they both turn around to face each other again.
“So.” He says, grinning at her, leaning back against a locker.
“So.” She says, swinging her arms back and forth, loosening her shoulders, pursing her lips, looking everywhere else, not-looking at those hip grooves peeking out of his towel.
“Did you wanna shower or something?” He asks.
That’s a dumb thing to say given that she’s already suited up. “No, no.” She says, quickly.
“So then…?”
She looks up at him. He wiggles his eyebrows at her expectantly.
“Oh! Right!” She blushes. “Yeah!” She shoves her duffle in her locker, picks up her cleats, her glove and socks. “Yeah – I’ll just wear…” She grimaces. “…these….outside.” She tries to act cool, shoves her cap on and walks to the door – barefoot.
“Hey Baker!” He calls.
“Yeahp?” She squeaks as she fidgets with the lock, letting it fall open.
“Maybe knock next time?”
“Sure thing.” She wags her head and walks backwards, nearly trips over one of the benches but steadies herself.
His booming laughter and a whole new sense of embarrassment follow her on the way out.
To think that Mike Lawson would to sit out the first day observing was probably foolish. He doesn’t. Reason: he’s Mike Lawson, he gets whatever he wants.
Ginny wonders if the crowd that day is probably a microcosmic experience of a big-league game. She hears the noise all the way as she dawdles towards the exit. When she emerges to survey the crowd, Ginny’s not surprised to see more ‘Lawson’ and ‘36 Padres’ related placards than the ‘I’m Next’ ones.
Vikram, the F&B manager jogs up to her, hands her a snickers bar and a can of grape soda, looking overwhelmed, frantically takes off in another direction. “Ran out of beer! Full house! Hey did you meet Mike Lawson? Good luck!” He huffs and then he’s gone.
“Quite a crowd for non-Texan, hah?” Bob, their manager, chirps.
“Gah! I forgot how fuckin’ hot this place is!” She hears Lawson roar behind her. “What’s ‘I’m Next’ about?” He utters in the same breath, as he saunters in.
“Li’l girls gonna to be the next Ginny Baker.” Blip says with pride, slapping her back. “Ginny’s a celebrity here.”
Ginny doesn’t miss Lawson’s dismissive snort. She does not appreciate it.
She's already a little more than piqued at him. She had observed Lawson and Walker at pre-game practice wee bit of resentment for the following reasons:
a) She wasn’t getting to pitch today, not because it wasn't her turn, it's just that Bob specifically wanted to skip her start. (And who knew why Bob did half the things he did anyway?)
b) Lawson and Walker bonded like a house on fire and Ginny had that feeling again. (That ‘little girl peering into the glass window of the Old Boys Club’ feeling).
c) He’d pretty much ignored her all morning. (Maybe he thinks it's commonplace for a married man in California to have their dicks displayed to other women or something. If the morning’s encounter bothered him, he doesn’t seem perturbed by it.)
At the bottom of the first inning, the Lawson goes third in the batting lineup with two bases occupied. Things look good. His form is superb (even has her wondering why they chose to bump him down). He scores a beautiful inside the park three-run homer that has the crowd lose its shit. S
She jumps up and cheers. He gives her a snooty look when he comes back when she attempts to high-five him. Suffice to say, it dampens her goodwill.
To add insult to injury, Bob embarrasses her in front of Lawson. He bellows at her when she begins pacing a hole into the ground. (Lifelong aspirations of pitching with Mike friggin’ Lawson aside, Ginny’s always antsy when she doesn’t play in general, so can she be blamed?) She knows it annoys everyone, but, she’s pretty sure it did not warrant the: “Baker, if you don’t sit still, I’m gonna handcuff you to the guardrail!”
To which Lawson makes an indignant gaggling noise, which she does not appreciate either.
It soon occurs to her that the she’s the only player in the dugout he chooses to be plucky with. The only time he talks to her is when he spots her popping the soda can open and chortles indignantly, “Grape soda? What’re you eight?”
Insulting her grape soda -? Another thing she does not appreciate.
(Hmph. So much for good impressions.)
Ginny’s also feeling a mite jealous. Blip and Lawson know each other for all of five minutes and suddenly they’re like two-egg twins separated at birth, reunited by some ESP connection, laughing, joking and slapping each other’s butts.
(Yeah, so, whatever. She doesn't have too many friends. She gets possessive about the ones she has - at times. She’s human, alright?)
Ginny sulks in a corner, feeling small and useless. The only reprieve she gets is the short-lived sadistic victory of Walker and Lawson are unable score an out at the top of the second inning. The opposing team makes two runs. Lawson glares a hole into Walker’s face when they walk back after being pulled out. Walker just ignores him, but Ginny can see that the young pitcher is disturbed when he stalks to the water can.
“What the hell happened out there?” Blip wonders aloud, only so that she can hear. “They were killing it at practice.”
“Great rehearsal, bad opening night.” Ginny shrugs.
She pretends not to see Lawson’s angry glower at her statement. She pretends not to feel a tiny bit smug about it.
By the time they're at the bottom of the fourth, she’s relieved about not playing. Given the way this game was going, at least she wouldn’t get blamed for losing.By the time, they’re at the top of the fifth, Ginny zones out, completely unconcerned with two things: Mike Lawson and the game. She gets bored and her mind automatically starts to wander
She replays that Black Violin song she heard on the radio earlier. She starts thinking about what Will, and what he’s up to, then wonders what Evelyn’s cooking for dinner, then wonders if Amelia’s going to make her quit her part time job running errands for the sweet Mrs. Brown across the street.
She steals a glance at Mike Lawson who’s in deep conversation with Bob and Blip and her thoughts divert to him.
(Why has he opted for the Missions instead of the Chihuahuas? Rumors are he’d been forced to opt for AA. He barely spent a month on the DL before the decision was made.
Ginny thinks that if she’d been bumped into AA on the back of that career, she’d be pretty sore and downright anti-social. In her three-year stint at the minors she’d encountered a host of senior players being shuffled up and down. If Minors players became bitter and cynical then Ginny was positive she could expect nothing less from the Mike Lawson.
But he was a nothing like that. His douchebaggery towards her notwithstanding, it's admirable how professional and friendly he is with the players.)
She steals a glance at him once more, and observes the beard. Doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s almost unrecognizable when she tallies it with the posters on her wall. It gives him a rougher, meaner look and hides the genuinely almost childlike grin that had her teenage heart doing cartwheels. At thirty-four he’s too young to have a mid-life crisis (and even if he was having a mid-life crisis – he’s already got the flashy red cars. There’s no rumours of trouble with his marriage.) Really – that beard makes no sense, so she wonders if it’s a new trend in California. At which point, she wonders what Will and Blip would look like with full fledged beards instead of frenchies.
She’s still bobbing her head in tune with the beats of the song, when she feels three pairs of eyes on her.
(Lawson looks at her with a cartoonishly strange thing happening to his face. She reckons he’s amused at the head bobbing.)
That’s when she realizes that Walker and Lawson are not going back.
The prospect of relief-pitching has her worried, she's never done it, not even in the little leagues – and worse, it's a double switch. She’s going to have to go out with Stykie.
Lance ‘Stykie’ Stykes, her catcher for the past few weeks, was pulled down from AAA couple of months ago. Ginny reckons he hates her probably as much as she loathes him. He played with some sort of unspoken vendetta and she isn’t sure if it’s against her or the game of baseball in general.
Ginny sucks in a deep breath, feeling unbalanced as she heads to warm up. Stykie’s already showing signs of provocation for calling for cutters and sliders, just to piss her off. But, out on field, he’s a gentleman, for once. He calls for her specialty pitches. She agrees with almost all his calls – strikes out three hitters in a row, gathering an uproar in cheers from the crowd. Ginny knows he’s doing it to impress Mike Lawson and she doesn’t mind as long as it works for her too. The little girls particularly go wild and that always gives her an ego boost.
When she’s back, she notices Lawson’s eyes studying her as she hops down the steps. He nods at her, but she tosses her chin away haughtily and heads straight for the rest of her grape soda. He lifts an eyebrow appreciatively, whether it's her pitching or her sass she doesn't know. (Pity! She had hoped he'd be more affronted.)
So. She tanks it. The game and her dignity.
Ginny's was not supposed to start the second game either. Lawson wanted to give things with Walker another go. As it turned out, shit hit the fan. Those two made a horrific pair. Runs were given up like freebies. Ginny knew she was going to be called in even before Bob gestured for her to warm up. Bob called for a double switch again. It made her wonder if Lawson just didn't want to catch for her. She got herself into that trajectory hoping that things will go smoothly with Stykie. She was sent in at the top of the sixth inning, which went quickly and fruitfully. Stykie and Lawson were in some hushed conversation whenever they returned to the dugout. She didn’t want to dwell on the fact that he had time to yap with Stykie but he couldn’t seem to extend the same courtesy for her. Whatever.
The problems started in the seventh when Stykie was all heroics. He was calling for fastballs, change-ups and sliders. So much, that she wondered if Lawson put him up to it. (He wouldn't be the first teammate to deliberately attempt sabotaging her game). She waved off his calls multiple times and the few times she gives in, the hitters make runs, leaving her fuming and cursing. She stomped back into the dugout expecting Lawson to be jeering at her, but she’s surprised to find a hard look of heavy disapproval in his eyes.
Not for her. For Stykes.
She didn't know what to make of that, so she didn't want to dwell on it, either. Who cared as long as they won right?
The next day - the third game, happens to be the first home game against the Cardinals. Bob was feeling mighty favorable towards her so he let her start. Unfortunately Stykie's gone all out on being an asshole. Thanks to his stupid calls, the game is tied all the way to the eighth. It looks like they may go a couple of extra. She refocuses and reorients her mind, exhales loud head-space clearing breaths, determined to kick some Arkansas ass because she’s fed up of the game already. She's also fed up of her catcher, but there's nothing she can do about that.
And then Bob announces a switch.
Not her, but Stykie. Lawson’s going in his stead.
Now, Ginny’s been wrongfully blamed for game losses so many times in her life for the dumbest possible reasons because she’s a girl. (She can’t play; if she can play, then she can’t play as well as the men; if she can play as well as the men then its bad luck to have a girl in the dugout or whatever as though the dugout is some sort of nineteenth century pirate ship and they're buccaneers.)
This, though. This is the one time she can truthfully own the loss because she’s a girl.
She’s a warm blooded, twenty-one-year old girl with biological needs.
Year and years of imagining him squatting sixty feet six inches away, years and years of observing his tactics, years and years of admiring his focus, years and years of dallying with the idea of being a catcher – just because.
And she goes and fucks it all up with one look at his crotch.
That’s how she messes up the game.
She looks for his signal but doesn’t see his fingers. No sir. She sees the bulge in his crotch and wonders if it’s just the athletic cup. She thinks about the way it hung, wonders what it’s like when aroused. Then she wonders what it would be like to have some of that.
Oh crap.
Now her pitches run wild because she’s thinking about fucking Mike Lawson.
(Mike Lawson who, by all accounts, is a happily married man.)
Dammit!
He’s looks ticked off when he calls for time stalks his way out to her.
“What’s up?” He asks, chewing on his gum, furiously.
“Nothing.” She says, shifting her eyes away.
“Baker!” He grinds his teeth.
“Nothin’. We didn’t get any practice ‘sall.” She huffs.
He cocks his head at her and shakes his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“’M not lying.” She looks at her cleats.
“Okay then.” He drawls and head back.
Ginny watches his retreating booty, thinks it looks mighty fine when he jogs (- Goddammit!)
Malone, the next hitter at bat, is a friend of hers; among the few real ones she’s got among baseballers and she’s always gotten him out with near-perfect precision. Four balls and he walks to first base, looking at her with a funny expression. “You okay GB?” Malone yells. She waves him off with a smile and a wink, turns around to find Lawson in her face, yet again.
“C’mon! I know you can pitch!” Lawson says, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Based of two games?” She baits him.
He rolls his eyes at her. “We’ve all seen the videos, Rookie!” He sounds condescending.
Now that – surprises her.
“I’m not the rookie out here, Lawson.” She grumbles, feeling stupid. “You are.”
He throws his head back and hacks out a laugh. When he looks back at her his face falls flat. “Oh. You’re serious?”
(Yeah, it sounds idiotic to her as well.)
He jogs up to her after she basically makes a debacle of the next four balls. “Is it your shoulder?”
“No.”
“Is it me?”
Yes. “No.” She lies.
His forehead furrows gape at her as his eyebrows go up. He sighs and then looks at her pitifully. “Is it…what happened that morning, Baker? My first day here?”
Definitely, yes. “Definitely not.” She fibs, confidently.
“Because, I figured its really no big deal for a girl who spends all her time playing with dudes.” He shrugs.
Oh, it’s big alright, she almost blurts.
Out of nowhere, he goes off into a story of how he accidentally walked in on some old couple having sex which Ginny realizes is his way of distracting her. “Shut up!” She barks. He’s shocked.
(She can’t blame him. Hell! She’s shocked too. She just told her lifelong hero, MVP, All-Star, Captain of the San Diego Padres and a senior ballplayer to shut up.)
“It’s the beard.” Ginny says, saying the first thing that comes to mind.
“I’m sorry?”
She makes a gesture around her chin. “Your beard, it’s distracting.”
He looks downright adorable when he starts stroking it with a confused expression. “I think it gives character.”
“Oh, it’s a character.” She retorts.
He throws his head back and laughs loud, shaking his head. “You’ll get used to it.” He says, still in guffaws.
“Don’t wanna!” Ginny throws her palms up.
He tips his chin at her, chewing the gum. “Okay.”
“Okay, then.” She wags her head and then turns around.
“Hey!” The umpire roars at them. “Move it along lovebirds!”
Ginny finally pulls her head into the game. Doesn’t work, though.
Bob stalks out onto the field just as Lawson jogs up again. He holds a palm up, forcing Lawson to stay silent, surprising the both of them.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bob bellows at her.
“Nothing, Skip!”
“I’ve never seen you lose focus like this! Are you okay? Are you on your period or something?”
Ginny bites her lower lip to refrain from retorting.
“C’mon Skip, that’s not fair.” Mike drawls, rolling his eyes and chewing his gum.
“Hey!” Ginny snaps at him. “I don’t need you to defend me!”
Lawson’s jaw freezes, his eyes narrow at her.
“Okay, that’s it.” Bob sighs. He makes a sign and pulls them both out.
Ginny’s ready to kill someone when she’s back into the dugout. She glares Blip’s placating mouth into silence and kicks DC’s leg when he tries to act smart. She clambers into the corner and slaps her cap against her thigh.
Lawson’s in her face again. He’s literally staring down at her.
“Shut up.” She mumbles.
“I didn’t say anything.” He says, folding his arms, but still glowering at her.
“I don’t care that you’re a superstar, or that you’re a major leaguer, or the captain of the Padres, or that I had a poster of you on my bedroom wall. I do not need some guy to step in and rescue me.” She sticks her chin out . “I’ve been just fine without your –“ She makes airquotes. “Protection - thank you very much.”
Lawson regards her peculiarly. She doesn’t know him well enough – but she’s pretty certain he’s tying not to laugh. He cocks his head to the side and then blinks at her. “You had me on a wall?”
Ginny looks away from his face, ends up getting at eyeful of his belt – and then there’s that crotch in her face again.
The source of all this upheaval.
Ginny slaps her face and groans.
“Stop laughing!”
Evelyn doesn’t. She’s cackling out like some movie villain, holding her sides right up until the point of tears.
Ginny promptly regrets her decision to confide in Evelyn Sanders.
“Oh honey!” Evelyn gathers herself. “It’s not your fault.” She grabs Ginny’s shoulders and jabs her thumbs into them. “You need to get laid! You’re so tightly wound up! It’s just one of those – whatchyoumacallits? Freudian slips!”
Maybe Evelyn’s right.
Sexual frustration. That’s what it is.
Ginny’s powering her bat with ‘sexual frustration’ at practice the next morning, hitting the balls with a vengeance. Lawson comes up to her shoving his gum into his mouth before donning protective body gear, looks at her warily when he notes the trajectory of the balls.
“Would it be inappropriate to say that you’re the second prettiest teammate I’ve ever had…?” Lawson starts.
Ginny rolls her eyes. She refuses to acknowledge the flutter in her chest when he’s right there in her face.
“It would.” She smirks at him and nods. She relaxes her stance and drops the bat, claps her hands and walks up to him.
He’s wearing top of the line shit, she notes; right from the facemask to his cleats. Her Big Joe’s Sports Apparel sponsored stuff really pales in comparison to how crisp and clean he looks.
(She’s not surprised when Bob tells them that Lawson’s taking over as Captain because LaFevre’s been called up to AAA. “We don’t know how long before he’s called back up to San Diego.” Bob orders all of them. “It would do you fools some good to take direction from him. I’m talking to you Baker!”
Clearly, he was still sore about her performance at the previous day’s game.)
“Wait…second prettiest?” She frowns.
“Yeah…I was in this charity softball came with DiCaprio…” He gets a faraway look. “Beautiful eyes, he shakes his head.” He looks at her and then nods. “Mind if we go over the hitters in the training room?”
“We don’t have a training room.” She shrugs.
He blinks, then smiles shyly. “Sure, I knew that.”
He looks almost childlike, innocent when he does that. She shakes the thought away.
Yeah, he probably forgot, Ginny surmises.
How many years would it have been since he’d seen the minors, she wondered. He’s not only the oldest, but also the most popular, most illustrious, and perhaps the only long-time major leaguer so far who’s been routed to San Antonio. Nothing about the decision to for him to come AA makes any sense.
“Stykie’s my catcher.” She says, feeling excited more than apprehensive.
He gives her an amused once over, forehead furrows appearing as he scans her. “Not today.” He says.
Ginny’s feeling happy about it. Lawson was a star catcher. An opportunity to work with a man of his repertoire and experience is not something everyone gets. It would also feel normal on some level. Ginny inherited a disciplined pre-game prep habit from Pop. Ever since Stykes came on as her catcher, she couldn’t recall a single game where they went through the hitters list beforehand. The idiot hated prepping about as much as he loved calling for sliders.
“Fine by me.” She shrugs, pulling off her gloves. He nods and walks around her.
And then - smack!
Right on her ass.
Ginny’s face burns as cold fury build up in her body. The hoots, cheers and catcalls coming from the other guys are drowned out by the buzzing in her ears.
And Lawsons’s just – just – casually sauntering off.
“Hey!” She yells.
He stops and turns around. He’s just smiling at her – pleasantly even - like he did nothing wrong.
Maybe he’s trying to teach her a lesson or something, she thinks bitterly. Trying to remind her she’s a woman, that she had no business biting his head off the previous day. She’s disappointed. For a minute there, she thought she had his respect, but then again - Ginny’s accustomed to being disappointed by the behaviour of men.
She smirks at him sarcastically, stalks up to him, pulling her shoulders straight. “You think that’s funny? Y’think you’re the first teammate to slap my ass to get a laugh from his friends?” She dares him, cocking her hip to one side.
Something akin to realization dawns his face, but Ginny’s too pissed off to give it any credit. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “No…” He starts, slacking his shoulders and opening his mouth the explain.
“I’ve played two years winterball,” She cuts him off. “This is my third year in the minors, I’ve done stints in hellholes you haven’t seen in decades, superstar.” He regards her with a pensive smile and a silent calculating expression in his eyes as she talks. “Wanna put on a show for the guys? Find a new scene partner, I’m here to pitch! Any questions?” She bites out.
He pulls his head back, like her tirade’s hit him in the kisser. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look angry. She nods at him, and then turns around and walks back to the mound.
“Hey!” She hears him call, ignores it. “Hey!” He bellows.
Now it’s Ginny’s turn to stop and turn around. She sticks her tongue against her teeth and sighs, waiting for him to throw shit at her – because really, what else can she expect?
He makes a sheepish grimace and shakes his head. “I slap asses.” He shrugs. “It’s my thing. I slapped Walkers’s pimply ass, I slapped Munroe’s hairy ass and as long as you’re on this team I will be slapping your perfect pear shaped ass!” His voice becomes stern “I’m an ass slapper, Rookie! I’m also the captain of this team, so from here on out every time I slap your ass, you just say ‘thank you sir, may I have another’ and take the mound. Do you have any questions?”
Lawson makes that indignant ‘tsk’ when she stares at him.
Okay. So maybe his explanation makes perfect sense. Ass-slapping is a thing that athletes do all the time.
But she’s always got to have the last word. She wouldn’t be her if she didn’t. “Young DiCaprio, or old DiCaprio?” She waylays him.
“Sorry?” He screws up his face.
“Young Leo, sure, he’s probably prettier than me.” She says in a straight voice, “but Old Leo – he looks like a fish.”
He makes a pensive face and nods his head like he’s thinking over it. “It was a while ago, he was young.”
Ginny licks her mouth and sighs. “Then I think, we’re on the same page, Captain.”
She swings her hand back as she walks around him, swatting his ass – to make a point. It feels firm, hard and -
Ginny doesn’t mind the way it feels on the bones of her palm, is all she’s saying.
He hacks out a laugh as she walks away. “This is gonna be fun!” She overhears him.
On the plus side – she’s not thinking about his penis anymore.
Ginny’s all amped up and completely ready to take on the might of world at the game - digging holes to filling ‘em up, making lemonade out of lemons, sports history out of sexual frustration, whatever.
Her game brain finds its footing and she’s got it that day.
Of course, nothing’s ever good enough for Lawson.
Ginny plonks back into her seat in the dugout after a pretty decent performance the first four innings. She wipes her face feeling woozy from all the heat, the sweat and the lactate-attack cramps, shifting uncomfortably. When she pulls away the towel, he’s standing in front of her.
She almost groans loud, waiting for him to give her another lecture.
“You’re waving me off! You gotta trust the change-up.” He says, in a soft voice, like it's only meant for her to hear.
She doesn’t have the energy to argue with him. “My fastball tops out in the eighties.” She sighs. “I don’t always trust it.”
He rolls his eyes and then hands her something. It’s a can of grape soda, her favourite brand, to be specific. She practically lunges for it, ignores his amused chuckle.
(Okay, so maybe she’s overexaggerating with the whole ‘asshole’ thing. Truth is, Ginny finds it super easy to work with him – really. He’s very strategic and intuitive – like Pop.)
“You may not trust your fastball but you gotta trust me, Baker.” He says, lifting his brow and giving her a whole dose of serious-face that makes her forget that there’s an asshole hidden underneath all that beard.
He snatches up the Travelers’ hitter list from Blip goes over a revised strategy with her as she sips her drink. She wonders when and why he would put so much time into minor league hitters. Most of her catchers were newbies and younger - like her. Maybe it’s all his major league conditioning, or maybe he’s just naturally competitive, like her.
“So you wanna show him my fastball?” Ginny asks, tapping at the upcoming batter’s name.
“Newsflash, Baker. You don’t have a fastball to show.” He quips with a shit eating grin.
Yay, welcome back asshole.
“You won’t be so smug when I take your face out with it.” Ginny sasses, before she stands up, readying herself to go out.
He looks at her in disbelief and then pats her ass. It’s not conspicuous – more on her lower back than the ass cheek but – he’s looking at her pointedly making sure she knows he meant it.
She drops her jaw with feigned righteous indignation– but can’t control her smile as well.
“What does Mama Evie say, ha?” Evelyn drawls. Ginny grabs her arm to stop her from falling off the chair. “What does she say?”
Ginny hasn’t a clue, actually.
(Evelyn and Blip have date night, which as romantic as it sounded in theory, only meant that Evie got a sitter long enough to join them for post-game drinks.
“Such is the glamorous life in the minors.” Evelyn had moped.)
She was distracted when Evie started her tipsy lecture. Big Joe 's Sports Apparel sent her a scathing email threatening to sue for breach of contract. Of course, Amelia’s on top of it, but it doesn’t make Ginny’s life any easier.
“Sorry Ev – tell me again.” Ginny asks.
“C’mon Ginny – I was telling you the benefits of sex – and the benefits of telling me what happens after.” Evelyn whines and then suddenly straightens her face. “Hi sweety!” She flutters her eyelashes at Blip, who joins them, throwing suspicious looks at his wife.
“Where’s your new BFF?” She taunts Blip.
“Aww!” Blip teases her. “Are you jealous of him – or me?”
Ginny rolls her eyes and grabs the beer he hands her.
“So, do you know why he chose San Antonio?” Ginny asks, picking at the label on the beer bottle.
“Rumours are he didn’t - disciplinary actions.” Blip mumbles.
“Disciplinary actions -?” Ginny blinks. “That’s – Mike Lawson we’re talking about. Mr. Congeniality – hello?”
“See, she’s jealous of me.” Blip sniggers at Evelyn. Ginny swats his arm.
“Ow! He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.” Blips says. “Ask him yourself, he’ll come by later.”
“Explains why the whole bar’s flooded with groupies.” Ginny whines.
“He’s happily married.” Blip says.
“Like that stops people.” Ginny snorts, thinking of all the propositions she’s had over the years, all the ‘happily’ married ‘lonely’ players she’s had to push away –thinking of her Mom and that guy.
The bartender brings over a bottle of beer that she didn’t order. “From the man, in the green shirt?” He points to a very handsome man sitting over at the bar. He gives her a suggestive smile and waves his bottle at her.
“Is that-?” Blip frowns.
“The Travelers catcher…Trevor Something…” Ginny finds herself intrigued.
“Why’s he sending over a drink for Ginny?” Evelyn mopes. She draws circles around her face and body. “What’s wrong with this?”
Ginny almost laughs out loud at Blip’s unamused smile. “’Cause you look happy, and content and satisfied?” Evelyn’s husband speaks – looking into her face, like the ring on her finger isn’t enough to impress.
When Evie pouts, Blip flatters her. “And he doesn’t wanna mess with this.” He gestures to himself, drawing a circle around his face. That seems to work for Evie who gives her husband a sweet smile.
That has Ginny spurting in quiet giggles.
(If there’s any couple that could convince Ginny on the veracity of soulmates, it was the Sanders.)
“You should invite him over.” Blip offers.
“You know my code…” Ginny says, dropping her chin, glancing at him “I don’t date – oh no –! Here he comes!” She straightens her face and gives Trevor Something a big smile with no teeth when he approaches them.
“Yeah – she doesn’t date ballplayers.” Evelyn announces folding her arms on the table, not sounding as drunk as she was.
“Well, she struck me out three times, now, so clearly I’m no ballplayer.” Trevor Something says, giving Ginny an unmistakable look.
“Uhhuh.” Someone guffaws – in agreement.
Oh great. ( Mike Lawson’s - like - right there. Where did he come from?). She turns her grimace at Lawson.
“Davis.” Lawson remarks, nodding at the other man.
Trevor Some-Davis exchanges a nod with Lawson, but doesn’t seem as much in awe of him as much as he seems interested in her.
Lawson’s self-esteem can’t handle that, apparently. He rolls his eyes. (He’s just used to all aspiring players falling on the ground and worshipping him, Ginny thinks. Really, if Ginny hadn’t seen his dick the previous morning – Uh oh. Not helping.)
Davis gives Lawson an unimpressed smile. Ginny ignores him. Lawson gives Ginny a brash sneer and drags his stool to her side.
“You’re tryin’na strike out a fourth time?” Ginny says, huskily, batting her eyelashes at Davis.
“Ooh!” Evelyn hisses under breath.
Lawson makes a funny noise - somewhat midway between a grunt and snort.
Her sass works for Davis. He looks like the type of man who likes intelligent women who can hold their own. He smiles at her – looks almost shy when he does.
(And whoo! Lordy! What a nice smile he has! Ginny forgets her sour mood. Sweet – charming – not a cocky asshole, totally her type.)
“It’s just a beer!” Davis says, still grinning, “not a date.”
Ginny wouldn’t need much convincing had the circumstances been different. She gives him an enigmatic smile and raises her beer bottle. “Then I’ll say thank you.” She says, unable to drag her eyes off him.
From her peripheral vision she notes the eyeroll that Lawson throws.
“Called strike three!” Evelyn sings.
Davis doesn’t seem offended. His eyes linger on her face long enough for her to get his signal. He takes a sip of his beer, keeping his eyes on her and then nods. “You’re welcome.”
He walks backwards a few steps, keeping his eyes on her and then finally turns around. While Lawson gets introduced to Evelyn Sanders and enquires about the twins, Ginny purses her lips, admiring Trevor Davis’ mighty fine ass as he walks away.
Look. Don’t touch, she tells herself.
Lawson makes that annoying noise again.
“What?” She snaps, daring him with her eyes.
“Nothing.” Lawson shakes his head, observing her for a while before he diverts his attention to the Blip.
Davis keeps making sexy eyes at her and Ginny – well, she’s human right? So – she feels a little hot and fuzzy and so she ducks her eyes, tosses her pony tail, sneaks smiley glances back at him.
What a waste, really, she thinks. Trevor Davis, so fine, with that smooth voice, that sexy face, that dark chocolate skin and those perfect teeth. Ginny’s feeling kind of warm and – (Fucking Mike Lawson! He makes that bloody noise again!)
“Seriously, what?” She glares at Lawson, only to find him shaking his big fat head at her.
He looks between her and Davis with amusement in his eyes and raises his eyebrows before raising his glass of – whatever he was drinking - to her. Ginny is surprised at how cute she finds those forehead furrows are – especially up close.
“I got a code.” Ginny blurts. (Doesn’t know why; she doesn’t owe him any explanations). “I don’t date ballplayers.”
He makes that noise again. “Word of advice, player to player.” He says, in a hushed voice. “Stick to your code.”
“Word of advice, player to player.” She retaliates, giving him a sweet smile and tipping her chin at him. “It’s none of your damned business.”
Lawson’s mouth twitches, he gives her a conceding smile and taps his glass against her beer bottle.
“Doesn’t hurt to look, though” She mutters under breath, not soft enough for him not to hear.
“Oh Baker….” Lawson leans over. His hazel eyes have a knowing look in them. Ginny finds herself mesmerized by how pretty they are. His drops his voice and mumbles as though he’s the friggin’ mouthpiece of el diablo. “You’re definitely gonna be doing more than looking, Rookie.”