Page 69 of Draft Pick
“Atta girl,” she hypes, steering us through the Strikers clubhouse, and what a clubhouse it is. I’m not sure what I pictured it looking like, but it definitely wasn’t luxury. My only experience with baseball is neglected and severely run-down dugouts, fields that were never maintained, and an outdoor bathroom that provides shelter for the unhoused at night.
Makers Park is extravagant without a single detail missed.
High-end wood accents the space with black walls and player memorabilia showcased from years past. Leather furniture and wool rugs litter the space that looks like a makeshift locker room, but frankly, bougier.
And it’s impossible to miss the team portraits lining the jet-black walls as we near the stadium entrance. I spot Callaway Hayes, Bodhi St. James, August Graves, Kingston Baylor, Mack Manning, and the Suburban Daddy himself—Crew Briggs.
His face is stoic and reserved, per usual, the same look he keeps contained around anyone who isn’t important to him. It’s still undecided if I’d consider myself lucky for it, but his dimpled smiles and deathly striking looks are almost always used on me.
The idea of saying screw it and being with him wrestles my thoughts more often than not lately. I think I may have convinced myself that there’s nothing harmless in being with someone you care about. Even if Crew has a million and one obstacles in his life right now.
That reminds me of my date this Friday night. The date Val set me up on that I really don’t want to entertain, but feel obligated to. Maybe it’s my twisted way of hoping this guy will be extra special. Special enough to erase my feelings for Crew and make our entire back-and-forthsituationshipsimpler.
Nonexistent. But that sounds too painful to bear.
Recomposing myself, I follow Tenley through the double-wide doors and feel an overwhelming sense of awe from the cheers and cries of the crowd. Fans are covered in black and yellow with signs and body paint to express their love for this team.
The difference between now and the last time I was here is that I know #37. I know he smells like the woods and citrus combined. I know that he towers over me even in heels. I know what he tastes like. I know how wholesome and full his laugh sounds—the laugh he shares when he genuinely finds somethingfunny and isn’t trying to be polite. I know the joy that beams from him when his daughter comes into view. The light that shines across his face as if every storm in his life has finally settled.
Being back at Makers Park feels personal now.
And I think that counts for something. What, exactly? I’m not quite sure, but I’m open to finding out.
“Junie. Babe. You good?” Tenley breaks me from my trance, following her on autopilot.
I shake my head. “Yeah. Sorry. Just taken aback, I guess.”
“It’s like a drug,” she notes, smiling wide as we follow the steps leading…somewhere. I really have no idea where we’re going, but it’s definitely to a place not just anyone can go. Two flights of stairs lead us down toward a security guard she slips a password to, proving just how VIP it truly is.
“I’m gathering that.” I smirk, a rush of adrenaline and buzz building in my chest. I have to hold back a squeal the moment we enter another set of glass doors that’s labeled “Player Entrance” in black lettering.
I get to see Crew.
“I need to smooch my man before gametime, then we can go to the Bourbon Booths.”
“Bourbon Booths? What’s that?”
“It’s a spot for family and friends of the players above the dugout. Essentially a field box. Think bigger seats, unlimited food and drinks, and front-row access to the hottest players in the game.”
My stomach churns, and not in a sour way. God, I’m smitten. Tenley sees it, too. “Don’t worry, Crew will be close by.”
I can’t hide the blush on my cheeks or the alarm in my eyes. “Oh, I don’t need to see Crew. Just saw him the other day. No biggie.” I wave Tenley off, doing a terrible job at playing it cool.
“Pause,” she interjects, halting our bodies abruptly before we round the final corner. “Look at me, Juniper.”
“I’m looking at you.” I nod, unable to help myself from noticing how stunning Tenley Graves is. Bright blonde hair tied in French braids, blue eyes, and tattoos. She’s a badass.
“Great. Now, don’t just look at me, listen, too.”
“Listening,” I repeat.
“Stop trying to hide your feelings from me. Okay? Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you do for a living. As long as you’re cool people and kind to the people I love, you could be a garbage man for all I care. And if you want to fall madly in love with Crew, then fucking do it. Take it from someone who pushed love away for too long. I was an idiot. All that time I could have had the best thing. It’s so much better with hot sex and a guy who’s everything to you. I regret being so stubborn.”
She’s smarter than I gave her credit for.
I relax, unexpected relief welling inside me. I’m so tired of pretending not to be crazy about him. But even so, it’s not that simple. “I don’t know how to do this, Tenley. I like him. Pretty sure I more than like him. I won’t pretend not to anymore. But there’s so many reasons this would never work. More than the fact that I’m Addie’s doctor.”
Her hands meet my arms, and I feel her care in a tangible way. “There are always other doctors. But there’s only one true love. Fuck, I sound like a little bitch,” she laughs, shaking off her tenderness to replace it with strength.
