Page 71 of Draft Pick
Let me talk to your father.
Oh my god. That wasn’t a yes, but it also wasn’t a no.
I type out a quick response.
Wonderful. I really hope you can come, Mom. Love you.
Mom
Love you too. Let’s video chat soon.
Progress. That’s progress. I’ll take it.
22
CREW
My elbow may be throbbingand my body sore, but the energy at Makers rattles through me like never before.
Maybe it’s because of the weekend off we had.
Or maybe it’s because Doc is in the stadium tonight. Dressed in all-black Striker swag with stiletto knee-high boots that drew me in like a kid drooling over a fucking cupcake.
Yeah, that’s definitely it.
I take my place in the warm-up circle, preparing for my turn at bat. King walks to the plate but makes a point to face me beforehand and winks. “Don’t choke, Briggsby. There’s a pretty doctor watching.”
I don’t have to look in the Bourbon Booth to know she’s there—I can feel her—but fuck, am I going to do it anyway.
The moment my head turns, and our eyes connect, I feel the most electrifying sense of peace wash over me. Juniper’s megawatt smile is directed at me, and shit, it makes me want to run to her. But since I’m technically forced by contract to play, I’m gonna make the most of having her eyes on me and give her something pretty fucking legendary to look at.
“I’m ready for my close-up, Doc,” I shout, causing fans all around to search for whoever I’m smiling at. Juniper’s handsfind her face in bashfulness, and I find it incredibly endearing. Cute and sexy. “Time to give you the proper welcome to Atlanta…Atlanta boys style.” And I wink, turning back just in time to catch King hit a slammer into left field.
“Don’t let that elbow slow you down, Suburban Daddy!”
A sly grin spreads across my face at the sound of her voice. I love when she calls me that. The crowd goes nuts as King rounds first base, winding up safe at second.
Now it’s my turn.
Because I’m anything if not consistent in teaching my child the greatest hits of my decade, a throwback artist with a brand-new single invades the stadium speakers as my walk-out song this season. “Let Em’ Know” by T.I. makes me want to fuck shit up in this ballpark tonight.
“Atlanta boys, where you at?” I hear Mack, our team captain and first baseman, yell from the dugout, the rest of the team answering in chants. “We right hereeeee!”
Mack shouts again as the pitcher gets into position while I square off at home plate. “Briggsby, where you at?”
I point my bat to the outfield. “I’m way out there, boys. Best job in the biz. Now, watch me work.”
And just because I can, and I have a woman to impress, I shake my ass to give her a show and send the first pitch into outer space.
Homerrun, baby.
I make my run around the bases leisurely and with every intention of taking my time so the other team gets a taste of what playing against the Atlanta fucking Strikers feels like. But I wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity to acknowledge Juniper in the stands amidst my victory. I point to her mid-stride with a cheesy-as-fuck smile across my face and hope to something bigger and greater she likes what she sees.
I guess what I mean is, I hope she likes me. I hope she somedaymorethan likes me.
At some point after our kiss, I started caring less about her being Addie’s doctor and thinking more about how that could actually be a positive thing.
It’s been a long minute since a woman has captivated me the way Juniper has, and I guess I’m just looking for a sign that she’s into me the way I am her.
