Page 8 of Rain Delay

“They think based on how things went last season for you, you’re in this unique position to positively impact both the league and the team’s image.

“Alright…” I drag out, staring at him. I then look over at Coach, then at the stranger.

The rather chipper stranger grins, shifting in their chair before turning to face me. “Wyatt, I’m Molly, head of Social Marketing with MLB,” she holds her hand out for me to shake.

This was the conversation I had with Liam the other day. How they wanted to assign players with media managers. I just knew the devil was going to play games with me.

“We’d like to assign you a dedicated social media manager for the season.”

I lean back in my chair. “So, like a professional stalker?” I chuckle, but it dies quickly when no one else laughs with me.

Hypothetically speaking, I should be flattered if they want to use my face. I wish I understood why they wanted to pick me. I wasn’t an interesting character by any means.

Other guys on the roster are far more unique and worth paying attention to.

“We piloted the program last season,” Molly continues. “The results were extremely successful.”

She slides her phone across the table, showing me videos, photos, and behind-the-scenes content of a player from last season.

“I’m not really sure why you picked me.”

“Mitchell, you’re the face of our team,” Coach cuts in. “You’re the guy teammates go to if they need guidance. Kids wear your jersey. Fans love you. You’re exactly the type of guy MLB wants attached to this.”

They’re giving me too much credit.

You’re the face of our team. My life outside baseball is boring. When I’m not at the ballpark, you’ll probably find me at home studying film from previous games or sitting on my couch watching other baseball games.

“Trust me, I thought it sounded crazy at first, too,” Coach says. “But I think it’ll actually make sense for you and the team — They’ll be able to give the fans the private access they’ve always wanted without giving away too much. It’ll also help boost the team’s image. You know how the media is with us, especially after winning last season.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice.

“So…Do they come to my house?”

The air shifts in the room — Like what they’re about to tell me is something I’m not going to like.

“Well, we’re still trying to finalize everything, but we’re launching a new addition to this program,” Molly begins. “They will be living in-home with you.”

I nearly choke on my gum, sitting up straight in my chair. “Pardon?”

Nobody’s laughing or smiling. They’re actually serious with this shit.

The idea of someone living in my house with me was not what I was planning. I hadn’t shared a space with someone in years, and now MLB thought they could hand keys to my home to a stranger.

They just assumed I was going to be fine with this? A stranger living in my home? The place where I can be a recluse, where I can hide away and invite who I want into my house.

I grip the armrests on the chair tighter, and my jaw tenses. There was no way this was happening.

“And no one thought to run it by me first? Not to ask if I’m remotely okay with this?” I question. “They’re strangers, and I’m supposed to be this nice house host?”

Molly gives me a soft smile. “It’s something we want to try out. We think it’ll be the best option for making sure this program continues to be successful.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “This is fucking wild.”

“They’ll send you some more information about the contract details, but everything is pretty black and white, Wyatt.” My agent finally says something. “I think it’ll be good for you too! You’re alone too much; you need some kind of chaos in your life.”

“I’d rather it be something happening at a game, not in my home,” I tell him, starting to pick at my fingers — a nervous tick I’ve done for years.

That gets a shit-eating grin from Coach, like he was enjoying watching me suffer. “I expect you to be on your best behavior, Mitchell. No funny business.”