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“You didn’t have to parade it through the field like that you know.” I say against her lips.
“I kind of did,” she replies into my mouth as her head cranes to the side and our tongues meet briefly.
The whistles continue behind us from my teammates as my hand splays across her ass as I pull her closer - despite our bodies being pressed firmly against one another - to me.
“This is un-professional Gun. I’ll be the one cheering the other team on,” she jokes breaking the kiss.
“Very funny.” I say squeezing her ass lightly as she pulls herself completely out of my grasp and begins to walk away. I watch her shapely ass, sway from side to side until she walks out of my sight and is behind the dugout, then re-emerging in the stands as she takes a seat.
SAN DIEGO WON against Seattle by a landslide. I played the first two innings since Bellows wasn’t ready and as requested by the Skipper. Then one of the farm kids stepped up and took over. He kept getting his signals messed up, then as the same continued - he got with the program just as the Skipper took him out and replaced him with Bellows, when he was finally ready. I showered in the locker room before coming out of the clubhouse and walked straight to Sawyer who was standing talking with Brad Masters.
I place my arm around her shoulder and kiss her temple as a greeting.
“Think any of these kids are going to make roster?” Brad asks me.
“I think there are a few good contenders, and I hope we’ll have some who stay on the farm.”
“What do you think, Chainsaw?” Brad directs to Sawyer.
“I agree with Gun. I think that the new guys can learn a lot though through you old men.” Sawyer says with a laugh, while punching my side.
“Isn’t that what Spring Training is though, a chance for some of these rooks to up their game, show the Skipper and the rest of the managers that they’re worth bringing up on the roster?” Masters asks.
“Fellas, fellas. Let’s simmer down and get this show on the road. We’ve only got a couple of days left here in Arizona and I want to make the most out of it.” I say.
“What do you plan to do?” Masters asks.
“Sit poolside with a margarita while my man waits on me hand and foot in a thong.” Sawyer jokes.
Masters wiggles his eyebrows and smirks at me. “Looks like you have a full schedule ahead of you until you take off.”
“If only it was warmer outside, but I also didn’t pack any man thongs.” I reply.
“You headed back to Diego soon?” Masters asks the both of us.
Sawyer nods and I respond; “Yeah, we both take off from Sky Harbor on Friday.”
PENS ARE WAVING in my face. Pads of papers are thrusted in front of me. I smile and take each pen and scrap of paper carefully in hopes to make a small moment where these fans are in the presence of an athlete. There are both children and adults in front of me, all are patiently waiting for their turn, and a few of the younger boys are asking questions.
“Gunnar! Gunnar! Are you and Bently best friends?”
“Gunnar, what do you do when you’re not playing baseball?”
“Gunnar! What’s your favorite color?”
Sawyer stands off to the side, watching the crowd around me with a smile on her face. She’s leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest observing the scene in front of her. She’s used to this when we travel together, and she’s so easy going about it that sometimes I feel guilty for taking my time with some of the people asking for an autograph. She knows that I will stand there until our flight needs to take off, and I love her for her utmost patience.
“Flight number Seventeen Eighty for San Diego, now boarding first class passengers. Now boarding first class passengers.” A voice on the speaker chimes.
“Gun. That’s us.” Sawyer says sweetly coming up to the edges of the crowd. I nod and smile at the kid in front of me.
“Last one guys, I’ve got to make my flight home.” I smile signing my name on the notepad handed over to me. I hand it back and ruffle the kids’ shaggy hair as a gap in the small crowd surrounding me breaks so I can get through. Sawyer holds her hand out to me and I take it, bringing it to my mouth to kiss the back.
“Let’s go home.” I say.
“Home,” she confirms.
NINE
