Page 24 of Just for the Cameras
“You fucking think,” I say, hating him all over again.
Mindlessly, I watch the Bombers game, keeping an eye on Bennett. Even though he’s fucking young, the guy has made some insane plays, launching the ball across the baseball diamond from his goddamn knees, getting the runner out every time.
Up at bat, he has a double to left center and a triple down the third base line. His last at bat, he struck out on a breaking ball, but Jesus Christ, the kid is good.
And the announcers wouldn’t stop jabbering about it either.
A prospect from their farm system, he came up two years ago to join the team before the playoffs. Last year was his first full year with the team, and he’s already made a strong impression.
They flash his face on the screen for what seems like the twentieth time, and there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s a PR move from the team. Not only is he apparently liked by the public, but he’s also—I’m not fucking shy to say it—a good-looking guy. He could build more muscle on his bones—he’s still in that phase of moving up from the farm system to the major leagues—but he’s not as scrawny as he used to be.
He’s old enough to grow some scruff on his face, and his blue eyes almost seem darker under his baseball cap. And the camera is taking full advantage of it as they keep showing him off.
Over…
And over…
And over again.
Look at the Bombers working overtime to save their image.
I take a sip of my beer as my phone dings with a text. I glance down to see it’s from OC.
What does this motherfucker want now?
OC:Are you watching the Bombers game? I swear it’s half baseball, half pornographic display of Bennett. The way they slowly slide up his body with the camera while he’s on deck. Tell me that’s not intentional.
I drop my phone. No need to respond, because I can tell you right now, this is not a build-a-friendship moment.
No fucking way.
But of course, my phone dings again.
OC:Have you gotten an email yet? Because I haven’t. Do you think she just said that to get us out of her office? I fell for it. Did you?
I drop my phone to my lap and drag my hand over my face.
A week ago, I didn’t have this annoyance, this stress. I didn’t have this extra thing to worry about. And now look where I’m at, getting irritating texts from someone I don’t care to know.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I check my email, and when I see nothing, I text OC back.
Graydon:Smoke and mirrors. Nothing.
He texts back immediately.
OC:What the actual fuck! I say we riot at dawn.
Does he realize when he says stuff like that it makes me want to shove my palm straight up his nose?
My phone dings again, but this time, it’s a notification from my inbox. I glance down at my email and see something from Gretchen at the very top.
My phone dings again with a text.
OC:Oops, never mind, looks like we have a very comprehensive document to look over now. Huh, pulled the trigger early on that too. Anyway…how about those Bombers?
Graydon:Lose this number.
I open Gretchen’s email and glance over it, barely giving her intro the time of day as she scolds us for not trusting the process.
