“Is that something you use?” Nakamura asks, and I’m happy to chime in when Javy and Charlie look to me.
“All the teams are using it, but I’ve incorporated that into my predictive algorithm. Plus it’s been updated to take that data into account, to help prevent injuries, especially the ones associated with overuse.”
He nods thoughtfully. It makes sense he’d be concerned about it. One of the major issues Japanese players sometimes have when they come over the States is getting used to a five-man rotation instead of six, plus an extra eighteen games in the regular season.
By the final out, I’m more sure than ever that this risk was absolutely the right call.
We wait for most of the crowd to empty out and our boys jog over to the stands, at which point Nakamura is allowed onto the field by security to chat with them.
I watch carefully, while Javy and Charlie chat beside me, as a soft flush appears in Kai’s cheeks when he types his number into Xander Greene’s phone, and the wide, silly grin on the centerfielder’s face as he does.
Well, if nothing else comes of this, they’re pretty adorable, and I’ll be able to say I was there the day they first met.
“Ms Sullivan,” Archie says, jogging over to us. “Do you think we could go grab some tacos again? Kai said he’d be down to come with.”
He reminds me of a little kid asking his mom if he can have a sleepover with his friends.
“You don’t have to get back toLA?” Charlie asks him.
“My next meeting is not until tomorrow,” Kai says, with a shrug, like he’s wildly unconcerned about whatever is happening at that meeting.
And I’m feeling even better about my choices, grinning as I imagine Wilson cooling his heels back on the plane, waiting even longer for his client.
“Okay, let’s go get some tacos.”
It’s the same Mexican place as the last time we were here, a little hole in the wall buried in a bland strip mall not far from the ballpark, but the drinks are strong – I’m definitely only having one margarita – and the food is as good as I remember.
Kai Nakamura seems to agree as Xander hands him a bottle of Cholula to add to his carne asada tacos, and utters an uncontrolled groan after a bite that has Xander blushing again the way he did back at the field.
“Did I mention this was brilliant?” Javy says, wiping his face and settling back against the booth seat, across the table from me, while we watch the kids at the table next to us and Charlie is at the bar grabbing us more drinks.
“You didn’t.”
“You gave him a glimpse of what his life will be like,surrounded by these kids, feeling comfortable here before he even throws a pitch.”
“We’ll see if it matters more than the check the Dodgers or Yankees will write.”
“Can’t control that and we can’t worry about things we can’t control,” Javy warns. “You know that better than anyone. It’s what you used to tell me all the time whenever I whined about run support. I remember you saying, clear as day,I can’t control for every variable, Javy. Suck it up.”
I ignore his terrible impression of me. “You never whined about run support.”
“I was doing it in my head and you always knew. That data of yours, you always knew shit was going on, sometimes even before we did.”
I can’t help my grin at the compliment, whether he meant it as one or not. “The things we can’t control are the most frustrating, though.”
He nods and then clicks his tongue, leaning forward. “And speaking of frustrating, I gotta ask you a question.”
His eyes light up and I can already tell where this is going.
“You can ask,” I say, “doesn’t mean I won’t tell you to fuck off.”
He lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half snort. “When are you going to put my boy out of his misery?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do,” he says simply, “and you should be glad it’s me asking you and not my wife, because she wants to call dibs on designing your dress.”
I choke on a sip of my drink at that last part of his sentence. “My dress?”
