“Nah, I’m not. But next time tell your cousin to ask permission before she records me, yeah? Or anyone for that matter.”
“You got it, Coach. Sorry about that.”
I give him a nod in response, then cup my hands around my mouth and yell to the team. “Huddle up, everyone.”
The entirety of the Bridge Point Bears baseball team jogs over to me, and forms a tight circle.
“In less than twenty-four hours, we’ll be on Rebel turf for opening weekend. Last season when we played them, there was some tension between the teams. I’m not gonna beat around the bush, so let me remind you guys of this one more time. This ismyteam now. Whatever bullshit Coach Melbourne let you get away with last season won’t fly with me. If you’re out on the field,have a camera in your face, or even when you think no one’s watching, you remain professional. Got it?”
A collective round of “yes sir” is said as I make eye contact with every single one of my guys. When they fall on Jensen, he smirks.
Narrowing my eyes, I tell him, “Heed my words, Fields.” Then, addressing the entire team, I dismiss them to practice.
Heading to the dugout, I slump down on the bench and pull my phone out of my duffle. I don’t have any social media, but I want to watch that damn video again so I pull up the search engine and type in Bridge Point Bears to see what happens.
To my dismay, the video is the first thing that pops up with several links toseveralsocial media channels.
“Goddammit,” I grumble, and click on the first one. It’s the same video as Max showed me, but this time I click on the comments section. It has thousands of comments, but before I can start reading them, a pop up appears, prompting me to sign in.
Not willing to create an account, I go back to the original page and click on the next one.
Different social media site, same video, but this time there’s a woman floating over the video, talking and reacting to what she’s seeing. Obviously a green screen, but unsettling to see regardless.
Another link, another rendition of the video.
Finally, I make it over to a platform that doesn’t require a sign-in, and I’m able to see what people are saying—only I quickly learn I should have avoided the temptation of knowing.
Holy shit, the Bears coach might make me a baseball fan!
Off to buy tickets to a game I don’t understand!
I guess I’m a baseball girlie now.
I’m no baseball fan but I’d gladly play with his balls!
Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Yes please.
Sign. Me. Up.
I’d love for him to oversee me on the bench. Or, under me is fine too.
Is this…
“Ah, you’ve become a thirst trap.” Gareth collapses onto the bench next to me, peering down at my phone.
“A what now?” I scrunch my face in confusion.
“It’s when thirsty women on the internet turn you into a sex symbol,” he explains, and it does nothing to ease the confusion.
“Thirsty?” I ask with hesitation, like I’m not sure of an answer to a math question.
Austin joins us in the dugout. “C’mon. You know what thirsty means.”
I tug my cap off and run my hand through my hair. “The internet and Gen-Z slang aren’t something I keep up with.”
“It means they want you.” Austin laughs. “Like, they’re thirsty for your?—“
I cut him off with a growl. “Do not finish that sentence.”
