We became fast friends, staying in touch. Then, when I was drafted to Chicago and he was on a farm team, hustling to make the pros, we were in the same state. Occasionally I’d find time to practice with him—fielding balls and batting practice—and then one day the bastard was signed to the Steam.

I couldn’t fucking believe it.

His hard work had paid off, and we’ve been teammates ever since, riding each other’s asses and annoying the shit out of each other.

Until I went and slept with his younger sister…

God, I’m such a jackass.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” I whisper, mindful that the staff is setting up and about to begin. They don’t screw around when they call us in like this, beginning promptly and efficiently—just the facts so we’re out the door ASAP.

“You can’t ignore me.”

“Yes I can,” he says, most definitely not ignoring me.

“See. Told you.”

Buzz turns around in his seat to face me. “I was saying yes I can ignore you.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “If you were going to ignore me, you wouldn’t have replied. Period.”

He scrunches up his face. “You’re annoying.”

“You are.”

I’ve seen him bicker with his brother and sister; this is his style of arguing, and I’m happy to play along. It’s harmless and typically doesn’t escalate beyond a few immature barbs.

“You can’t get mad at me because I asked for your sister’s number. It’s not like I committed a crime.”

His mouth puckers. “I’m just looking out for her.”

Okay, that’s a bit offensive. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I have six sisters—I’m the last person who is going to treat her like shit. My sisters would kick my ass.”

“Oh, so you tell them when you treat women like shit?”

What the hell is he talking about? “I might have the occasional one-night stand, but I’ve never treated anyone I’ve dated like shit.”

Unlike himself, who I’ve seen hook up with randoms plenty in the past, before he met and married his wife. Buzz Wallace was your typical pompous mega-star athlete, pumping his dick into any willing jock chaser.

Buzz turns back toward the front of the room, and I suffer through the managers and assistant coaches giving us information about the upcoming preseason. The games, house rental information for guys who don’t own a place in Arizona near the stadium. Hotels that are home away from home. Rules.

They pass around stapled packets—the same ones we get year after year—and I take one, flipping through to view what I already know. Breeze through the conduct code.

I will accept decisions of all officials and base coaches without arguing.

I will let the coach handle disputes during games.

I will attend all practices and scheduled team meetings unless excused by management.

Well no shit, that’s what we’re here for. That’s why we get paid.

I will set a good example of behavior and show a command of sound work ethic for the community and my teammates, yada yada yada…

I will not use profanity or vulgarity…

No swearing? That last one actually makes me laugh out loud before I can finish reading the sentence in its entirety. Show me a guy on the team who doesn’t curse or use swear words, and I’ll show you a baseball field of invisible players.

And let’s not get started on the coaching staff, who not only curse but turn blue in the face sometimes when they’re screaming at us for fucking up.

You wouldn’t think that happened in the pros, but it does.

“You break half these commandments on a daily basis,” I whisper to Buzz’s back.

“Shut up.”

“You’re so bitchy today.” I lean back in my seat, racking my brain for a way to get through to him, wondering why I’m so hell-bent on getting his sister’s number.

Sure, True Wallace is pretty. And smart. And ambitious. And…

But it’s not like I can’t go out tonight and find a woman who’s equally so. Equally charming, equally funny, equally as good in bed.

My mind wanders, drifting back to that night…

“Does my brother know you’re over here talking to me?” True asks as the bartender at Buzz’s reception serves our drinks, sliding two cocktails across the counter, each named for the bride and groom: the Get A Buzz On and the Hollis Wallace.

“What? It’s against the law to talk to a beautiful woman at a wedding?”

“No, but you and I both know he wouldn’t like it, because he wants me to become a nun and live the rest of my life in a convent with my legs zipped shut.”

That makes me laugh and spit out some of my Get A Buzz On, the clear liquid dripping down my chin like drool.

True reaches over and swipes it away with a napkin, her finger skimming my freshly shaved skin.

Okay, okay, amigo, she’s just being polite. No need to get excited.

I raise my eyes to scan the room, determining her brothers—both of them—are occupied and at a safe distance, ergo I can continue flirting without dying at the hands of a Wallace boy.