The Unforgettable Inning - A Stealing Second Extra | Baseball!Shawn
This is easily the quickest I’ve ever cranked out one of these extras; got the request today, knocked it out today. Don’t know what came over me. I’d recommend watching this before you read, it’ll help you understand the context of why the game referenced in the piece was so important. It was an elimination playoff game, it was being stolen from Toronto by horrible calls, and the fans were so on edge to the point where they were throwing things onto the field in protest. Then, Bautista. His home run released all the tension in every fan in the stadium. It was absolutely electrifying, and resulted in the most iconic bat flip of all time. One of the best moments in Blue Jays history. Anyways, here’s 1.9k words of Y/N trying to make Shawn feel better about baseball season being postponed. Enjoy!!
Baseball season should be a month in by now.
You and Shawn both knew it, and the two of you were slowly starting to go crazy. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand why the season had to be postponed, because you did. There were more important things right now than sports. But baseball was your entire life, and to say you and Shawn were going stir-crazy stuck inside the apartment with nothing to do all day was a massive understatement.
While you were upset yourself, you felt worse for Shawn. You, at least, still had a bit of work to do on a daily basis for your position with the team, but without a season, Shawn and the other players had nothing. He was trying to act like he was coping well, but you knew him too closely to believe him when he said he was doing fine.
He’d thrown himself into training, trying to maintain his baseball-season form so he’d be ready as soon as the league said it was able to resume play. The gym in your apartment complex wasn’t anything like the one he had access to at the stadium, but it was better than nothing, and he was taking advantage of what he had available.
With the extra time you now had on your hands, you wanted to do something for Shawn that would take his mind away from the stress of feeling trapped, which you knew he did. You had a plan in place, but you were waiting for him to leave to put it into action.
As you sat cross-legged on the couch, your computer in your lap, you watched Shawn come out of your bedroom dressed to workout and clutching a water bottle.
You looked up from your laptop, trying to remain nonchalant. “Have a good workout,” you said, and he leaned over to quickly kiss your forehead.
“Thanks, honey. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
As soon as you heard the front door swing shut behind him, you closed your laptop and tossed it to the side. You knew his workout wouldn’t be more than an hour, so you had to move quickly.
The first thing you did was call in a pizza, one half with everything but the kitchen sink on it for Shawn, because you knew he’d want the calories after a workout, and the other side plain cheese for you.
You then moved into your room and dragged the comforter off of your bed, doubling back to grab as many pillows and extra blankets as you could hold in your arms. You tossed it all down on the couch before pushing the coffee table sideways and out of the way to the side of the room.
You laid the blankets and comforter out on the floor in front of the couch until it made a comfortable enough cushion, arranging the pillows into a pile to rest against the bottom of the couch until you were satisfied with the way it looked.
When the pizza came you set the box on the coffee table, stacking two plates on top of it in preparation, then leaned over to plug in the fairy lights you’d finally convinced Shawn to let you put up in that corner of the apartment and dimmed the rest of the lights.
Once everything was set up to your satisfaction, you grabbed the remote to the TV and tapped it against your chin as you tried to decide what to watch, but you quickly got an idea that was better than any movie could’ve been. You switched over to YouTube, knowing exactly what to type in.
2015 ALDS Game 5 - Rangers vs. Blue Jays. You just about cried with happiness when you found the full game on YouTube. It was perfect.
It wasn’t long after you had everything ready that you heard Shawn’s key jiggling the lock on the door. Your head snapped up from where it was bowed over your computer in the same position you’d been in when he left, and as soon as he came through the door you could make out a furrow in his brow through the now-dimmed lighting of the apartment.
“What’s all this?” he asked, a smile grabbing at his lips even though he was clearly confused. He set his keys down on the table in the foyer, making his way over to you.
“Well,” you started, unable to keep yourself from grinning back at him, “I know you’ve been going crazy without baseball, and I have been, too, so I thought we could hang out and watch an old game or something.”
“Which one?”
“Hm,” you sighed, trying to think of a clue that wouldn’t give it away too easily. “It’s a good one, but I’m gonna make you guess it.”
He laughed. “Try me.”
“One of the most iconic Blue Jays games in this decade.”
“So it’s not from either of the World Series’ then,” he mused, “because that was the 90s.” You nodded, prompting him to continue.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Can I get one more hint?”
You made a show of rolling your eyes. “Fine,” you sighed out playfully. “I really expected more from you, though.”
“Shut up,” he laughed.
“Okay. The unforgettable inning.”
“2015?” he guessed immediately, and you smiled.
“Warmer.”
“ALDS game 5. Too easy.”
“Good job,” you teased. “I found the whole game online. I thought it’d be fun for us to watch it. I got pizza, too.”
He stared back at you with a small smile, and his silence elicited a nervous laugh from you. “What? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“This is just really thoughtful of you,” he said, leaning in to kiss you.
But you pressed a finger to his chest to keep him at a distance, to which he frowned. “What?”
“Shower first,” you teased. “You look like you just crawled out of a swamp.”
“You’re really lucky that you just did all this nice stuff for me, because otherwise I’d chase you around until you were covered in sweat like this, too, just for that comment.”
“Well that would be pointless anyways, because girls don’t sweat.”
“I hate you,” he laughed, but he allowed you to shove him off in the direction of the bathroom.
“Make it quick,” you called after him. “I’m bored already!”
After about 15 minutes he came back out, his hair damp and a pair of black athletic shorts hanging low on his hips.
“Do you want to get me a glass of wine before you sit down?” you asked, batting your eyes at him.
“No,” he said, but he went into the kitchen to get it anyway.
“I love you,” you called out jokingly, and you could visualize the way his eyes were rolling.
“I love me, too,” he said back. You just laughed. Such a shithead.
He came back over and handed you your wine glass, stepping over you to grab the box of pizza, the plates disregarded.
“Plates!” you whined, but Shawn didn’t care.
“Just don’t make a mess,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I don’t want to do dishes.”
“You mean you don’t want to sit on your ass while I do dishes?” you jabbed, but he wasn’t bothered because he knew it was an exaggeration.
“Yeah, exactly,” he answered sarcastically. “Get a piece so we can start the game.”
As soon as the 6th inning had ended, you felt a chill go down your back in anticipation of the excitement that was about to come.
“What?” Shawn asked, his chest shaking with a slight laugh. You were halfway lying on him, so he’d surely felt you shake.
You giggled. “I got the shivers. The 7th inning gives me goosebumps.”
“It hasn’t even started yet,” he teased, jabbing a finger into your side to make you jump.
“But I know what happens!” you laughed. You grabbed his forearm so he couldn’t poke at you anymore, which ended in a power struggle to see who could grab hold of whose wrists longer.
“If you make me miss a single pitch of this inning I will make you sleep on the couch tonight,” you threatened, but it didn’t sound very menacing when you were forcing the sentence out through giggles.
He sighed. “Fine.”
You sat up and scooted out of his reach as soon as he took his hands off of you, and you could instantly feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. “What the hell was that?”
“Truce,” he replied, holding his arms up in surrender. “I promise. Just come back.”
“So needy,” you teased, but you crawled back over to lie down on him again anyways.
When Bautista came up to bat after Toronto had tied it 3-3, you sat up and leaned slightly forward; you could not lie down and relax when you knew what was going to happen, especially considering the fact that you were already pretty fired up from the inning’s happenings thus far.
“Here it comes,” Shawn said.
“No, it’s the pitch after this one,” you replied, negating him without tearing your focus away from the screen.
“I thought it was on the 0-1 pitch?”
“Nope. It’s the 1-1. Just watch.”
“But I--” Shawn started, but was cut off when the second pitch of the at-bat came in as a ball.
“Told you,” you bragged triumphantly. “It’s this pitch.”
Shawn sat up with you, both of you waiting intently. As soon as Bautista sent the ball flying into left field and flipped his bat, you yelled like it was your first time seeing the hit. The cameras were shaking from how loud it was in the Rogers Centre, all the tension the fans had been feeling released with one crack of the bat. Your cheering turned into a jittery, excited laughter you couldn’t control as Bautista rounded third, and Shawn quickly joined in.
“‘You can only play with fire for so long, and it’s gonna burn ya,’” you giggled, quoting the announcer. You’d seen the play so many times you had the commentary memorized by now. “I fucking love baseball.”
“Maybe I should flip my bat like that the next time I hit a home run.”
“You couldn’t pull it off,” you retorted.
Shawn sighed. “Yeah, I know. Bautista is way cooler than me.”
You laughed, crawling back on top of him. “Plus it was the playoffs, which makes it even better. Easily the most iconic bat flip of all time.”
“Easily,” he echoed, beginning to calm down from the hype of the hit. “I miss it so much.”
You sighed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it lightly. “I know. But this is the best we can do right now.”
“Thank you for doing this, honey,” he said softly. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” you sassed. He swatted at you playfully. “There are plenty of classic games on the MLB YouTube channel so we can watch more whenever you want. You know I’m down for that.”
“I know you are,” he replied. “Because my girlfriend loves baseball more than the average baseball player.”
You laughed. “That’s not true, but I’ll take it.”
“Mmm, I think it’s pretty true.”
“Whatever you say, rookie,” you breathed out, burying your head in the crook of his neck. He instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “Now let me finish watching this game.”
Thank you for reading!! Feedback makes me very happy.
Stealing Second Taglist: (sorry if it wouldn’t let me tag you, and if you want to be removed from the taglist for these extras just let me know!!)
Author’s Note: Send me an ask to be added to the tag list! Send me any baseball questions! Thanks to @heavenly---holland for the moodboard and @the-claire-bitch-project for being my personal Wikipedia!
Tessa bounded into the kitchen from the garage, grocery bags in hand.
“Tess!” her mom gasped.
“Mom!” she shouted back. “Iinvitedaboyoverandineedyourhelptogetready!”
Tessa’s mom looked at her blankly as Coach Hale walked in behind her.
“Tess invited a boy over for dinner tonight,” Coach translated. “Seems like a good kid.”
“Oh?” her mom asked. “Well, alright! It’s a good thing I cleaned today! What are we making?”
Tessa put her grocery bags down on the counter with her dad’s bags. “Burgers and bratwursts. I’m picking him up at six o’clock. He’s staying with the Millers just down the street, so I’m gonna walk over there,” she said. She began to unload the grocery bags, gently placing the hotdog and hamburger buns in the bread box next to the refrigerator, then proceeded to take the vegetables out and put them away. Her hands were shaking and she was more nervous than she ever thought she would be. She shut the refrigerator door after putting the veggies in, then pressed her head against the the door.
“What’s up, Coach?” Tessa’s mom asked. She came over and put her hand on Tessa’s back, rubbing it gently.
“I’m so, I don’t know, nervous,” Tessa whispered. “It’s stupid, he’s just another person like me.”
“What’s he look like?” her mom asked.
“God, Mom, he’s like, the most perfect looking person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. He’s really tall and pale and has these brown curls and God, he has these eyes, Mom, they’re just, just, wow,” Tessa gushed.
Coach Hale chuckled. “Well, damn, Tess, the way you’re talking about him makes me think we should gone a little more fancy than burgers!”
Tessa looked at her dad in panic. “What?” she demanded.
“I’m kidding, Tess! Just messing with you, hun.” Tessa’s mom playfully smacked her husband’s arm.
“Dad!” Tessa groaned. “I’m really stressing out about this!”
“I know you are, Coach, I’m just trying to help you relax! Mendes is a good guy, so I’m sure it’ll be fine!”
“How do you know he’s a good guy, Dad?” Tessa asked.
“Because I personally recruited him, Tess. I’d heard some talk about him from some coaching circles, so I checked him out. I talked to his coaches and they all said he’s a stellar guy. He’s young, turned eighteen just before his freshman year, so he’s nineteen now, and was a captain this season. All his guys love him, Tess, and when I say love I mean they love him. The coaches love him, too. He’s a very personable guy, really kind and caring, works really hard, and he always wants to improve. His coaches up at Toronto raved about him. They wanted me to make sure I gave him the best shot at a pro career as I could because if anyone deserves it, it’s him.”
Tessa fought back a smile. Her dad really seemed to like Shawn, which naturally make her like him more.
“You’re not bullshitting me, huh?” she asked slyly.
“I don’t bullshit my assistants, Coach. I tell it to them straight.” Coach Hale smiled at his daughter.
Tessa grinned back. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I’ve got your back, Tess. Now, are you gonna help me with these burgers or do we have to lie to Mendes and tell him you made this all yourself?” Coach Hale held the ground beef out to Tessa.
She took the package from him and ripped it open. She felt nervous still, desperately wanting to make a good impression on Shawn, desperately hoping this would be enough.
Tessa straightened her navy blue shirt and took a deep breath. She stood outside Shawn’s host home. She checked her watch. Six o’clock on the dot. She took another breath before lifting her arm slowly and knocking on the door three times. A few painfully long moments later, Mrs. Miller opened the door.
Mrs. Miller was a good friend of her mom’s. She ran the concessions stand at the Whitecaps’ games. She smiled brightly.
“Hi, Tessa!” she greeted. “You’re here for Shawn, right?”
Tessa felt her hands begin to shake. She clasped them together behind her back. What had Shawn told them?
“Yes I am,” she said cheerily.
Mrs. Miller opened her mouth to speak before a loud thud came from behind the door. Tessa peered around to see Shawn sitting on the ground, having just slipped down the stairs. Tessa laughed loudly at the sight and Mrs. Miller joined her.
Shawn’s cheeks flushed as he stood up, running his tattooed hand through his chocolate curls to fix them. He wore a fancy watch, Tessa noticed, along with a ring and several bracelets. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.
“Well, hey, Tessa,” Shawn said awkwardly. “What a way to make an entrance, right?”
Tessa shrugged. “I didn’t realize you were falling over yourself to have dinner with me.”
Shawn half-smiled. “Lemme get my shoes,” he said, then disappeared.
Mrs. Miller looked expectantly at Tessa. “So, is this a date, Tessa?”
Tessa’s cheeks got hot. She nervously curled a finger around a strand of hair at her neck. “Um,” she said, then trailed off as Shawn came back into sight.
“It’s not a date,” Shawn said, winking at Tessa without Mrs. Miller seeing. “It’s a newcomer’s dinner hosted by the Hale’s.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Miller said, disappointment in her voice. “Well, have fun!”
“We will!” Tessa said.
Shawn said goodbye to his host mom, then exited the house. Mrs. Miller waved, then closed the door behind the two of them.
Tessa and Shawn began to walk side-by-side towards Tessa’s house. Their shoulders bumped into each other occasionally.
“Thanks for that,” she said, motioning back towards the Miller’s.
Shawn looked at her and slowed his pace. “Oh, yeah, no problem,” he said, trying to be nonchalant.
“I, um,” Tessa bit her lip, “I do, uh, like, want this to be, um, like, a date.”
Shawn stopped walking abruptly and Tessa’s heart dropped. He didn’t want this to be a date too.
He looked down at her. Tessa wasn’t short, far from at 5-foot 10-inches, but Shawn made her feel small and short as he gazed down at her with those eyes. In the summer sunlight, they looked a bright green.
“I do too, Tessa,” he said softly. “I just didn’t think it was her business if this was a date or not.”
Tessa felt like she was on cloud nine. Her stomach flipped and her hands went cold. Her freezing right hand came back up to her strand of hair to rid herself of some of her nervous energy.
Shawn caught her hand in his left hand, the non-tattooed one. He held it in his palm, just looking at her delicate fingers. His hands dwarfed her own. She wondered what he was thinking about.
“This is all quite romantic,” she said as softly as he had spoken. “But my house is right there and my dad will come out here and embarrass us.”
Shawn laughed. “I believe it,” he said.
Tessa gave him a look before continuing towards her house. Shawn caught up with her in a few long strides, rushing to open her front door for her.
“How chivalrous,” Tessa teased, rolling her eyes.
“I do what I can,” Shawn smirked back.
Tessa tossed her hair to the side dramatically as she walked through the door, Shawn hot on her heels.
“We’re here!” Tessa called to her parents, leading Shawn towards the kitchen. They entered and Tessa’s mom smiled widely at Shawn.
“Welcome welcome!” She chirped, walking over to Shawn and hugging him. “We haven’t met yet, but I’m Tessa’s mom.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hale,” Shawn said, hugging her back.
“All the guys call me Cora,” she said.
“Mom is one of the big dogs for the Caps,” Tessa explained. “She helps run things, so she gets to know the guys.”
“Oh, excellent!” Shawn said. He stood back up to his full height and buried his hands in the back pockets of his black skinny jeans. He quickly removed them again and offered it to Tessa’s dad. “Coach, good to see you.”
Coach Hale shook it. “You too, Mendes.”
“I may have told Mrs. Miller that this is a newcomer’s dinner as a cover for Tessa,” Shawn added.
Cora laughed. “What did she ask?”
“Mom,” Tessa sighed, exasperated. “You know what she asked.” She turned to Shawn. “She’s a gossip. She means well, she really does, she just … needs to be in everyone’s business.”
Cora and Coach Hale nodded in agreement. “She’s nosy,” Cora said.
Tessa turned to her parents. “She asked if this was a date, and Shawn thankfully stepped in and saved the day so the whole team wouldn’t know.”
“Young would be furious,” Coach Hale said with another nod. “Poor kid’s ego would be even more bruised.”
“His face will be bruised if he says anything,” Tessa retorted. She frankly didn’t care what Kyle thought about her and Shawn having a date.
Tessa realized Shawn was silent. She looked at him and he looked a little shocked, a little taken aback. She hooked her arm in his and explained, “We talk about everything in this family. We all know what’s up and we’re very close. My brother lives in Los Angeles, so it’s just us three when I’m home from school.”
“Oh, I love your relationship.” Shawn motioned to the Hales. “It reminds me of my family, and I just wasn’t expecting you to be so forward. It’s great!” Shawn paused and cleared his throat, looking like he wanted to say something else.
“And?” Tessa stared at him.
“Um,” Shawn looked down at his feet, “if, uh, Kyle said anything, um, I’d deck him too.”
Tessa laughed. “Don’t be so shy about it, Shawn, we’d all back you up if you did.”
“Listen, Mendes,” Coach Hale said, crossing his arms. “If you decked Young, I’d give you a reward and kick him off the team.”
“Is he really that bad?” Shawn asked.
“Yes,” Tessa, Cora, and Coach Hale said in unison.
Shawn stepped back. “Wow,” he said with a chuckle.
“He harassed me all last season about going on a date with him,” Tessa said.
“And I tried to not allow him back this season,” Coach Hale added. “But apparently everyone else loved him and didn’t believe me or Tess.”
Shawn was speechless.
“I know, it’s messed up.” Tessa turned to Shawn. “But we can’t do anything else about it, so we just deal with him and if he messes with me anymore, I’ll deck him. I’m tired of talking about Kyle, can we eat?”
Tessa’s dad laughed. “That’s my girl. Mendes, you like burgers? Bratwursts?”
Shawn looked a little dazed from the conversation. “Uh, yeah, uh, yes sir.”
“Great! Dig in, then!” he chirped happily.
Shawn stood frozen for a moment before Tessa tugged gently on his arm. “I promise we didn’t poison it, c’mon,” she said softly. Tessa led him to the food, handing him a paper plate.
“We broke out the fine china for you, Mendes,” Coach Hale laughed, referring to the plate in Shawn’s hand.
Shawn looked down at his hand, then laughed. It sounded a little forced, and Tessa gave him a look. Was he nervous?
“Thanks, Coach,” he said. He began to craft his burger, grabbing a bun and gently prying it open. Tessa swore his hands were shaking.
“God, I’m starving,” Tessa said, trying to lighten Shawn’s mood as he put his burger together.
“I could eat every single one of these burgers,” Shawn said quietly. “Literally, every single one of them.”
Tessa laughed, following him to the table. “Then let’s eat, Bubs.”
Shawn’s face flushed at the nickname. He stood awkwardly at the table, mouth open, unsure where to sit.
Tessa sat down in her spot, then patted the spot next to her, the one facing the kitchen. “Right here, Shawn. It’s Nathan’s spot, but he’s in L.A., so you’re good.”
“Thanks, Tess,” he replied.
Cora and Coach Hale both snapped their heads towards their daughter. They were the only ones who called her ‘Tess,’ and they knew it. In tandem, they cocked their heads at her. She widened her eyes back at them, trying to tell them to cut it out only with her look. They got the point, picking up their plates and joining Tessa and Shawn at the table to enjoy their dinner.
“Is this you?” Shawn asked, pointing at a picture on the mantle.
Tessa walked into the living room, holding a two cups of ice water. She held one out to Shawn, then examined the picture he was pointing at.
“Yeah,” she said with a small laugh. “That’s me.”
“Did you play?” he asked. The picture was of her holding a bat at home plate.
“I used to take BP during breaks with the Whitecaps when I was little. The pitchers would toss me the ball, I’d hit it and run the bases. They’d all cheer me on, and when I’d touch home, they’d run at me and lift me up like I’d won them the World Series.” Tessa smiled at the memory, hearing the Caps cheer her name from the past.
“But did you play?” he asked again. He took a sip of his water, looking at her expectantly.
“Nah,” she said. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wanted to play baseball, not softball or t-ball. The local parks and rec wouldn’t let me. Because I ‘was a girl.’”
“That’s bullshit,” Shawn said plainly. “They knew you were better than any of the boys and they would’ve looked bad against you.”
Tessa shrugged. “You’re not wrong, Mendes,” she agreed. “But they still wouldn’t let me play. I would’ve been a killer shortstop, though.”
“Oh yeah?” Shawn smiled.
“Oh yeah,” Tessa replied, confidently crossing her arms. “It’s a good thing they didn’t let me play, really, because I would’ve crushed every single one of those guys.”
“Oh yeah,” Shawn nodded. He gazed at Tessa, then started laughing. Tessa joined him, giggling at the way he laughed and relishing in the way she was able to make him laugh.
Tessa looked back at Shawn as their laughter slowed to a stop. He really was one of the most beautiful people she’d ever seen.
“Do you, uh, wanna see my, um, my bedroom?” Tessa asked shyly.
Shawn licked his lips widened his eyes. “Aren’t your parents right next door to your room?”
“Oh, no, they went downstairs. That’s Dad’s ‘Man Cave’ down there. His stuff from when he played is all down there. All Mom’s scorebooks from Dad’s games are down there, too. And, of course, a big ass TV, a pool table, and all that jazz. He even has a little homebrew area down there.” Tessa motioned towards the basement door.
“Oh, shit, that’s cool,” he replied. He gnawed nervously on the inside of his cheek, shifting on his feet.
“C’mon, let’s go upstairs,” Tessa said. She reached over and took his left hand in her right, tugging him behind her as she walked towards the staircase. Shawn followed her, looking around the Hale’s hallways as they went up to Tessa’s room. Tessa turned to look at him as they walked down the upstairs hallway. He was looking around at the photos, taking in every picture of Tessa and her brother, of Tessa and her dad, of Nathan and their mom, of the four of them together. He smiled sadly looking at a picture of the Hale’s in front of Fenway Park.
“You okay?” Tessa asked, stopping.
“Yeah,” Shawn replied, “yeah, I’m good. Just miss my family, that’s all.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah, I have a sister, Aaliyah. She’s a good kid, works really hard. We’re pretty close.”
“Me and Nate are pretty close, too,” Tessa said. “Having him across the country is really hard. We don’t see him nearly as much as we want to, but he’s doing really well out there.”
“But it still is hard to be away, right? Seeing him be successful out there makes it worse sometimes, right?” Shawn squeezed her hand.
“Exactly,” Tessa agreed. “I’m so happy for Nate, I just wish he was closer.”
“I feel like I’m missing out sometimes,” Shawn added. “I live just outside of Toronto, so my family came to as many games as they could, but I wish she could be in college with me, you know?”
Tessa nodded. She knew exactly.
“Sorry,” Shawn apologized.
Tessa narrowed her eyes at him. “What for?”
“I didn’t mean to get all sappy and nostalgic there,” he chuckled.
“How dare you show emotion in this house,” Tessa teased. “Men can’t have emotions, it’s against the Bro Code, Shawn.”
He slid his hand out of hers and put them up. “You got me there, Coach.”
Tessa laughed, then continued walking to her room. She opened the door and flicked on the light. She made her bed when she changed clothes before dinner, and she silently thanked herself for having such foresight.
“Well, this is it,” she said, turning around in the middle of the room to face Shawn. She shoved her hands in her back pockets and pressed her lips together as she watched Shawn take in her childhood bedroom.
His eyes darted around the room. They landed first on her framed picture of Fenway, then traveled over to her collage of pictures of her and her friends. He walked over to her wall to get a closer look.
“Did you take all of these?” he asked.
“I took a lot of them. I love taking pictures of my friends.” Tessa rocked back and forth on her feet.
“That’s so cute,” Shawn said, mostly under his breath. Tessa blushed. “And of course, you have Fenway,” he added louder.
“Of course,” she said, smiling a little to herself.
“Dare I ask, but are you, a, uh . . .” he trailed off.
“A Sox fan?” she finished, raising her eyebrows. He nodded, so she continued. “Not really, to be honest. I really just love baseball, so I’m not picky about who I watch. I tend to follow specific players and not whole teams. I love Fenway, I think it’s so beautiful, but I’m not a Sox fan.”
“Who are your favorites?” Shawn asked, but didn’t turn around.
“Max Scherzer from the Nats, Dansby Swanson from the Braves, and Aaron Judge from the Yankees, just to name a few.”
“Didn’t Judge play for the Whitecaps?”
“I’m impressed,” Tessa said with a small smile that Shawn couldn’t see. His back was turned to her as he admired her walls. “He did, Aaron was like, my first baseball crush. He played here in 2012, which was the summer before my freshman year of high school. God, I would’ve killed to have been just a few years older for him.”
Shawn laughed loudly and turned to face her. “I was definitely not expecting you to say that.”
“What can I say? I’m full of surprises, Bubs.”
He completed his tour around her room, then flopped down on Tessa’s bed. “Where did that name come from?” he asked, putting his hands behind his head and sinking into the pillows.
Tessa shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought it fit you. You seem like a Bubs to me.”
“You should write that as my name in your notebook now.”
“I’ll have your name changed on the roster. Shawn ‘Bubs’ Mendes.”
Shawn laughed. “I can hear the crowds chanting it now.”
“The guys would never let you hear the end of it.” Tessa laid down next to him on her Queen-sized bed, sinking into her favorite pillow comfortably.
Shawn rolled on his side, cupping his cheek with his hand and propping his head up on his elbow. He gazed at her sweetly. “You think I care?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Tessa said. She stared at Shawn’s eyes. In the dark of her room, they looked a lovely chocolate brown that matched nicely with his curly hair. “How fragile is your masculinity?”
“I have both a bird and a flower tattooed on my body, Tess. I have my ears pierced. So do you really think I care?”
Tessa turned her head to look at him. “Both ears?”
“Both ears. I like to wear earrings when I’m home.”
“Don’t you know having a p--”
“I’ve heard all the jokes, Tessa, and it doesn’t matter which ear is pierced.”
Tessa blushed. “I know it doesn’t matter, and I’m glad you tell people the same thing.”
Shawn licked his lips. “I think I look hot with an earring, personally.”
“I’d like to see that one day. Where is your flower tattoo?” She could clearly see the bird on his hand, of course.
“C’mere,” he said. He rolled on his back, then pulled her into his lap so she straddled his thighs. She squeaked, not expecting the contact or the position.
“Shawn . . .”
“It’s in an awkward place,” he explained. He sat up enough to reach behind his neck and tug his t-shirt off. Tessa felt like she was going to throw up. Her hands went cold again.
Shawn laid his v-neck next to the two of them on the bed. He put his right arm above his head, revealing a lightbulb encasing blue flowers.
“They’re lilies and orchids, my mom’s favorite,” he whispered.
Tessa did her best to not think about the fact that she was straddling his thighs or that he was shirtless or how fine his body was. She let her hand come up to his arm and trace over the tattoo. “It’s beautifully done,” she whispered back. “And so is the bird.”
“It’s a swallow,” he said, tragically putting his arm down to show her his right hand. “They’re famous for being travelers, but always coming back home no matter how far they travel. I thought it was really cool, especially with the amount of travel I do to play ball.”
Tessa reached down to trace the intricate swallow on his hand. A ring with two feathers decorated his ring finger on the same hand. She pressed their palms together so she could hold his hand up and look at it. “What about the ring?”
He gazed lazily up at her, a haze in his eyes. “I got it at a baseball tournament in Japan. I think jewelry has a lot of luck in it. You know baseball players, we’re superstitious as hell.”
Tessa intertwined the fingers of her left hand with Shawn’s right. “You’re talking to the Queen of Superstitions, Bubs.”
“What are you superstitious about?” he asked. He grabbed her other hand and intertwined their remaining fingers together.
“Well, there’s a legend that says its bad luck to kiss a boy on your bed before you’re dating or married or something like that,” she teased. She could see Shawn staring at her lips as she spoke about kissing.
“I take it that’s not one of yours?” he asked, licking his lips while he still stared at hers.
“You take it or you hope it?” Tessa whispered, leaning down to lay her chest against Shawn’s.
Their noses bumped into each other and Tessa could feel Shawn’s breath against her lips. Tessa remembered the way Shawn’s eyes looked in the afternoon sunlight when they’d walked to her house earlier; the color now was somewhere in between that bright green and the sweet chocolate she’d seen moments before.
“Both,” Shawn whispered, before lifting his head up just enough to connect their lips.
Tessa exploded. She closed her eyes and released his hands, dragging them slowly up his sides until they came to rest on his neck. She relished in the way his lips felt gently sliding against hers.
Shawn wrapped his arms around Tessa’s back, tugging her ever closer into his chest. The tip of his tongue traced her bottom lip delicately. Tessa eagerly opened her mouth against Shawn’s and he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. She groaned and tugged her head back, but Shawn caught her lip in between his teeth and lightly clung onto it for an extra moment before letting it go.
“Shit,” she grumbled.
“Fuck,” he grumbled back.
Tessa kissed the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then down his jawline towards his ear, then down his neck. She placed hot, open-mouthed kisses across the lean, taut muscles, applying a little suction in a few areas until Shawn let out a soft moan in one area.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” Tessa mumbled into his skin. She sank her teeth into his neck, the same area she’d just kissed, and pulled on it a little, wrapping her lips around it and sucking harshly. Shawn whined low in his chest. She released him and proudly examined the angry red mark she’d left before soothing it over with her tongue and kissing it daintily.
His hands scrambled to grip her thighs as she kissed down his neck to his collarbones. He gripped her tightly, almost begging her to come back and kiss his lips again with his grasp.
“Why don’t you have any tattoos on your chest?” she asked, innocently making eye contact with him while her lips hovered over his sternum.
“Haven’t found the right thing to put there yet,” he replied, a little out of breath.
Tessa kissed all over his chest, leaving a few red marks in her wake, until she made her way back up to the first mark she’d left on his neck. She left her bottom lip drag over the red mark, placing a kiss on it before she bit down and sucked in the exact spot.
“Fuck, you tryna mark me up, Coach?” Shawn chuckled.
Tessa licked her mark on him and bit down on him a third time. “So what if I am, Mendes?” Tessa purred.
“I am one hundred percent okay with that,” he said quickly. “One hundred percent.”
Tessa laughed musically and kissed Shawn’s lips. She sighed into them, feeling like she belonged there, body pressed into Shawn’s, body heat leaking into each other.
Shawn’s hands slid from her thighs to her ass, smoothly slipping into the back pockets of her skinny jeans. He squeezed her ass and she squeaked into his mouth. Shawn pulled her up slightly, disconnecting his lips from hers. He trailed one hand up to cup her cheek, staring up at her lovingly.
“God, you’re beautiful, Tess,” he whispered. He traced her cheekbone with his thumb.
“You’re not too shabby yourself, Shawn,” Tessa whispered back. She smiled down at him, at his stupid perfect face, trying to memorize every detail.
He leaned up and kissed her collarbones, like she did to him. She felt a sharp pinch as Shawn returned the hickey she’d given him. She giggled, knowing she’d have a mark, that people would ask about the bruise on her collarbone later, already trying to prepare some sassy remark to shoot back at them.
Shawn’s lips on her neck and his hands squeezing her ass reminded her that she didn’t need to come up with a sassy remark. She was with Shawn, staring down at that beautiful face as he kissed her neck. Tessa could stay and kiss him every day, every night for the rest of her life and be content. She felt warm and at home with Shawn.
Tessa woke up in the morning feeling deliciously warm. Her bed still smelled like Shawn, and she decided she’d steal his cologne before he went back to school.
She smiled as she thought about straddling Shawn, kissing him, how warm he was against her. She remembered how warm her bed still was when she came back from walking him to the Miller’s. She blushed at the memory of the way he’d kissed her outside of the Miller’s house, grabbing her ass lightly, then winking at her as they both saw Mrs. Miller in front of the window.
Tessa leaned over to grab her phone from her bedside table. She saw a text from Shawn and she smiled.
Shawn: morning beautiful!
Tessa: mornin bubs x
Shawn: you left quite the mark on my neck
Tessa: right back atcha ;)
Shawn: kyle’s gonna have a fit
Tessa: fuck him
Shawn: no thanks
Tessa: smartass
Shawn: :))) see you at practice coach x
Tessa rolled out of bed. She walked to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. She yawned at herself in the mirror, flicking the light on as she passed the switch. Her eyes widened as they came to rest on a large purple bruise on her right collarbone. Well, fuck, she thought.
She decided it would be best to not hide it. She slipped a sports bra on, then her favorite Whitecaps tank top. The hickey stood out against her pale skin and she shrugged at it as she pulled her long, pencil-straight hair into a ponytail.
Tessa padded downstairs. Her mom sat on the couch, curled up with a cup of coffee in a Whitecaps mug.
“Morning!” Cora said cheerily.
“Morning,” Tessa replied.
“Nice bruise there,” her mom said. She put her coffee down on the coffee table, stood up, and walked over to Tessa.
“Yeah, you should see the other guy,” Tessa joked.
“Did you have fun at least?” Cora asked, tracing Tessa’s hickey.
“Mom, you saw how gorgeous he is. What do you think?”
“That’s my girl.” Tessa’s mom patted her on the shoulder with a smile. “Coffee’s in the pot.”
Coach Hale clambered down the stairs. “Did I hear coffee?” he asked.
Tessa beat him to the coffee pot. She grabbed her favorite mug, her baseball mug, out of the cabinet, along with her dad’s mug. He still used the “Best Dad” mug she and Nate had made for him when they were little.
She poured each of them a mug, turning around to hand her dad his coffee. “Morning, Dad,” she said with a smile.
He took the mug with a grin at Tessa. “Mendes do that?” he asked, referring to her bruise.
“Yep.”
He nodded. “Nice,” Coach Hale said, high-fiving his daughter. “He’s a good one.”
Slumped - A Stealing Second Extra | Baseball!Shawn
Happy Home Run Derby Day/All-Star Break, friends!! Y’all requested an angsty Stealing Second blurb, so I present to you 4.6k words of my shitty attempt at writing angst. I hope you missed reading these two as much as I did writing them. Also...can we appreciate how pretty this picture is? Anyways, feedback is always so so appreciated. Enjoy!!!
You sighed as you flicked the TV off, running your hands over your face in frustration. The Blue Jays had shut out the Rays and racked up their third straight win, but it didn’t feel like a victory to you; it was the fifth game in a row that Shawn hadn’t hit safely. You, Shawn, the team, and the entire Toronto fanbase knew that if he didn’t soon find his batting groove, he’d be watching his team play from the dugout until he could.
A slump is something with which nearly every baseball player is familiar; a period of time in which hitting safely just cannot seem to happen. Even the best baseball players experience slumps where, for multiple games in a row, their batting averages suffer from a lack of hits. This was what Shawn was experiencing, but the timing for it couldn’t have been worse. The potential All-Star Ballot was the topic on everyone’s tongue, and you were worried about Shawn losing MLB fans’ support to the point where he would no longer be voted onto the primary ballot as had been anticipated by not just you, but the majority of the baseball community.
You pulled your fuzzy-sock covered feet up onto the couch and curled up, lost in your worried thoughts as the setting sun cast an orange-tinted glow across the apartment. You had intended to wait up for Shawn to get home from the game, but it wasn’t until you were waking up that you realized you’d even fallen asleep.
You blinked the sleep out of your eyes to be met with your boyfriend standing over you, a fuzzy blanket at the ready to be draped over your once-sleeping body. The first thing he’d noticed upon walking through the front door of the apartment was how cold it was, and the second was your sleeping form curled into the couch. Shawn had only meant to cover you up to keep the chill out while you slept, but his clumsy (though well-intentioned) actions quickly woke you up.
“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just cold in here. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay,” you mumbled groggily, sitting up slowly and rubbing your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
At this he smiled, and you offered a lazy one back as you blinked your eyes a little more. As you came-to, you noticed that it was now pitch black outside, Shawn was still sweaty, and you became aware of the fact that you hadn’t even remembered falling asleep. “What time is it?”
Shawn sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa. For the first time since waking up, you took note of how uncharacteristically exhausted he looked. He was always tired after a game, yes, but you had never seen him like this. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes droopy, and his hair was matted to his head. It worried you.
“It’s almost one,” he finally muttered, his eyes staring down at his feet.
“In the morning?” you cried, the post-nap haze completely gone. “Fuck, Shawn, I’m sorry. You should have woken me up earlier so I could’ve made you dinner or something.”
Shawn just shrugged. “‘S okay, honey. I just got home, anyways.”
You hadn’t thought it possible, but your worry intensified. “It’s one a.m., Shawn,” you began, carefully. “How could you possibly just now be getting home? Did something happen?”
“Relax, honey, I’m fine,” he assured you, and you let out a heavy breath. “I just stayed to do a few hours of batting practice on my own. Got Eric to leave the cages open for me.”
“Shawn,” you sighed, leaning your head in your hands. “You shouldn’t be doing extra hitting after a three-hour-long game, especially not when you have another one tomorrow. You’re going to wear yourself out and then you’re just gonna get hurt.”
“I just have to get out of this bullshit slump or Montoyo is gonna bench me,” he groaned, voice raspy from exhaustion.
“Taking hours of extra batting practice isn’t going to change the fact that you’re in a slump, love. It happens to every single player in the league.”
He didn’t respond, instead turning to walk towards your shared bedroom with his head hanging.
“You should shower,” you pressed as you got up to follow him, though it was clear the only thing Shawn wanted to do was crawl into bed with you and sleep. “A hot one. You’ve gotta be sore from all that extra practice.”
“Tomorrow,” he grumbled, tugging his shirt over his head as he prepared to join you in bed.
“Shawn,” you continued, more sternly this time. “Your shoulders are gonna—”
“Can we compromise and do Icy Hot or something? I love you, and I love you for caring, but if I don’t go to sleep in the next five minutes I’ll die.”
You sighed, your eyes taking in his exhausted frame and pleading eyes. “Okay,” you finally agreed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed to stand up. “Is it still in the medicine cabinet?”
Shawn just nodded, and you ventured into the bathroom to retrieve the trusty pain reliever. You came back to find Shawn already sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for the cream to be applied so that he could sleep.
“I’m assuming you want me to do it for you?” you teased, and Shawn let out a tiny laugh.
“Yes, please,” he replied, and you crawled around behind him on the bed and began to work the Icy Hot into his shoulders and upper arms.
It was silent at first, but only because you were taking time to calculate what you wanted to say. You knew Shawn was stressing himself out over his batting average and All-Star Game votes, but a year ago he’d never have cared about something like that. His main focus had always been to just relax and play the game he loved; the second he lost that mentality was when things started to go awry.
“I know,” you began carefully, delicate fingers still pressing the Icy Hot into his skin, “that you’re worried about your hitting. But every player has a slump at some point in his career, and it’s only your second major league season. This doesn’t take away from your talent or what you’ve done for your team and what you will do for it as the season goes on.”
He let out a heavy breath, some of the pent-up tension leaving his shoulders. “I just feel like I’m letting everyone down. Last season I finished with the second highest average on the team and now, what? I can’t even put the ball into play?”
You sighed, capping the Icy Hot and moving to sit next to Shawn on the edge of the bed. “You have to stop getting caught up in all the numbers, Shawn. When you were a rookie, it was about playing because you loved the game. Now you’re way too focused on meeting expectations and outdoing yourself and that’s not the way to approach this sport. You know how much Toronto fans love you as a player. A little slump will never change that, so just let it run its course.”
He crawled under the covers, letting out a heavy exhale of breath. “I know. But I’m allowed to worry about it.”
You smiled, lifting his arm so that you could slide under it and lay your head on his chest. Shawn wrapped his arm around your torso and tugged your body closer to him, reaching to pull the sheets up over you with the other hand. “Of course you’re allowed to worry about it, it’s your job. But if I’m being honest, I miss the Shawn that was so geeked just to be playing in the majors that he didn’t stress about his batting average, or any of his other stats, for that matter. You used to have so much fun playing that you were just good, always.”
“That Shawn didn’t have to worry about the pressure of All-Star Game voting.”
“Well, this Shawn needs a break. And I miss him.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and sighed, knowing you were right. “Let’s do something tomorrow, yeah?” You perked up, tilting your chin up to face him. “My game is in the afternoon so I’ll come straight home after and we can have dinner together.”
“Really?”
He hummed his affirmation. “No stressing about my hitting and no extra practice.”
“It’s a date, Mendes,” you giggled, and he smiled. “Now, go to sleep. I know you’re exhausted.”
--------------------
Another game without a hit went by, and you had to force yourself to stay positive--for Shawn’s sake. He’d be home for dinner in an hour or two depending on how long the post-game press conference took, and you were excited to finally have time with not Shawn Mendes, Toronto Blue Jays second baseman, but just Shawn.
You set to work on making his favorite meal, softly singing to the music coming from the speaker on the kitchen counter as you did so. It took over an hour, but you managed to finish dinner, set the table, and clean the kitchen all before 8:00, which is when Shawn promised to be home. You sat down at the table and texted Shawn asking if he was close, scrolling through your phone to distract yourself as you waited.
And wait you did.
You were still sat at the table after a ridiculously long period of time had passed, head in your hands as you illuminated your phone screen just in time to watch the clock change from 8:59 to 9:00. You stared at the table of food in front of you and willed yourself to have an appetite for it, but you hadn’t been hungry since about fifteen minutes into sitting at the table to wait for Shawn. As if on cue, your phone finally lit up with a text from your absentee boyfriend.
Hey honey. I’m staying at the cages so I’m not gonna make dinner tonight.
You groaned as though you hadn’t figured that out forty-five minutes ago. You didn’t bother responding, opting instead to just get up from the table and take a shower in the hopes that it would calm you down. You were fuming mad over the fact that Shawn had not only broken his promise to you, but that he hadn’t even had the courtesy to text you hours ago that he wasn’t coming. You left the food all out on the table; you’d slaved all night making a meal for Shawn that he never even showed up to eat, and you were absolutely going to make that apparent.
You had to have spent at least thirty minutes standing under the stream of hot water, but by the time you got out and changed into comfy clothes, there was still no sign of Shawn. You crawled under the covers of your bed and flicked on the TV to MLB Network, catching the final ten minutes of that night’s Quick Pitch, but it wasn’t like you were watching it anyways; you were too distracted with your own thoughts.
It wasn’t until after ten that you could hear Shawn make his way through the front door, knowing he could see all of the food still out on the table. He eventually made his way into your shared bedroom, calling out to you in greeting and leaning down to press a kiss against your head. You were silent and unmoving, but Shawn kept talking about the game, the press conference, and his hitting. It took a few minutes for him to even realize that you were unresponsive, and out of the corner of your eye you could see him pause and turn to face you.
“Hey. What’s going on?”
You scoffed at the fact that he’d even had to ask that question. “You promised dinner.”
He sighed as the point of your silent treatment suddenly became apparent. “I stayed in the cages for extra batting practice. I texted you.”
As if that makes it better. “You couldn’t have let me know that any earlier than an entire hour after you said you’d be home?”
He sighed, but there was aggravation behind it. “I said I was sorry. I needed the extra BP more than I needed to have dinner with you.”
“Whatever, Shawn,” you snapped, letting out a dry, incredulous laugh. “I’m sorry your shitty batting average has to keep coming between our relationship.”
You turned your attention back to the TV and pretended to care about the show that was on. Shawn, however, wasn’t done. “Why are you being like this? Do you not want me to get back on track? To not make the All-Star Game?”
“What I want, Shawn,” you snapped, losing your restraint, “is for my boyfriend to miss spending time with me the way I miss spending time with him.” You shook your head before pressing it back down into the pillows. “And for him to understand that a promise is a promise. Some things are more important than baseball.”
“You of all people should understand that there’s nothing more important to me than baseball. It’s my fucking job.”
“It’s my job too, Shawn!” you exploded, choosing to overlook his admittance that nothing, not even you, was more important than baseball. At the end of the day, it was still only a game; Shawn just didn’t seem to get that anymore. “You don’t think it’s hard for me from a PR standpoint when one of our star players can’t hit for shit right now? You literally couldn’t even hit water if you fell out of a boat, and I have to spin that to the fans to keep your name on their minds for All-Star voting. If you’re going to act like you’re the only one affected by this you have another thing coming. You are not the only player on that team and you know every single person that’s involved with or a fan of the Jays is rooting for you to get better.”
He scoffed, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it in the direction of the hamper. “Well, I’m sorry to be such a burden on you.”
You paused, taking a steadying breath before continuing a bit more calmly. “That’s not the point. I want you to get better, Shawn. But you act like you’re going through this alone when you definitely are not, and I don’t want you to throw me on the backburner. I’m trying here, okay? And I don’t deserve that.”
“I’m taking a shower,” was all he had to say, and you couldn’t hide the hurt on your face as you watched him stalk into the bathroom and shut the door harshly behind him.
--------------------
You looked up from your work upon hearing a knock at the doorframe of your office, and clicked out of the video you were watching as you recognized Cassidy at the door. “Hey,” you mused, eyeing the bubbly brunette standing in front of you. “What’s up?”
She simply pointed to her wrist as though she was wearing a watch. “Game’s gonna start soon. You’d better get down there if you want to catch Shawn beforehand.”
You sighed, leaning back in your chair. All day, you’d been grappling with whether or not you even still wanted to go see him after the events of last night. Picking up on your hesitancy, Cassidy frowned. “Did something happen?”
“He stood me up for dinner last night.”
Cassidy’s eyes went wide. She stepped fully inside your office and shut the door behind her, pulling a chair up to the other side of your desk so that she was facing you. “What?”
“I hardly get to see him because of this stupid slump he’s in, and because of that he agreed to have dinner with me last night instead of going to the batting cages after the game, which is what he’s been doing for the past week.”
“And he didn’t show?” she gasped.
You shook your head bitterly. “I spent hours making food for us and I sat at the table forever waiting for him to get there, and then--get this--I get a text an hour later saying he’s staying at the stadium for batting practice after all. Even though he promised me he’d be home.”
“Holy shit,” Cassidy breathed out, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to see him. I’d be pissed.”
“I am pissed,” you sighed, but there was more to it than that. “But I also just miss him. What sucks is that all he can see right now is his batting average, and he’s stressing himself out like crazy. He’ll never get better with the mindset he’s in.”
“So what are you gonna do?” Cassidy wondered, leaning forward to rest her hands on your desk.
“I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”
She shrugged. “I’m not you, Y/N. I can’t tell you.”
“Ugh,” you groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ll probably end up going to see his dumb ass anyways.”
Cassidy laughed, and you couldn’t help but grin despite yourself. “I’ll save you a seat in the clubhouse. You are still watching the game here, right?”
You nodded, reaching to grab your purse from a drawer in your desk. “Of course. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Good luck,” she said, offering a reassuring smile as you both went your separate ways. You took your usual path to the first floor Stadium Access door, following the familiar route to the little room outside the Jays’ locker room where you always met Shawn. As you walked, it occurred to you that maybe he would be the one to not show up. After all, he’d seemed equally as upset with you as you were with him even though, in your mind, he was obviously being the unreasonable one.
You took a deep breath before pushing the familiar door open, and sure enough, you were met with Shawn standing in full uniform waiting for you. You almost breathed a sigh of relief. He cleared his throat, sheepishly rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”
You sighed, taking in his tired expression before quietly admitting the truth. “I’ll always come.”
It was silent for a bit longer than was comfortable, but you were fine with it; you had nothing to say to him until he apologized to you, and if you had to stand here and stare at him until the game started, then so be it. But, right on cue, Shawn once again cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry for skipping dinner.” You nodded, prompting him to continue. “And for being an asshole about it. I’m just stressed as hell about my hitting.”
“I get it,” you replied, studying his face carefully. “Trust me, I do. But your being stressed isn’t an excuse to toss me aside until you get over it.”
“I know,” he sighed. “I’ve been obsessing over it, and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.”
“I just miss you.”
He took a step towards you, reaching out to grab your hands. “I miss you too, honey. Always.” You nodded, taking a heavy breath as you looked into the brown eyes you loved, which stared back at you apologetically. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.”
“Okay,” you conceded. It was impossible to be upset with him when he was giving you that face. “And, look, I don’t know what your hitting coaches have been telling you about this slump, but I had some ideas, and--”
“Hold on,” he smirked, cutting you off. “What happened to leaving it alone? ‘Letting it run its course,’ as I believe you put it?”
You huffed, and he chuckled. “We both know neither of us actually want that if this--” you gestured between the two of you-- “is what it’s going to turn into. So, your hitting. Have you tried anything new at all?”
He quirked his head to the side, his expression a mixture of amusement and perplexity. “What’re you getting at?”
“I don’t want to overstep, so--”
He interjected again, this time with a laugh. “Just tell me, honey. Now I’m intrigued.”
“Your batting stance,” you blurted, watching his face carefully. “Have you thought about switching it up?”
“Y/N, I can’t just change my swing.”
“I’m not asking you to change your swing, I’m asking you to change your stance. Just hear me out, please. I promise I’m not going to say something as crazy as you think I will.”
He was silent, thinking, before nodding for you to continue. You took a breath, planning your words carefully. “I started studying other players who’ve had slumps this season and something about Cody Bellinger specifically struck me.”
“You hate that guy,” Shawn laughed, and you rolled your eyes playfully.
“I hate his team, actually, but regardless; I think what he did to his batting stance might work for you.”
“Which was?” he prompted, completely tuned-in.
“His natural stance is tall, almost completely straight up. No bend in his knees. But I was watching clips from his last few at-bats, because he’s been hitting really well again, and his stance is different. He stands closer to the plate and he bends more, which creates a smaller strike-zone.”
“That’s baseball 101,” Shawn added, to which you nodded.
“Right, that’s nothing revolutionary. But by changing his stance a little bit, his swing changed minorly, too. He puts more weight on his back foot which gives more power to his swing. And it worked; his average is back up. Have you watched back any clips of your last few at-bats just to see how they look?”
“You know I don’t like doing that. Feels weird,” he mumbled, and you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face. Always so humble.
“I figured you’d say that, which is why I talked to a friend in the media department so that I could start watching footage of you. And I think that if you were to get rid of some of the bend in your waist and bend your knees more instead, it might help. I noticed from the clips I was watching that you’ve been fouling the ball into the dirt a lot more than normal. And when you do make contact, it’s almost always a choppy grounder that ends up being an easy out.”
“So I’m consistently only hitting the top of the ball,” Shawn mused.
“Exactly. And I think that by making your stance a little tighter and lower to the plate, you’ll be getting all of the ball instead of just the top of it, which obviously increases your chances at hitting safely. I’m not promising it’ll work, but I think it’s a better solution than taking two-hundred practice pitches after you’ve just played an entire game. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, slowly, nodding his head as he began to process what you were saying. “So basically just straighten my torso but put more of a bend in my knees.”
“Exactly.”
“Thanks coach,” he teased, smirking. “I’ll start working on it after tonight.”
You felt your face fall a little. “Why not right now?”
“I’m not gonna have time to do more BP before the game today,” he shrugged. “I have to practice with a new stance before I try it in a game.”
“Says who?” you argued, not missing Shawn’s skeptical expression. “You’re a talented player, so trust yourself. Take advantage of your time on-deck; time your swings to the pitches and practice with the modified stance.”
He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, honey.”
“It’s up to you,” you began, a teasing glint in your eye. “But if it doesn’t work at least Vlad Jr. can pick up your slack.”
He laughed, and so did you. “Ouch.”
“There’s a new rookie in town.”
“Does this mean you’ll finally stop calling me Rookie?”
“Oh, of course not. Just makes it even more fun.”
He rolled his eyes, and right then you could hear the loudspeaker broadcasting that it was time for the ceremonial first pitch. Shawn pulled you into him by your waist and pressed a kiss to your lips--one that said thank you and I’m sorry and I love you all at once. You pulled away and smiled at him, smoothing your hands over the lettering on the front of his jersey
“Bend your knees more, and use the on-deck circle,” you reminded him, and he nodded and shot you the closed-mouth smile that still made your stomach flutter.
“You got it, coach.”
You laughed as he started for the locker room so that he could get to the field, his metal cleats echoing all the way there. You turned to leave as well, heading back down the corridor towards the offices. When you got to the clubhouse and claimed the seat Cassiday was saving you next to her, your PR team greeted you with the same warmth and happiness as always, reminding you just how lucky you were to be in your position.
“How did it go?” Cassidy asked amidst the pre-game chatter of your coworkers.
“We’re gonna find out,” you replied, heart beginning to race with anticipation as you turned your attention to the TV screen just in time for the Orioles’ first batter. The top half of the first inning was executed without a hitch, the Blue Jays getting three outs quickly. When it came time for the Jays to hit, your nerves really kicked in. You felt Cassidy lay a comforting hand on your arm, and you could only smile in thanks before refocusing on the game.
Thanks to a few easy hits from the batters at the top of the lineup, Shawn saw his first plate appearance of the game in the first inning. “Is it just me,” Curt began as Shawn stepped into the batters’ box, “or did Mendes change his stance?”
“It’s different,” you answered hastily, knee bouncing as you watched Shawn choppily swing and miss at the first pitch he saw. “He’s trying something new.”
“Hopefully it works,” Lynn chimed in from across the room. “Your boyfriend needs to hit.”
“Tell me about it,” you mumbled, as the second pitch came down in the dirt and was called a ball.
“Breathe,” Cassidy reminded you, and you let out a heavy exhale of breath you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding in.
Just when it seemed that all hope for the new batting stance was gone, Shawn stuck his bat out on a 3-2 count and managed to actually make contact. You instinctively leaped up from the couch, hands folded over your mouth as you silently willed the ball to hit the grass of the outfield before the Orioles’ center fielder could get to it and get Shawn out.
Your wish was granted when the ball hit the grass, Shawn safely reaching first as your coworkers cheered around you. It was about as pathetic as singles came, but it was still a hit. The camera cut to Shawn on first base, readjusting his batting gloves as he talked to the first base coach, an adorable, brilliant smile plastered on his face that surely matched your own. You could feel Cassidy squeezing your shoulders in excitement, but all you could do was focus on the boy on the television, still grinning as he took a two-step leadoff, focused on the pitcher. You already couldn’t wait to see him after the game.
Slump over.
Thank you for reading!! Feedback makes me very happy.
Taglist (I’m so sorry if it wouldn’t let me tag you, and if you’d like to be removed from the taglist for these extras that’s no prob, just let me know!!): @ashwarren32 @d-arkestangel @idkseavey @yellowitsmendes @north1692 @calistheloml @perfectlywrongfm @gentleshawn @mariemmendes @shawnsmercy @wildest-dream- @shortieshake @shadowsndaisies @yourwonderbelle @madon566 @ruinmeshawn @itrocksmysocks @just-another-fan-girl-for-you @ilovejackavery @vnv21 @twoisalwaysbetterthan1 @planstonightbaby @lou-la-lou @greteeweetee @shawnyimagines @helpmemendes @overactiveimaginati0n @princessflutterwolf @justjustyncase @cali--marie @falling-stars-never-cry @ashftshawn @captaincorbyn @colorful-dodie @andreburakovskyyyyyyy @giveme-gaskarth @ayetami @x-seventeen-x @onlynarry @to-the-road @hollandechart @princessmendes13 @rare-breed-of-human @iamamuggleborn @prettymuchboodup @supernatural-lover-teamfreewill @jc-paramore @etherealchar @ykicantbefoundwithyou @choripxn @noodleboyluke @petit-funsize @heavenly—-holland @the-claire-bitch-project @calumasfuckkkk @sleepybesson @shawnshufflepuff @zankivich @justanothergirl-80 @qxeen-of-hearts @begging-mnds @shawnsvlogsquad @thewackywriter @jbird-92 @yourkidsfavbabysitter @sociallyakwardb @gentlethunderstorm @bucky-ish
Opening Day - A Stealing Second Extra | Baseball!Shawn
We’re gonna pretend like the Blue Jays didn’t lose their opening game last night.
Yeah, yeah, I know I promised this yesterday on the actual Opening Day but I got distracted because I’m the worst ever with timing. BUT it’s still Opening Weekend so we’re gonna pretend like it’s all good. This takes place about nine or so months after where they were at the end of the final (fifth) part of the series, and it’s about 1.6k words. It can also be read as a standalone piece if you haven’t read the series, but if you’d like to read it, it’s linked in my masterlist. Enjoy, and I’d so love to hear your feedback!!
Opening Day was one of the most exciting days of the year; every baseball aficionado could agree on that. What you hadn’t known, however, was how stressful the day was for those working on the inside to make it happen. The Blue Jays would be playing their first of 162 games in just over an hour, and you hadn’t had a long enough break the entire day to take the time to even acknowledge your excitement.
The team had had a more than successful Spring Training, and you (along with every other Jays fan) were extremely hopeful for the upcoming season. Your current worry, however, was that you’d miss the start of it.
You’d been running around the stadium and the offices like crazy trying to finish your bottomless pit of a to-do list, but every time you thought you were getting close to the end, your boss had more for you to do. You’d been working nonstop since eight that morning, and the closer time crept to 7 p.m. the more anxious you became that you’d miss some of the game.
You clutched the blue folder you were carrying tighter against your chest as you raced through the mass of thousands of jersey-donning fans, needing to get back to your office away from the sea of blue and white. You’d managed to get down to one last task, and it felt like you were walking through a minefield as you waited for your phone to inevitably go off again with yet another thing for you to do. Your goal in going back to your office had been to find Cassidy, hoping she’d be at her desk, but in a stroke of good fortune you spotted her from the corner of your eye leaning against the wall of one of the Rogers Centre’s many team shops, surveying the crowd; you hadn’t even had to leave the actual stadium to find her.
“Cassidy!” you called, wide-eyed as you beckoned her over. She jogged to where you stood, her face immediately showing that she recognized how uncharacteristically flustered you were.
“What’s up?” she asked, the words casual but said carefully.
You wordlessly thrust the blue folder out towards her, and she looked down at it quizzically. “What’s this?”
You sighed, not realizing you were out of breath until you tried to talk. “I promised Shawn I’d meet him before the game like always, but Curt keeps giving me a million things to do and I’m running out of time before Shawn has to be in the dugout. I am begging you, Cass, to please just take this up to Thomas Andrews from the Toronto Star. He’s writing the front-page story about Opening Day and it’s a list of quotes I gathered from the players that he’s been cleared to publish. He should be finishing up interviews in the announcer’s booth.”
She laughed as though you’d just asked her to do something as trivial as tie your shoe. “Sure. I’ve been bored out of my mind for the past hour, anyway. Wouldn’t wanna be the one to break the famous pregame tradition.” She wagged her eyebrows at you, and despite the tension you felt in your chest you managed to laugh.
“You’re amazing,” you breathed out, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you. I will do you as many favors as you need once I get back.”
“Don’t sweat it,” she replied, opening the folder to begin sifting through the compilation of quotes curiously. “I’ll meet you back here so we can watch the game?”
“Of course. I won’t be too long, I promise.”
“Take your time, Y/N,” she teased, and you playfully rolled your eyes as you turned over your shoulder to make your way towards your and Shawn’s usual meeting spot.
Your feet ached from being up and running around all day, but the pain was easy to ignore now that you’d finally found time, however short, to take a break and see Shawn. You pulled open the door of your little meeting spot outside of the team locker room, unable to help the smile that crossed your face as Shawn’s head snapped up to look at you.
“There you are, honey,” he exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug. You held onto him a little longer than was necessary, inhaling his scent and taking the time to let some of the stress you’d been carrying around all day dissipate.
You finally pulled away to meet his eyes, and you could clearly see how excited they were despite the shadow the brim of his cap cast over them. “I was worried I wasn’t gonna have time to get down here and see you,” you admitted, smoothing out the jersey that covered his shoulders.
He sighed. “I was worried you weren’t coming, too. Has work been crazy today?”
“You have no idea. But I’m here now!” you chirped, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw as he laughed. “And you’re less nervous than I thought you’d be.”
“You thought I’d be nervous?” he queried, a glint in his familiar brown eyes as they searched yours.
“Course I did, Rookie. It’s Opening Day.” Shawn laughed at this, and you quirked an eyebrow.
“What’s so funny?”
“You called me Rookie.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side as you looked up at him with a curious smile. “And that’s suddenly funny now after the thousands of other times I’ve called you that?”
“You’re forgetting something very important,” he grinned, cheekily, as he leaned in to place a quick kiss to your nose. You looked at him expectantly, feeling the smile growing on your face in anticipation before he made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes and continued. “I’m not a rookie anymore.”
You threw your head back and laughed, and you could hear Shawn join in. “You’re right. Your second season starts in a few minutes.”
“Exactly. So you’ve gotta find a new nickname.”
You gasped, feigning offense. “You don’t like Rookie anymore?”
“C’mon, honey, we just talked about this,” he teased, but you refused to break the act.
“But you’ll always be my rookie,” you pouted, and Shawn’s face scrunched up in reaction.
“Ew,” he joked. “So sappy today.”
You finally cracked a smile at this. “I’m just messing with you,” you giggled. “Kind of. I’ll call you Rookie for as long as I want.”
“We’ll see,” Shawn replied, narrowing his eyes at you playfully as you laughed in response. “But I should actually probably get going,” he continued, sighing as he reached up to remove his hat so that he could run a hand through his hair. “Coach is gonna kill me for not being up there already.”
“Okay,” you nodded, smiling as you gave his arms a reassuring squeeze. As much as you wanted him to stay a little longer, you knew you couldn’t say it—if you did, he’d undoubtedly stay with you until the very last second before the game started, even if it meant getting chewed out by his coach. He’d do anything just to have time with you, especially now that the both of you were going to be ridiculously busy again with the start of the season.
“Are you staying here for the game or watching it at home?” Shawn questioned, unmoving even though he needed to be out the door.
You kissed him hurriedly before nudging him towards the exit. “Watching it here with Cass.”
“Can’t wait to get rid of me, eh?” he razzed, and you giggled as you followed him out.
“I want to see you play opening day, not ride the bench because you pissed Montoyo off by being late.”
“Nah,” Shawn smirked, his feet planted firmly on the ground despite your playful attempts to push him in the direction of the locker room. “The lineup’s already been released, he can’t change it.”
You groaned, eliciting a musical laugh from Shawn. “You’re impossible.”
“Fine, fine, I’m going. For real this time.” He grinned, holding his hands up as if to say I surrender and backing away from you slowly. You quirked your head to the side as you admiringly took in his frame, happier than you’d like to admit to finally be seeing Shawn back in his regular-season uniform.
“Should I wait for you here or at home after the game?” you asked, reaching to pull your phone out from the pocket of your jeans and silently praying that there wasn’t anything else Curt had asked you to do last-minute.
“Here,” Shawn said, without hesitation. “I’ll meet you by my car in the team lot.”
“Perfect,” you smiled, and he animatedly blew you a kiss before turning to walk towards the locker room, the sound from his metal cleats echoing off of the flooring. “Hit a home run for me, Rookie,” you called after him, and you could hear him laugh.
“Still not a rookie, but I’ll do my best!” he shouted back, and with that you turned around and hurried off back down the hallway towards the stadium, smiling to yourself as you anxiously awaited the rapidly-approaching arrival of a new Blue Jays season that was sure to outdo the last.
Thanks for reading!!
If you want to be removed from the taglist for these extra pieces, that’s no problem at all! Just message me so I know.
Florida - A Stealing Second Extra | Baseball!Shawn
Hello, angels!!! This is me finally getting around to posting some Stealing Second blurbs because Spring Training is coming up and I can’t contain the baseball excitement. This particular piece takes place around eight or so months after where they were at the end of the final part and it’s 1.4k words. It can also be read as a standalone piece if you haven’t read the series, but if you’d like to read it, it’s linked in my masterlist!
A pre-read study guide isn’t really needed other than to explain Spring Training a little bit! Basically, every spring right before a new season starts, the MLB teams divide between Arizona (my home sweet home) and Florida to begin practicing again. I explain it a little bit more in the blurb but, as always, if you have any questions please feel free to ask as well as send feedback!
February was always your favorite month growing up, but for a somewhat unconventional reason. It most certainly was not because of Valentine’s Day, or even due to the (very) slightly warmer weather. February was your favorite month because it brought the beginning of Spring Training games: a glorious five weeks of exhibition baseball that culminated in MLB’s Opening Day at the tail-end of March. Every year, the arrival of Spring Training meant your family’s annual trip to sunny Florida for a week of watching the Blue Jays play at Dunedin Stadium. Once the World Series ended in October you would be majorly looking forward to the day when pitchers and catchers first reported to their teams’ stadiums in Arizona and Florida, and the countdown to the first Spring Training game began from there.
It was funny how quickly things could change.
As you’d gotten older, the family baseball trip eventually stopped happening. And, now that you were with Shawn, Spring Training meant over a month without seeing him while the team was down in Florida; something you were beginning to have to face the reality of. Away series’ were hard enough; you had to completely immerse yourself in the work that came with your new Media Relations position with the Jays in order to distract yourself while he was gone. You’d gotten used to having your boyfriend of eight months all to yourself now that it was the off-season, and you would soon have to adjust to once again sharing him with baseball fans everywhere. You had no idea what you were in for when it came to five consecutive weeks without him.
The point of Spring Training was to obviously get established players from the thirty teams back into the swing of baseball, but it was the younger, lesser-known players that got the majority of the playing time, as a large facet of Spring Training was giving new guys the chance to try out for an official spot on their team’s roster. Shawn had gotten loads of playing time last year, but now that he’d spent a full season as the Blue Jays’ starting second baseman you knew he’d get considerably less time on the field this spring. He was going to be gone for five weeks, and you would hardly even get to see him play.
On a Friday night in the second-to-last week of January after a particularly stressful day at work, you found yourself curled into the side of the couch in your and Shawn’s shared apartment, a glass of wine in hand as a random made-for-TV movie played in the background. Shawn had gone for dinner with a few friends he used to play with back in high school, and he was going to be home any minute. To say you couldn’t wait would be an understatement.
As if he’d read your mind, you heard keys jingling in the lock of the front door. You craned your neck over the back of the sofa to see Shawn come in the door, kicking his shoes off to leave them in the foyer. “Hey, hon,” he called, shrugging off his coat as he made his way over to you. You set your wine glass down on the coffee table just before Shawn sat next to you, a curious white envelope in his hand.
You quirked an eyebrow, motioning towards it. “Whatcha got there?”
He grinned, causing your brow to furrow and a small, curious smile to cross your mouth. “I have a surprise for you,” he stated simply, handing the envelope over to you. You took it hesitantly, turning it over in your hands to see if there was anything written anywhere on it. “The surprise is inside the envelope, believe it or not,” he added sarcastically, and you rolled your eyes as you playfully nudged his arm with your shoulder.
You delicately tore back the envelope’s flap, revealing a piece of paper that had been folded up to fit inside. You began to straighten it out, looking up to quirk an eyebrow at Shawn who just sat there smiling back at you. You returned your focus to the paper in your hand, staring at it until you suddenly realized what it was: a flight confirmation. A flight confirmation to Florida during Spring Training. You snapped your widened eyes back up to Shawn.
“Shawn, I--,” you stuttered, almost speechless. “I don’t know what to say. This is amazing, I can’t believe you did this for me, and--” Wait. You suddenly froze as rational thoughts began to flood back into your mind, and you let out the excited breath you were holding.
Shawn narrowed his eyes at you, moving his hand to rest on your thigh. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
You sighed heavily. “There’s no way I can take time off of work this soon.” You swallowed hard, knowing full well you’d just crushed him, but the smirk that crossed his face caused your brow to furrow even more.
“See, I figured that, which is why I talked to your boss before I even bought the ticket. You’ve got exactly a week off.”
“W-what? You talked to Greg?”
He nodded, sporting a grin that evidenced how proud of himself he was for pulling it off. “His one condition was that you send in at least three team status reports to MLB.com, but I figured that wouldn’t really matter considering you’d be scorekeeping and taking down notes and stats anyways.”
You giggled, partly out of pure giddiness and partly because of how Shawn knew you like the back of his hand. “Exactly. So that’s a very small price to pay,” you responded, pressing your fingers to your mouth. “I can’t believe I’m going to Florida.”
“We’re going to Florida,” he repeated, a massive grin stretching across his face as you flung your arms around his neck, tackling him down in a hug as the two of you erupted into a fit of excited laughter.
“I’m just excited to finally see you in uniform again,” you teased, face still pressed into his neck.
“Yeah?” he laughed, pulling back to shoot you a smug smile.
You giggled. “You know I love you in your jersey.”
“I love you in my jersey,” Shawn replied, and you buried your face back into the crook of his neck as you felt heat rise to your cheeks. He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder as his arms wrapped completely around your waist, anchoring you against him as though he were worried you’d float away.
You laid there for a while, chest to chest with Shawn’s back pressed against the couch, until you felt him suck in a breath. You propped yourself up on your forearms, looking down at him and silently prompting him to speak. “I forgot to mention something.”
You frowned, a quizzical expression coloring your features. “What did you forget?”
You could see him trying to bite back a smile, and you began to giggle lightly in nervous anticipation of what he was going to say. “So we don’t have a game one of the days you’re out there,” he began, and you hummed in understanding, waiting for him to continue. “So right after our game the day before, we’re gonna go to a little island just off the coast and we’ll be able to spend the entire next day there. I got us a room right on the water and everything.”
“Wait, are you serious?” you interrogated, feeling your eyes bulge in shock.
“One hundred percent,” Shawn replied matter-of-factly, his brown eyes never leaving yours.
You pressed your face into his chest, almost too surprised to speak. “I cannot believe you, Mendes,” you muttered against his shirt, and he laughed. “You’re the fucking best.”
“What was that?”
You picked your head up, resting your chin on your hands that were pressed flat against his torso. “I said you’re the best.”
He frowned, making a show of reaching his hand behind his ear and tilting his head towards you. “One more time?”
You scoffed lightly, pressing your cheek back against his shirt. “You heard me.”
“Heard what?”
“I hate you,” you retorted, biting back a smile as you absentmindedly reached a hand up to thread through his hair.
“But I thought I was the best?”
“Whatever, Mendes,” you giggled, lifting your head to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw and letting out a little hum of content.
It was suddenly only a matter of time until you’d be seeing your favorite team, in your favorite place, with your favorite boy, and you couldn’t be more excited. Finally.
Feedback makes me very happy!
If you want to be removed from the taglist for any extra pieces I post, that’s no prob at all!! Just message me so I know. For this first blurb, I’m gonna keep it the same except that I removed those users it wouldn’t let me tag:
Hello again, and for the last time (at least regarding this series)! This is gonna do it for Stealing Second, and it wouldn’t be right of me to not take the time to thank every single one of you that ever took time out of your day to read the writing that I’ve been putting out. When I posted part one of this I was seriously not expecting anyone to care about my stupid baseball obsession, and yet here we are. Thank you guys for your time, your kind words and messages, and for sticking with me through long periods of time inbetween updates. I cannot thank y’all enough for supporting this series, it has been so much fun for me to write and share. This part is 9.4k words, and I’d so love to hear your feedback on it when you read it. Here we go!!
Shawn didn’t understand. He stormed down the hallway towards the elevator, frustrated fists raking through his curls. He all-but punched the 12 button, backing against the wall and letting the back of his head fall against it as the elevator began its ascent to his floor. Everything had been going so well, and then Y/N went and threw him a curveball that there was no chance he could hit. He hadn’t seen it coming, and he didn’t know how to handle it. He understood her reasoning, but at the same time...he didn’t. It wasn’t fair what was happening to her, but were a few unexpected roadblocks really all it took to make her walk away? She was going to readily give him up to bow down to the supposed expectations of team higher-ups that she couldn’t control? He knew it made sense to her, that she was thinking of herself, but he didn’t understand why it had to be like this. He couldn’t understand, and he especially didn’t believe her when she said there was nothing he could do about it.
He obviously had plenty of connections with the team; there had to be at least one person who could help. His coach, the team’s general manager, an executive...anyone. He was intent on finding a way for her to have the best of both worlds, because he loved her. That, however, was new. He hadn’t yet admitted to himself those feelings before he’d found himself inadvertently admitting them to her in the heat of the moment. He wished the words hadn’t been said that way; she acted like she hadn’t even heard them. He’d wanted them to mean more. As Shawn turned the key into the lock of his apartment door, he resolved to find a way to fix things. Y/N couldn’t (or wouldn’t, he didn’t know), so he would. He needed to talk to her somehow, when both of them were more level-headed, and ask what he could do; there had to be at least one thing, despite what she said. For her, he’d figure it out.
He just had to find a way to get her alone.
---------------
“Don’t shoot the messenger.”
You looked up from your computer, which you’d been bent over for the past three straight hours throwing yourself head-first into your work. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Cassidy re-enter your shared office before she flopped down into the swivel chair at her desk. “What?” you laughed. “Did something happen in your meeting with the PR Director?”
“Y/N, just start calling him Curt already,” she giggled, crossing one of her legs over the other. “It’s not weird.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Anyways, what’s with the cryptic ‘don’t shoot the messenger?’”
She sighed. “Curt just told me that Sports Illustrated is sending a team to Toronto on Friday. They want to put a player on their cover, that’s what the meeting was about.”
“Holy shit!” you cried. Sports Illustrated covers were a massive deal, and it would be huge for the team to secure one. It was obviously a last-minute decision, considering that the SI team would be coming to Toronto in only two days. “Who are they covering?”
Cassidy groaned. “This is the part where I’d expect you to shoot me.”
You laughed dryly; now you understood. “It’s Shawn, isn’t it?” you asked, though it came out like a flat statement. You’d been doing so well distracting yourself from thinking about him the past twenty-four hours; you didn’t particularly want to have an actual conversation with him as the sole subject. Cassidy nodded, one side of her mouth quirked up into a sympathetic smile.
“Good for him, I guess,” you said, returning your focus to your computer. “It’s a big deal, and it’s not like he hasn’t earned it.”
“Well, as glad as I am to hear you say that, you’re probably gonna change your mind.”
You scoffed. “Why?”
“Well, we work in Public Relations.”
“I’m aware,” you laughed. “What’s going on with you, Cass? You’re being weird.”
Another sigh. “As PR staff, we have to preside over everything that connects the Blue Jays with the fans. This SI article will be a media publication about the team, so our department has to...oversee it.”
“Cassidy,” you warned, though you had a gut feeling you knew where this was going. “Define ‘oversee it.’”
“We have to make sure that SI presents Shawn in a way that’s to the team’s liking. Which means we have to...be there. For the interview. And the photoshoot, too. Basically what I’m trying to say is that you’re going to be trapped in a room with Shawn for an entire day, and there’s nothing you can do to get out of it, so I thought I’d at least warn you now so you had time to prepare.”
Great. “It’ll be fine,” you said flatly, though you knew fine was the last word you’d use to describe the way you felt about the situation. Cassidy sensed your apprehension, evidenced in a subtle raise of her eyebrows.
“You sure about that?”
You huffed and looked up from your computer. “It doesn’t really matter if I am or not. I’m just going to be professional.” In the off chance that there were going to be any executives present at the shoot, it was a chance for you to show that you took your job seriously and didn’t have any conflicting personal relationships that could jeopardize that. At least not anymore.
Cassidy didn’t seem to fully buy your confidence. “Well, if you need anything on Friday, just let me know. I want to make sure this isn’t too hard for you.”
“Why would it be hard? It’s my job.”
“Yes, and once again Shawn has been put in a place that could potentially interfere with that.”
“Not anymore, Cass,” you answered, a little more coldly than you’d intended. “That’s why we’re no longer together.”
She didn’t answer, instead turning in her swivel chair to return to her work. She didn’t appear to be convinced that you were seemingly unbothered by what was to come. You weren’t sure that you were convinced, either.
---------------
You learned right after waking up Friday morning in an email from Curt that the entire PR department was “expected to be wearing team attire for the duration of Sports Illustrated’s time with the Blue Jays in order to maintain a professional and fun work environment.” Just your luck. Team attire meant Jays jerseys, and you wanted to scream as you sifted through your closet in search of an outfit. You had four fucking jerseys, and they all had Shawn’s name on them. You stubbornly pulled the one uniform that actually belonged to you down from its hanger, throwing it onto your bed along with a pair of black jeans.
You remembered your mother giving you that jersey the day you left for Toronto. It was her idea of a parting gift; a symbol for how proud she was of you for finally getting your foot in the door of the MLB. She knew Shawn was your favorite player at the time, and had opted for it to be his name that was embroidered onto the back of the jersey. It was what you were wearing when you met Shawn, and it was also what you’d be wearing when you had to finally face him for the first time since breaking things off. Funny how things always seemed to come full circle.
You walked to work as usual, stepping through the door right at eight. You took the elevator up to the fourth floor and navigated your way to the room Curt had described as the location of the shoot. You began to hear noise as you got further down the hallway, and you ducked into the spacious room where people were hustling to set things up. You felt a little lost until your eyes found Cassidy standing in a white jersey, and you did your best to push your way through the room to get to her.
“Hey!” she exclaimed as you approached her, always so full of energy--even at eight in the morning. “Whose jersey have you got on?”
You rolled your eyes. “My morning was fine, thanks for asking. How was yours?”
She groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “Don’t be lame, Y/N.”
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” you retorted, and Cassidy laughed.
“Touche,” she smiled, nudging you with her shoulder. “Though, you could’ve just asked to borrow one of my jerseys so you didn’t have to wear Shawn’s,” she continued, and you scoffed.
“Wish I’d thought of that about two hours ago. Too late now.”
She shrugged. “Oh well. It’ll be fun to watch him go a little nuts when he sees you.”
“Yeah, maybe for you.” Cassidy laughed again, and you smiled and nudged her back.
Not long after, the room had cleared of everyone except the small Sports Illustrated team and the six of you on the PR staff, identifiable by the jerseys you were all wearing. You hadn’t realized Shawn, who you now had a perfect view of thanks to the sudden decrease of people, had been in the room the whole time. He was shaking hands and talking with a middle-aged man who you assumed was the interviewer as people bustled around them setting up tape recorders to catch the audio and chairs for them to sit in. The interviewer clapped his hands and announced that he was starting, asking everyone to be quiet.
The PR staff all had the same job, which was to follow the interview and flag any questions or answers that were phrased unfavorably or could be taken the wrong way, but the questions were all as you’d expected: asking about baseball’s involvement in Shawn’s childhood, how much it meant to be playing for his hometown team, the Rookie of the Year rumors, his teammates, his coaches, et cetera. It’d been so long since you had paid attention to him being interviewed at the games that you’d forgotten how well-spoken he was. You almost hated how he always seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it. But before long, the interviewer was beginning to enter a territory that was making you slightly nervous.
“Does being away so frequently make it difficult to maintain a consistent personal life?”
“Mmm,” Shawn mused, looking off to the side as he thought. “Not really. Anyone I want to talk to is just a phone call away when the team’s on the road. The majority of my personal life involves my teammates anyways, though, so it works out.”
“Speaking of your teammates, who would you say you’re the closest to? Which one has had the most impact on how you’ve adjusted to a life in the big leagues?”
“Well they’re all great guys and they’ve all been amazing to me in their own way, but I’ve gotten the closest to Justin Smoak, for sure,” Shawn answered, not even taking a second to think about it. “It sucks that he’s gonna be on the DL for the rest of the season. From my first practice with the team, he made it a point to take me under his wing and really show me how things work around here. Even aside from baseball, he’s so much fun to be around. I love hanging out with him and his wife on off days.”
The interviewer grinned and cocked his head to the side, looking down at the cue card in his hands. “That actually provides me with a perfect transition to my next question; people want to know if you’ve been able to find a girlfriend since going pro.” You almost wanted to laugh. The people reading Sports Illustrated were the last group that would give a shit whether or not Shawn had a girlfriend, and you hated questions like that in any kind of interview; what did it matter? The interviewer would be wasting space if he wrote that question into the magazine. Regardless, you found yourself holding your breath in anticipation of Shawn’s answer. His eyes flicked up to you briefly, and you felt your own eyes widen as you were filled with the sudden feeling that he was going to say something stupid like it’s complicated, right Y/N? But then he looked back at the interviewer, and all was well again.
“Working on it,” he laughed, and you let all your air out at once. It was a safe answer, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. At least not from his point of view.
The interview ended quite quickly after that, Shawn shaking the interviewer’s hand after the two of them posed for a few pictures. With the first part out of the way, it was time for the shoot itself. Shawn was hurried off, likely to change into his Toronto uniform, as the SI crew began moving the room around to assemble the photo set (which was really just a couple of fancy white bed sheet-looking pieces of fabric to be used as a background). You tuned out Cassidy’s comments about the interviewer asking Shawn if he had a girlfriend and made a mental note to flag that question when Curt asked for your feedback. You caught yourself looking all around the room as people bustled about; what you were looking for you weren’t sure, until you saw Shawn re-enter in full uniform and you realized you’d been subconsciously scanning the room for him. You rolled your eyes at how predictable you were even without trying, but then internally came to the conclusion that just because you wouldn’t let yourself touch didn’t mean you couldn’t look. Because, really, it’d be nearly impossible to keep your eyes off of Shawn for the entire day, and everyone else would be looking at him, too; you wouldn’t appear to be staring at him any more than the next person. And he was always a sight to be seen in that uniform.
You were brought from your little space-out by the photographer’s bellowing voice taking command of the room. “Let’s get started, yeah?” he called out, stepping forward with his camera held carefully in his hands. “Shawn, let’s have you step onto the set.” You watched a little too intently as Shawn made his way in front of the white background, adjusting his hat and making sure his blue jersey was properly tucked into his white baseball pants. The photographer set him up with a wooden bat casually resting on his shoulder, then took a step back and frowned. “I don’t like this,” he muttered, evidently lost in thought. “Can’t see his face. Gonna have to lose the hat.”
“You,” he said, sending you a pointed glance and jabbing his finger in your direction. “Could you go get his cap?”
Your mouth formed a tight smile. “Sure,” you responded, though you knew it sounded strangled. You weren’t even the closest person to Shawn, but of course the photographer just had to ask you of all people. So much for your look, don’t touch rule; just your luck. You were further disgruntled by the fact that Shawn didn’t take the hat off of himself and hand it to you; he made you reach up and take it off yourself. Of course he did. He knew what he was doing. You avoided eye contact as you took the cap and turned to make your way off the set, but the photographer held up his hand.
“Wait, one more thing. Do me a favor and fix that piece of hair, I don’t want it over his face like that.”
He had to be kidding. You sighed and turned back around, stepping over to brush the hair off his forehead like you’d been instructed. You could feel Shawn’s eyes on you, and you were almost uncomfortable under the heat of his gaze; you were still somehow physically affected by him staring at you, but in a different way than usual. It usually made you excited, but now you were almost nervous, like there was a knot of anticipation in your stomach. You took a deep, steadying breath. As if things weren’t already hard enough without him looking at you like that.
“Thank you,” Shawn whispered as you took a step back, his eyes still glued to your face.
“Just doing my job,” you replied flatly, even though fixing Shawn’s hair for a photoshoot was in no way a part of your job description. You walked back over to stand by Cassidy, who shot you a small smirk.
“Have fun?”
“A blast,” you muttered sarcastically, clutching Shawn’s hat in your fist a little tighter than was necessary.
Three hours, two outfit changes, and one headline brainstorming session later, the lead from SI officially called a wrap. Their media team wasted no time importing the photos to make a digital manipulation of what the cover would look like, the words “Toronto Takes Off” in big, blue letters at the bottom of the page, a photo of Shawn taking up the whole cover. Curt cleared it for production, and with that the Sports Illustrated team began packing their equipment and heading out the door. No surprise to you, Shawn was thanking every single person as they began to trickle out.
You turned to Cassidy, your back to Shawn, and began casually talking to her for all of ten seconds before she cut you off. “Not to freak you out or anything, but Shawn’s coming over here.”
You could feel your heart rate quicken, hating yourself for still involuntarily getting excited at the thought of even just talking to him. “Well keep talking to me then,” you pleaded, not daring to turn over your shoulder. “He’d never interrupt, he’s too polite.”
Cassidy sighed. “Y/N, I’m doing this because I love you,” she replied, an apologetic smile on her face as she began to back away from you. “You can’t avoid him forever. You need to talk to him.” Your eyes blew wide.
“Cassidy,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “Where are you going?”
“Sorry, friend. It’s not interrupting anything if I’m not here. Fill me in when you’re done.”
There was no point in you calling out after her, as she was quickly out of earshot. As soon as she was just about out of the room, you heard a shy “hey” from behind you. You reluctantly turned over your shoulder to face Shawn, forcing yourself to keep a neutral expression.
“Nice choice of jersey,” he continued with a small smirk, nodding at the blue top. You refrained from rolling your eyes; something like this happening was exactly what you were worried about that morning.
“Thanks,” you shrugged. “My jerseys kind of all have the same name on them, it’s not like I really have options.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s not a bad thing. You look good in 98.”
You took a deep breath, choosing to not acknowledge his comment. “Is there something specific you wanted to talk about? I just...probably have to get back to work soon.”
He reached his hand up to scrub the back of his neck. “Oh, I was just wondering if you’ve come up with anything I can do to help you with what’s going on at work? I know I’ve offered before but I want to make sure you know how easily I could get to the general manager or someone like that and see if they could do anything about it. It really would be no trouble.”
You sighed. “That’s a sweet offer, Shawn, but I don’t report to the general manager. I already told you there’s nothing you can do, and even if there were, people aren’t going to change their opinions of me just because someone important comes along and intimidates them into having to play nice. Besides, if they heard about you trying to come to my rescue everything would just be worse.”
“I’m not trying to ‘rescue’ you, Y/N, I just want to help.”
“I know, Shawn, but that’s not how people would see it.”
“Why do you care so much about what everyone thinks of you?”
You ran a hand over your face, trying not to get frustrated. “We’ve already had this conversation, can we please not have a part two?”
“There’s gonna be as many parts as it takes for you to realize that you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing at work and that doesn’t change whether you’re with me or you’re not or whether people like you or not. I understand that you’re worried about getting a ‘real’ job after this, but how you’re doing in your job now is all that should matter for that.” He paused, taking a deep breath and scrubbing a hand over his face before continuing, more levelly. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to keep my cool, but I don’t want to let this go as easily as you did. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do other than try to help you.”
That was not a turn you’d expected this awkward conversation to take. You looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep composure. There were still people around and you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself, especially not when you were talking to Shawn of all people (while wearing his jersey). “Nobody wants to hire someone they don’t like, Shawn. Please don’t make me sound like the bad guy for not wanting to be bullied at my internship and taken less seriously by almost everyone in a superior position to me. It wasn’t easy for me to stop this, I really hope that’s not what you actually think. I just need to establish myself in something more long-lasting with the team.”
He raked his tattooed hand through his hair, messing up his curls. “How long is that going to take?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if anybody on the hiring team likes me enough to even want to give me a lasting position.”
His expression softened a little. “It isn’t fair for them to judge your qualifications for a job based on anything other than your actual work. Our relationship shouldn’t have anything to do with it, and you shouldn’t have to change the way you live your life in order to cater to what you think they expect of you.”
You smiled, but it was sad. You missed Shawn like crazy and it had only been three days since you’d broken things off. Every time the feeling began to creep up on you, you had to remind yourself of the goals you’d set for your future and how being with him right now put that in jeopardy. It didn’t always help. “No, it’s not fair, but that’s the way it is. I’m looked at under a microscope because everyone expects me to be just another stereotype until I prove that I’m not. And I’ve not been doing a very good job at that.”
“So there’s no way for you to win, then,” Shawn sighed. He was finally starting to understand.
“Not until I get the executives to take me seriously enough to hire me for real.”
He nodded solemnly, looking off to his left. You could tell he was thinking. “Well, I guess just let me know when that happens.”
If that happened. But you didn’t have the heart to correct him. “I will. I should probably get back to work, though.”
“Oh, right. Sorry to keep you from it.”
You laughed a little. “It’s okay. You should probably get home and get some rest before the game tonight anyways. The Diamondbacks are tough.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” he smiled half-heartedly, and you offered a tiny smile in return as you turned over your shoulder to head back into the offices.
---------------
Later that day, Greg called you and the other five interns to his office for a meeting. You imagined it was because he wanted to check in to see how you were all doing, as the one-month mark since starting the internships was approaching. You and two of the other interns arrived to the office at the same time, taking seats around Greg’s small conference table as you waited for the others to arrive. You kept your eyes in your lap so as not to see the nasty way in which you were sure the other two, David and Matthew, were staring at you. As soon as the remaining three, Brandon, Tony, and Chris, had trickled in, Greg began asking questions. Whether or not everyone felt included in their departments, how demanding your workload was, what you were learning, if you were still finding time to keep up with the team itself, and so on.
He was about to switch gears from the rapid-fire questions when his desk phone rang, and he sighed and let out a little groan. He stepped over to his desk and pressed a button, plopping down into his swivel chair. “You’ve reached Greg, you’re on speakerphone.”
“Hey, Greg, it’s James. I’m with one of the statisticians finalizing the weekly report on the team’s numbers, but whoever’s in charge of score-keeping left out a few batting averages. Figured you’d know who that person is, so could you find them and ask for those official, current stats? I need them on Grichuk and Solarte.”
“Sure, James, if you give me just a few minutes, I’ll--”
“0.245 and 0.266.” You heard yourself say the words before you’d even realized you’d opened your mouth, and you felt every single person in the room focus their eyes on you.
Greg narrowed his eyes. “James, could you hold on just a second?” he asked, muting the phone before taking a slight step in your direction and focusing his attention on you. “Are you one-hundred percent positive about that?”
You took a breath, sitting up straight. Of course you were right. “Absolutely.”
Matthew spoke up next, a cocky smirk plastered on his mouth. “With all due respect, sir, she has absolutely no way of knowing that.”
You whipped your head around to face him, acting completely on impulse for once in your life. “I could recite the results of each of their last ten at-bats right now, off the top of my head. So yes, I do have a way of knowing that. Do you?”
“Knock it off,” Greg bellowed, and you and Matthew went quiet. Greg was silent for a few seconds, thinking, before he stepped back to unmute the receiver. “James? Yeah, still me. Grichuk’s batting 0.245 and Solarte’s at 0.266. Yes, I’m sure….Yeah, I can do that real quick. Uh huh...you too, bye.”
You felt a rush of energy in your chest that you refused to let your face give evidence of. Greg trusted you. He’d just taken you seriously. He sighed, hanging up the phone and staring back at the six of you. “You all wait here. I’ve gotta go ask someone a question, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He turned to look solely at you. “I sure do hope you were right, kid.”
The second Greg was out the door the room became a lion’s den, and you were the sole prey. The guys turned their heads to you as though they were about to bear their teeth, and you gulped with the anticipation that came from knowing that they were surely going to tear you to shreds.
“What did you do, make flashcards or something?” Matthew began, and once he got the ball rolling the others wasted no time digging in, too.
Chris followed. “Gotta stay up to date on the team to fool the players into thinking she actually cares about baseball. How else is she gonna get them in bed?”
“Why do you have such a problem with me?” you snapped, hating yourself for the tears that stabbed the backs of your eyes. If you cried in front of these animals, you’d never recover. They’d bite into you until you ran for the hills and never looked back.
“Less than a month after you start working here you’re caught sneaking around with a player, especially one as good as Mendes, and you expect us not to call you out for what you are?” David sneered.
“There is nothing between me and any player on this team.”
They laughed, and you felt your bottom lip begin to tremble. Tony chimed in next. “I think the half a million people that’ve viewed that video of you and Mendes on MLB Network would beg to differ.”
You would never live that down. “That was a completely innocent interaction one time, and there is absolutely nothing there. You have no idea.”
“I’ll believe that when--”
“She’s right,” spoke a voice that had been otherwise silent the entire time. Brandon. The room was temporarily quiet. Everyone turned to face where he sat at the end of the conference table, his laptop computer opened in front of him. “A-About the stats on Grichuk and Solarte. I looked up the results of all of their at-bats since the last time the batting averages were officially updated. I did the math by hand to factor in the recent plate appearances to the previous averages in order to get the current numbers. Like it or not, 0.245 and 0.266 are spot on.” Brandon turned to look at you, his eyes wide and seemingly apologetic. “You were right, Y/N.”
You didn’t even have time to be proud of yourself before Tony was butting in. “So she has a good memory, big deal. That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Probably only memorized that stuff to impress Mendes in the first place,” Chris snickered, and all of the interns--with the exception of Brandon--began to snicker. “Jersey-chasing skank.” The continuous mentions of Shawn were snapping something in you that evoked a rage you’d never felt before. He wasn’t even technically in your life anymore, but these guys were finding a way to insert him there in an attempt to make you look bad--like a jersey chaser. Something you weren’t, and something you absolutely despised being called. Unable to maintain your composure any longer, you burst.
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not sitting right here. If you have something to say about me, you can say it to me. I’ve been pretty passive up in dealing with how you’ve all been treating me up to this point but I’m sick of feeling like I have something to prove to you guys. And even when I do prove that I obviously know what I’m talking about--like I just did with the batting averages--that still doesn’t seem to be enough for you. You don’t have to like the fact that I’m working for this team, but you do have to accept it and stop making excuses to undermine my motives like when you call me a jersey chaser.” By this point, you were yelling. You couldn’t help it. “You don’t get to disrespect my character and my capabilities because you’re secretly threatened by the fact that I’m a girl who has just as good a chance at getting a full-time job with the team as any of you do. I am your equal. In job title, in capability, and in potential. Don’t ever underestimate me again, or--”
You froze as you heard the door open from behind you, and you took heavy breaths as you felt your words hanging stale in the air, unanswered. The other interns’ eyes were immediately downcast, focusing on anything but Greg now standing in the doorway.
“Everyone out,” Greg commanded, low and quiet but menacing all the same. You grabbed your purse from your lap and stood to leave, completely drained of the energy you’d just exerted. Of course the one time you stuck up for yourself, your boss overheard without context and probably couldn’t stop thinking about how unprofessional you were. Just as you turned over your shoulder to head for the door with everyone else, Greg’s voice stopped you. “Not you, Y/N. You stay.”
Your heart sank. “O-okay.”
Once everyone else was out of the room, Brandon shooting you another look of apology as he went, Greg moved to sit in his swivel chair, leaving you still awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.
He turned in his chair to face you. “Shut the door, would you?” You silently complied, your heart hammering in your chest. You were going to get fired. You knew it. You’d been perfectly damage controlling, cutting your relationship with Shawn and focusing solely on work. You were on track to salvaging your reputation and proving yourself as a hard worker and nothing else--not even a jersey chaser. And then you’d gone and thrown it up in flames.
Greg gestured for you to take a seat, and you pulled one of the extra chairs that was against the wall up to the side of his desk. You sat down and squeezed your hands in your lap in an effort to keep them from shaking, but how much your legs were bouncing made up for the lack of nerves in your fingers. You didn’t say anything, just forced yourself to look at him and keep your composure.
“How’s your day been going?”
You almost scoffed; the last thing you’d expected was a question like that. “Um, good.”
Greg’s eyes widened and he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Good? Even after that conversation I just overheard? I’d actually call it more of an argument, on second thought.”
“W-what?”
“I could repeat some of the things that were said to jog your memory, but--”
“No, no, I remember,” you hastened, throwing one of your hands up.
“Are...are you doing okay?” Greg asked hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair towards you as though he were trying to psychoanalyze you. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought he seemed concerned. For a reason you couldn’t put your finger on, it bothered you. You weren’t a wounded animal, and you didn’t need his pity.
“I’m fine, I just kind of want to hurry and get this over with,” you muttered, looking down at your lap.
Greg frowned. “Get what over with?”
“Being fired,” you whispered, still not daring to look up at him. You squeezed your eyes shut as though to brace yourself. At least you didn’t have to worry about crying; you were convinced you didn’t have the energy left to.
There was a short pause, but to you it felt like an eternity. Your words hung in the air, the silence seemingly a loud answer to your worst fear. But then Greg finally spoke. “I...Why would I fire you?” he asked, sounding genuinely taken aback.
“Because other people obviously have a problem with me working here,” you mumbled.
“Look here, kid,” he said, and you slowly brought your eyes up to meet his. “My wife has worked in the finance department for years, it’s how we met. I know she didn’t have it easy when she started and I have a feeling you can relate to that.”
You blinked, confused as to the path the conversation was going down. “I guess I can, yeah.”
“Your application for this position was incredible, I told you that on your first day. The work you’ve done while here is exactly the quality I expected it to be, if not better. Your being with this team is completely justified, despite what anyone else may be saying about you. It’s unfair that mockery like that is something you’re having to deal with undeservingly. Like this...name the other interns keep calling you; where are they getting it from?”
You scoffed. “I’d imagine because they can’t wrap their thick heads around the idea of a woman wanting to work in sports because she actually likes it and knows what she’s talking about,” you snapped, before immediately catching yourself. You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t--It’s just embarrassing. They’re calling me a jersey chaser because they think I’m only here for the guys in jerseys, plain and simple. And wrong, too.” You purposely left out that your relationship--ex relationship--with Shawn had only added fuel to their fire.
“And how long have they been treating you like this?”
You let out a huff of air. “Since day one, basically.”
His eyes got a little wider as he reached a hand up to run over the top of his head. “Why didn’t you tell me, or anyone else?”
“I told a friend from my department, but that’s it. I honestly didn’t think anyone would care enough to do anything about it. I can tell not many people like that I’m here in the first place, so what would be the point? They’d probably just think I can’t take a joke. Because how hilarious is being called a jersey chaser, right?” You laughed flatly, staring down at your lap and beginning to absentmindedly pick at your chipping nail polish.
Greg nodded, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach. “I understand. Is there...anything else you want to add to that? Anything else you want to get off your chest while we’re here?”
Did he already know something? Whether he did or not, this was your chance to tell him yourself about Shawn; to let him hear the story from you first in the off chance he’d yet to hear it from someone else. But you weren’t quite sure of what to say, and you chuckled sheepishly, deciding to try and gage the situation. “Is there, um, something you’re expecting me to add?”
“Well, there’s been a lot of...talk...among the team executives about you. About your personal life. Which, if you ask me, is not relevant or appropriate for them to be discussing, but they’re my bosses so I can’t really do anything about that. But of course we’ve all seen that video on MLB Network, and it does naturally raise some questions. I wanted to give you the chance to speak for yourself; to ask you directly instead of speculating with everyone else.”
“Ask me about Shawn,” you confirmed, but then realized your mistake. “Oh, Mendes, I mean! Sorry. Ask me about Mendes.”
Greg laughed lightly. “I see you’re on a first-name basis, then. That answers quite a bit.”
“I--I don’t really know what to say,” you sighed, too exasperated to beat around the bush. You weren’t sure how Greg expected--or wanted--you to answer, and you didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
“Well, is Shawn a...part of your life?” You could tell that he was trying to choose his words carefully.
You huffed out a flat laugh. You could not believe you were having this conversation with your boss, of all people. “He was. Past tense.”
“And did that begin before or after you were hired to work here?”
“We met after I was hired, but before my first day at the office. It’s kind of a complicated timeline.”
“Right. Now--last question, I promise--do your coworkers have anything to do with the emphasis on the ‘past tense’ aspect of your relationship with him?”
“That’s a large part of it, yeah,” you muttered, looking down at your lap.
“So that’s where the ‘jersey chaser’ thing really fits in, then,” Greg confirmed, and you nodded.
“They thought that of me before that video of Shawn and I started circulating, didn’t think there could be any other reason why I would want to be working here. I couldn’t stand that I was confirming everyone’s stereotypical opinions of me, so I broke it off. I didn’t want it to impact my ability to get an official job here once the internship is over. I needed to keep my priorities straight.”
“Mhm,” Greg nodded, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his belly. “Well, I’m not explicitly saying that I do or don’t condone anything, but what I will say is that I think the hiring team would be a bunch of idiots to let you slip through their fingers for any reason. And I can promise you that, when the time comes for you to apply to work here for real, you have my full support. I don’t know how much that will get you with them, but I’ll back you anyways. I personally don’t think your life outside of work should have any influence on their hiring decisions, because the work you’ve turned out so far is phenomenal and beyond impressive considering you’re only an intern.”
You felt frozen. “So, you’re saying…”
“I’m saying that if you keep doing what you’ve been doing work-wise, I think you’ll be fine; all personal relationships considered. If you stay focused and don’t worry about the higher-ups, that new full-time Media Communications job opening could be yours.”
“Media Comm,” you mused, feeling your heart rate quicken in excitement. “That position operates out of PR; I’d still be with my department.”
Greg nodded his affirmation. “And I’d love to recommend you for it. Look, kid, I understand that this franchise means the world to you; it was enough to make you give up something really important. But I just don’t think that was necessary. Your work, dedication, and resolve speaks for itself. You’re gonna be just fine here.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing; you didn’t know what to say. “I--God, are you sure? I-I mean, are you serious?” Greg nodded, his mouth beginning to pull into a smile. “Thank you. You have no idea how important this is to me, how much it means for you to support me like that.”
“I think I might have at least a little bit of an idea,” he chuckled, and you breathed out a laugh. “And I also think you ought to go see him right now.”
“Go see who? Shawn?” you questioned, shocked. Greg nodded. “Um, well, I guess I will eventually, but I don’t get off until 6:30. That’s four hours from now.”
He let out a deep, bellowing laugh and you felt your forehead crease in confusion. “As your boss, I’m pretty sure I can work something out. Go, he should be getting here pretty soon to start prepping along with the rest of the team. Wouldn’t want you to miss him.”
You knew you were smiling like a little kid, but you didn’t care. Not only had you finally managed to stand up to the people who’d been making your life miserable, but someone important in the office was actually showing you kindness knowing what was going on in your personal life. “Thank you so much, Greg, I...Wow, I just…” you paused, taking a breath to calm yourself as you stood up from the chair you were in. “Thank you.”
“Of course, kid. Now get down to the player’s parking lot and wait for him. You know where it is?”
Your smile turned smug; of course you knew where it was. “Yeah, I do. I’ll see you at work on Monday, okay?”
“Yep!” Greg called, but you were already halfway out the door. You flew down the hallway to the ever-so-familiar Stadium Access door, not caring whether or not anyone saw you swing it open. You entered the hallway as you’d done so many times before, but you froze when you realized that your excitement had caused you to get ahead of yourself. You knew how to get to the dugout through these hallways, but you had no clue how to get up to the main concourse where the concessions and seating were, and therefore where the door to the team parking lot was. You’d hit a roadblock of sorts, and it was killing your mood.
You had to start somewhere, and you decided to venture down the path to your right and see where it took you. You followed it until you heard voices, and the closer you got the more familiar they began to sound. You rounded a corner and saw Kevin Pillar and Danny Jansen making their way towards you, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you realized that you’d somehow managed to pick the right way to go. When he saw you, Kevin paused.
“Hey, Y/N. Looking for Shawn?”
“Yeah, I am. Is he coming? Or is he already here?”
“I saw him pull up right as we were walking in. He should be right behind us.”
“Perfect, thank you so much.” Kevin nodded as if to say ‘you’re welcome’ and ‘goodbye’ all at once, and you decided to just stay put and wait for Shawn instead of chasing him down.
You leaned your right shoulder against the side of the hallway, tapping your foot on the ground anxiously as you waited for Shawn to appear from around the corner. After what felt like an eternity of anticipation, you saw his tall frame begin to come into view. He frowned as he recognized you, silently wondering what you were doing.
“Y/N? Is everything okay?”
“Shawn, hey. I--Shit, I don’t know. I got so excited I never really planned what to say.”
His brows pulled together. “Excited about what?”
“Long story short, work isn’t an issue anymore.”
He still looked confused, and he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What do you mean?”
“Getting a job. I talked to my boss, told him everything about the interns and you and what I was worried about. He’s totally got my back. I don’t know if it’ll be enough, but he’s really high up with the team and he made it sound like I’d have a future here no matter what happened with my personal life.” Shawn was silent, staring at you blankly. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous. “I’m saying we can go back to the way things were. O-Only if you still want, I guess, but you told me this morning to tell you when that happened and it did.”
“How’d you sneak away from work to even get down here?”
Your eagerness fell a little because he’d yet to acknowledge what you were saying, but you didn’t let it show. “Greg let me go. Told me to go, actually, was completely encouraging it.”
He sighed and turned over his shoulder to look back down the empty hallway, his face still not reading any sort of happiness over what you were saying. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a separate hall, out of sight and out of earshot of any of his teammates that could come venturing down the hallway at any minute.
Your heart was racing at this point and your mind was full of worry that something had changed, that it was too late and you’d already done irreversible damage. You felt dumb for assuming that you could just waltz down here and that things would go back to normal, as though you hadn’t put Shawn through extreme stress and frustration for the past four days.
The two of you came to a stop as Shawn led you around a corner, and he turned so that he was facing you and no longer had a grasp on your wrist. His face was still unreadable. “I’m sorry, I’m starting to think I made a mistake coming down here like this,” you began, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. “I don’t know why I thought you’d be more--”
You were cut off by Shawn finally speaking again, looking down at you with a smug expression. “Just wanted to psych you out.”
It was your turn to frown and be confused. “What?”
“Did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“Did I make you nervous?”
“I’m going to start getting really frustrated if you don’t tell me what you mean.”
“Well I was trying to freak you out a little by being all cryptic, but apparently all I did was make you mad,” he teased, but you still felt a little frozen.
“So that was all just to mess with me?”
He nodded, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You felt yourself let out a huge breath of air, the tension leaving your shoulders. “Well it worked, you asshole,” you laughed, and you were immediately swallowed by Shawn’s arms pulling you to him, wrapping all the way around you so tightly that you couldn’t have moved even if you’d wanted to. For the first time in days, something finally felt right again, and you were as content as ever.
“So no more of this?” Shawn asked, his voice muffled as he continued to hold you. “It can go back to normal?”
You nodded against his chest. “I’m really sorry, Shawn. I thought I was doing what was best for myself but I wasn’t thinking clearly and I never asked for help, that’s my fault. God, I was so worried you’d shoot me down for a second.”
He laughed, pulling away from you. “Why’s that?”
“Don’t know. The general lack of excitement threw me a little bit,” you giggled. “But in all seriousness, it would be selfish of me to just assume that you were waiting around for me to give a green light again.”
“Right, but I’m pretty sure I made it clear that that was exactly what I planned to do. Look, Coach is expecting me and I don’t want to keep you from work. But you can meet me in our spot before gametime like usual? We can talk more then?”
You nodded, grinning like an idiot. “Okay. But I’m going to need help getting back to that main hallway between the offices and the stadium. I have no idea where I am.”
---------------
Right at 6:30, you exited out of all of the tabs on your computer and immediately began to throw your belongings into your purse. You pushed your chair into your desk and stood up, swinging your bag over your shoulder.
Cassidy looked back at you as you stood up to leave, her perfectly arched brows knit together. “You’re not staying to watch the game with us in the clubhouse?”
“No, I am,” you replied with a smile, smoothing over your clothes. “I just have to go do something first. Save me a seat on the couch?”
“Always do,” she nodded, smiling and turning back to her computer.
You headed out of the office and down the hallway towards the elevators, taking it down to the first floor and walking to the Stadium Access door like you’d done so many nights before. Walking to the little room where you always met Shawn was like muscle memory by this point, and as you opened the door to see him already standing inside it was probably the most excited you’d ever been to see him. He greeted you with a huge hug and then took hold of your hands, and you wasted no time asking him how he felt about the game tonight.
“I’m finally getting used to playing without Justin,” Shawn shrugged, swinging your joined hands absentmindedly. “But this is going to be a tough series. The D-Backs are really good this year and I’d probably be happy if we could just win one game out of the three we play them.”
You nudged him teasingly. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Who knows? Maybe rookie second basemen are their weakness.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he retorted sarcastically, and you grinned.
“You never know. Don’t forget to put your eye black on before the game, also. You usually have it on by now.”
He silently reached into his back pocket to hand you the tube, and you smiled in understanding of what he wanted you to do. You popped the cap off and moved Shawn’s hat back out of the way, placing a hand under his chin to anchor yourself as you drew the trademark black lines under his eyes as you’d done several times before. You were glad to be doing it again; it felt normal, and it felt right in a way you couldn’t describe.
You finished and took a step back to admire your work, handing him the tube back with its lid on. Shawn smiled, pausing for a second to look down at you just long enough to make you want to squirm under the heat of his brown eyes. You quirked your head to the side, looking at him in bemusement. “What?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, looking off to the side. “It’s just good to be doing this again. It’s like I have my lucky charm back, I’ll be back on my game.”
You laughed. “Shawn Mendes does not need a lucky charm to play well. He never did.”
He grinned, pressing a kiss to your cheek before turning to leave. “Well, it’s almost gametime. Guess we’re about to find out if that’s really true or not.”
“Wait, there’s actually, um, something I wanted to tell you before you go to the dugout.” You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, and you tried to no avail to steady it.
“Yeah? What’s that?” he asked, coming back over and nonchalantly grabbing one of your hands to bring it up and place a kiss on the back of it.
“When we were in my apartment that night...fighting, I guess you could call it,” you shrugged nervously, staring down at the Nike symbol on Shawn’s cleats. You could feel the rambling coming on, but you were in too deep to stop talking now. “You said something that kind of caught my attention, and I don’t really know if you meant to say it, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and--”
“Y/N,” he chuckled. “Just say it, it’s okay.”
“You said you loved me,” you whispered, your eyes still on the ground. Your words hung in the air so long that the anticipation almost brought tears to your eyes.
“That’s ‘cause I do,” Shawn finally said, matter-of-factly, and you snapped your eyes back up to his.
“Really?” you cried, unthinking. “Wait, shit, I mean…What I’m trying to say is...” You sighed, taking a breath to reset. “I love you, too,” you mumbled, kicking your toe into the ground.
“What was that?” Shawn asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.
“I love you too,” you said, still muttering, but a little louder.
“Sorry, one more time?”
“I said that I--” You were cut off by Shawn’s lips pressing onto yours, and as your hands found a home on his body you felt yourself deflate.
He pulled away, his palms pressed to either side of your face as his brown eyes bore into yours with an intensity you’d never experienced. “I love you.”
You giggled. “I love you, too,” you said, and you meant it. It had taken separation and tension for you to realize it, but you were glad you did. It was a special feeling, one you hadn’t felt in a long time and definitely never this strong. You were completely wrapped around Shawn’s finger, whether or not you wanted to admit that to yourself.
“Oh yeah?” he said, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest, a smug smile plastered on his face. “How much?”
“Don’t get cocky,” you laughed, and he grinned right along with you.
“‘M just messing with you. I’ll see you after the game though, yeah?”
“Sure,” you nodded as he turned away, but you weren’t done yet. “Shawn?”
He paused, looking back over his shoulder at you with a smile that nearly rendered you useless. “Hmm?”
“To center field and back. That’s how much. Good enough?”
He grinned, coming back for one last kiss. “Of course it is. I love you to center field and back, too.”
With that he finally left for the dugout, and even all the way from that little room you could hear the increase in the crowd’s volume as Shawn once again returned to his home at second base.
Taglist (I’m so sorry if it wouldn’t let me tag you):
Whew. If you know me at all, you know I am a sucker for any AU scenario where Shawn is an athlete, so naturally I’ve spent the last three days neglecting all of my academic responsibilities to crank out 8.3k words (!!!) of Baseball!Shawn. I tried to keep the jargon in check, but here’s a little study guide of the things I wrote about in case you’re not super well versed on all things Major League Baseball:
MLB teams are divided into two leagues: American and National. Each league has slightly different rules. The Toronto Blue Jays are in the American, and their home stadium is Rogers Centre. Rookie of the Year is an award given by each league to the best first-year player. Players often wear compression sleeves over their throwing arms because it reduces soreness, and eye black under their eyes to reduce the glare of the sun or stadium lights so that they can see better. If you have any more questions please ask, and without further ado please enjoy Baseball!Shawn!!
When you got the call from “Greg with the Toronto Blue Jays” that you had been selected from a field of over two-hundred applicants for one of the team’s few coveted internship positions, you almost stopped breathing. The sun was making its descent as you sat at the kitchen table of your quaint suburban apartment, having just finished the leftovers you’d microwaved a few minutes before when your phone sounded its familiar siren. It was an unknown number, but the Toronto area code immediately made your stomach flip. It was a straightforward phone call, Greg simply offering you a congratulations and saying you started at Rogers Centre in two weeks’ time, but to you it meant the entire world. You managed to breathe out a “thank you” as you hung up the phone, eyes blurry with tears and hands shaking as you struggled to dial your mother’s phone number--the only person you could think to call.
You cried as you talked to your mom about how all of your hard work had finally paid off; four years of suffering as a double-major student to obtain two bachelor’s degrees, almost entirely giving up sleep and a social life as the price for your scholastic success, and eight months of waiting tables post-graduation to (barely) sustain yourself while you looked for a job. The sports industry was harder to find a place in than you’d thought, and you couldn’t believe the opportunity had finally come. Your mother was beyond proud, and after the phone call you sat at the kitchen table and cried because you didn’t know what else to do.
You’d wanted to work in sports your entire life; the love had been ingrained into you by your parents when you were young, and it never faded as you’d grown. You’d sent your resume to every sports franchise with availabilities, prepared to emigrate to the States for your dream job if you had to, but with this internship for the Blue Jays you thankfully only had to move an hour or so away.
Moving, however, caused you great stress. The ballpark was in the heart of downtown Toronto, which meant that every apartment or condo within a reasonable distance of the stadium would be exceedingly out of your price range; not to mention that the deadline of two weeks only added to your panic. You expressed this concern to your mother the next morning when you were level-headed enough to hold a steady conversation, but the words your mother spoke were enough to send you spiraling down yet another path of overwhelmed emotions: your mom and dad would help you pay to live downtown until you were financially stable enough to take the reins on your own. You had paid your own way through college, and your parents didn’t want further financial struggles to stand in the way of getting your foot in the door of your dream industry; they’d let you pay them back whenever you were able. With a cushion of temporary aid from your family, finding a place to live was a breeze; you settled on a one-bedroom apartment about a twenty-minute walk from the stadium. It had a perfect view of the Toronto skyline, and you could already imagine yourself sitting on the small balcony at night just watching the city lights twinkle before you.
On a Thursday in May, not three days after getting the phone call, you and your parents loaded the contents of your tiny apartment into the back of your barely-running sedan. You sighed as you realized how out of place the old car would look juxtaposed to the sleek vehicles that surely filled the streets of the city. Oh well, you thought. I’ll probably be walking everywhere, anyways. You shut the hatch of your trunk and smoothed over your favorite Blue Jays player’s jersey--a parting gift from your mother--before hugging your mom and dad goodbye. You took one last look at your small apartment complex and climbed into the driver's seat before reversing out of your designated parking spot and driving away in the direction of your dream life.
As you merged onto the 401 and the Toronto skyline came into view, you had to turn your music up even louder in a desperate attempt to distract yourself and therefore control your pounding heart, an exhilarated smile unable to keep itself from spreading across your face. You were finally here. This was finally happening. You pulled off the highway and drove into the parking garage of your new apartment, awestruck at how tall and sleek the building was. You went into the lobby to get everything sorted, and you were all set when the manager handed you a key to your door and sent you on your way with an enthusiastic “Welcome!”
You made your way back out to the parking garage, popping the trunk of your car and beginning the grueling back-and-forth process of taking the boxes up to your apartment one by one. You made your way back down to the car for what felt like the hundredth time, sighing in relief when you saw that there were only two boxes left. You pulled the larger of the two out, which was exceptionally heavy, and as you tried to shut the trunk while still holding the box your balance completely failed you.
“Fuck!” you cried, as the contents of the box went tumbling onto the ground next to your car. You sighed as you knelt down to place the box upright when you heard a voice echo from behind you in the parking garage.
“Do you need some help?”
You snapped your head around, your eyes settling on the figure of a tall man who was far enough across the lot that you couldn’t quite make out his features. “Um, I think I’ll be okay,” you called back, ducking your head down in embarrassment over the fact that someone had seen you clumsily and inadvertently dump the box onto the ground. “Thank you though!”
The man continued talking, the sound of his voice getting closer despite the fact that you had declined his offer. “Are you sure? I’m more than happy to--hey. Nice jersey.”
You turned around and looked up to meet the man’s smug eyes, and as you did you felt your cheeks immediately begin burning. You fell back onto your ass as though you’d been pushed, the box’s spilled contents suddenly disregarded. You looked down self-consciously to the Blue Jays jersey you had on, all-too-aware of the Mendes 98 embroidered onto the back, and slowly let your gaze travel back up to the real number 98 standing right before your eyes. You’d been in Toronto for twenty minutes and you had already come face to face with your favorite baseball player...while wearing his jersey. If you weren’t embarrassed before, you surely were now.
“I’m Shawn,” he said, kneeling down to your level as you hadn’t yet picked yourself up from the pavement. He extended his hand, and you weren’t quite sure whether he expected you to shake it or help yourself up with it.
“As if I don’t know who you are,” you muttered, laughing nervously as you disregarded his hand altogether. You opted to stand up on your own, brushing the asphalt off of the back of your jean shorts as you forced herself to meet his eyes. Eyes that, to your surprise, seemed almost bashful.
Shawn’s hand, marked with a tattoo you couldn’t quite see the shape of, came up to rub the side of his neck. He looked strange in his fitted shirt and black Nike shorts; you weren’t used to seeing him without his jersey on--or in person, for that matter. You’d known he was a rookie and therefore one of the younger players on the team, but standing this close to him you realized he couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Who’d have known that his ball cap was hiding such curly hair, or that underneath his compression sleeve were several concealed tattoos, his short sleeve shirt now putting them on full display?
Shawn Mendes was a first-year second baseman for the Blue Jays, and nearly every Major League Baseball commentator had pegged him as a top-three contender for the American League Rookie of the Year award. He’d quickly become your favorite player at the start of the season, with his ability to flawlessly handle any ball hit his way and his red-hot swing racking up the most hits on the team. But it was his character, however, that really drew you to him. He was his teammates’ biggest fan, always making sure to give players words of encouragement after a bad game or a celebratory smile and high-five after a big hit. Even though he was only a rookie, he was loved by players, coaches, and fans alike, and he’d quickly become one of the Blue Jays’ greatest assets.
You were snapped from your reverie by Shawn’s voice once again cutting through the air, and you refocused your eyes so that they were looking up into his. “W-what did you say?”
He smiled. “I said I really don’t mind helping you carry your things up, I know how awful it is to move on your own. I’d have loved the help back when I first moved in here.”
“You live here?” you squeaked out, but it sounded less like a question and more like you were stating it to yourself, as though repeating the words would have them make more sense.
“Twelfth floor,” Shawn affirmed, shooting you another smile that almost made you dizzy.
You cast your eyes downward, nudging at the ground with the toe of your Converse. “Fifth,” you responded. The view got better the higher up you were--which meant the price also rose with the floor number. “It’s close to the stadium, though, so I’d really be set no matter which floor I ended up on.”
“Plan on making it to a lot of our games?” Shawn teased, smirking as he folded his arms over his broad chest.
“I actually just got an internship with the team’s public relations department, which is why I moved out here. I’ll officially work for the Blue Jays in about a week and a half, so I’m sure I’ll be at most of the home games.” As you heard yourself say it, you couldn’t keep the childish grin from your face. It still barely felt real to you, and you found yourself wishing there weren’t ten long days standing between you and the beginning of your dream career path.
“No way!” Shawn grinned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle and revealing a set of teeth so perfect you found yourself nearly mesmerized. You’d thought that he was handsome on TV, but the in-person effect was a million times stronger. “Guess that makes us co-workers, then.”
You let out a strangled laugh at his comment, but it sounded more like a yelp. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m just one of the little people working behind the scenes.”
“But you make us look good,” Shawn insisted, his genuine smile unwavering.
“You make yourselves look good,” you scoffed, timidly looking at the ground as though it were suddenly interesting you. “You of all people should know that. You don’t make any errors in the field, your batting average is sky-high, and you’re on the short list for Rookie of the Year. I’m not sure there’s anything I or anyone else could do to make you look any better.” You could hear the gushing words spilling out of your mouth before you had time to process that you were even saying them, and when you finally managed to stop talking you wanted to crawl into a hole. Your favorite baseball player was talking to you like a normal human being, and you had to go and ruin it by fawning over him like the crazed fan that you were.
But, to your surprise, Shawn seemed unphased by this. “You really know your baseball,” he replied, and your eyes shot up to meet his brown ones.
“I’d hope a pro baseball team weren’t hiring people who didn’t,” you teased in a brief moment of bravery, Shawn letting out a little laugh.
“I guess I’d hope so, too.” As the words left his mouth, you both fell silent. His eyes were still on yours, and you’d have been a fool to look away. It was strange, having this seemingly intimate moment in the middle of a parking garage with a box of your personal belongings still scattered at your feet.
“Um,” Shawn cleared his throat, the first to break the long pause. “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything? The team has the day off today and I’d feel like a dick if I knew you were moving all these boxes by yourself while I sat on my ass doing nothing.”
“That’d be awesome, actually,” you finally assented, bending down to start putting the spilled box back together again as Shawn followed suit.
“I never caught your name,” Shawn said as the two of you carefully repacked your belongings.
“You’re a baseball player, you should catch everything,” you joked, to which Shawn chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Kidding,” you continued, smiling in response to Shawn’s laugh. “It’s Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he repeated, and your heart fluttered at the sound of him saying your name. “That’s pretty.”
“Thanks,” you giggled, continuing to pack up your things and forcing the giddiness that was threatening to spill out of you back down with all of your might. If this was how your luck was going to be in Toronto, you hoped you’d never have to leave.
“Oh, this is too good,” you heard Shawn say, and you looked up to see him smiling down at the framed photograph his large hands were clutching. Without even looking, you knew what it was: a picture of your mom and your dad holding baby you in between them, the Blue Jays’ stadium filling the background. They’d put you in a onesie covered with the team logo, and you sported a smile just as big as your parents’, except yours was toothless. You really were born and raised a sports fan; this picture was evidence of that.
“You were made for sports, weren’t you?” Shawn asked, placing the photograph gently inside the box.
“Absolutely,” you responded, flattered that he seemed so interested in your life. “My parents totally ingrained it into me. I don’t think I’d be happy with a career involving anything else.”
He smiled. “I can understand that. I’m pretty sure I knew how to throw a ball before I knew how to walk.”
You laughed, standing up as you placed the last of your things inside the box. “I’d expect nothing less. The greatest athletes always start young.” You moved towards the trunk of your car to grab the last box, shifting to balance it between your thigh and your arm in order to have a free hand to close the trunk with. You quickly pulled your keys out of your pocket and locked the car, shoving them back out of sight and taking hold of the box with both hands.
“Do you want me to get this one?” Shawn asked, pointing at the one you’d both just repacked.
“Yes, please. We both know what happened the last time I tried to carry that thing.”
Shawn chuckled as he turned his back to you and bent down to grab the heavy box, and you had to force yourself to keep your lips together as you watched the way his back muscles flexed and strained under the fabric of his skin-tight Under Armour shirt. “Lead the way,” he said, turning around to face you. You felt your cheeks get hot as you moved in front of him, sure that he’d caught you staring.
“Is this your first job with a sports team?” Shawn asked as he quickly fell into stride next to you, the both of you making your way into the apartment building’s lobby and towards the elevators.
“Yeah, if you’d even call it that,” you sighed, pressing the up button with your elbow. “It’s just an internship. But an opportunity is an opportunity, and I plan to make the most of this one.”
The elevator doors open and the two of you filed inside. “Guess we’re both rookies, then.”
You smiled, comforted by his kindness. “Yeah, I guess so. Except your season officially started in March. Mine doesn’t start for another ten days.”
“Are you excited?” Shawn asked, hitting the five button, and you felt yourself smiling again as you realized he’d remembered what floor you said you lived on.
“I only cried for two whole days after I got the call,” you giggled as the doors opened onto your floor, and Shawn laughed with you.
“I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” he said as you set the box down at the door and fished in your shorts’ back pocket for the new key to your apartment. You pushed the key in the lock and flung the door open, pushing your box inside to join the pile of all the others.
“Forgot how empty these things look at first,” Shawn remarked, gingerly placing the box in his hands down with the rest.
“I kind of like it,” you responded, taking in the space that was now all yours. Your kitchen was off to the left, and there was a large open space in front of you waiting to be converted into a living room. Your bedroom and bathroom were just beyond the kitchen, and there was a floor to ceiling window that revealed your quaint balcony and a decent view of the Toronto skyline directly across the room from the front door. “Kind of like a blank slate that I can do whatever I want with.”
“I don’t suppose you have furniture packed away in those boxes?” Shawn joked, stepping further into your empty apartment.
“Nope,” you giggled. “It’ll be me and my air mattress tonight. But most of the furniture I ordered should be coming Friday...which I guess is tomorrow.”
“We’ve got a three-game series against the White Sox starting tomorrow. The Friday and Saturday games are pretty late, but the Sunday game is early...I think it’s at one in the afternoon. I should be home by six, and I’m more than happy to help you with any furniture assembling. N-not that I think you can’t do it by yourself,” he rushed to add, eliciting a giggle from you.
“I’d like that,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to restrain your giddy smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too much trouble, but I already know I won’t be able to do it all myself.”
“Cool,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black shorts. “I’ll swing by. And, um...You know...If you’re ever free on any of my off-days and you want someone to show you around the city or something, I’d be more than happy to.”
“I’d like that, too,” you smile, your quickened pulse echoing in your ears.
He grinned. “Perfect. We’ll figure something out.”
“Sounds good. Oh, and good luck tomorrow night,” you called as he began making his way towards the door. “Not like you need it.”
He turned around, his eyes bright and a smile playing on his lips. “Will you be watching?”
“Yeah, on the TV that I don’t have yet,” you giggled, and he smiled and ducked his head.
“Right, right. But knowing you, you’ll find a way.”
“Oh, I definitely will. With an extra-trained eye on number 98.”
“No pressure,” he chuckled, running his inked hand through his brown curls.
“You’ll play amazing,” you said seriously, folding your arms around yourself. “You always do. And thanks for the help today, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s nice to know someone else living here.” He swung the door open, stepping halfway in and halfway out of the entryway. “I’ll see you Sunday?”
“Mhm. And I’ll see you on the big screen tomorrow.”
“Hopefully I don’t disappoint,” he laughed, and you did too. “Bye, Y/N.”
“Bye, Shawn,” you answered, and with that the door was closed behind him.
Come Sunday afternoon, you’d managed to assemble most of your furniture with the exception of your bed. The pieces were heavy, and there were too many of them for you to figure out exactly what part went where. As you walked out of your apartment’s sole bedroom and into the kitchen to make lunch, you remembered that day’s Blue Jays game was on at 1; in ten minutes.
Your television had come in last night, and it had taken a while but you’d managed to set it up by yourself. You had nothing planned in the days before you started at your internship, and though assembling your apartment was grueling, you found yourself grateful for the fact that you had something to occupy your time with.
You sauntered over to where you’d put the small TV, reaching for the remote and flipping the channel to the Blue Jays game. Your heart nearly dropped when you saw that the cameras were currently focused on a pre-game interview between one of the announcers and Shawn. You flung yourself down on your new couch, cranking the volume and completely disregarding the fact that you’d meant to make lunch.
The brim of Shawn’s baseball cap concealed most of his forehead (and those perfect brown curls), but the camera still picked up the youthful excitement behind his eyes as he spoke. He had fresh eye black painted under his eyes, and you knew that the two strips would quickly become smeared once the game started and progressed.
“With the White Sox winning the first two games in this series,” the announcer began, Shawn leaning in and listening intently, “What do you think is going to be the key to stopping their streak and winning this game?”
Shawn answered immediately, and you were shocked by how well-spoken he was. You’d heard him speak before, of course, but now you found yourself paying extra attention to every detail about him. “I think we just have to focus,” Shawn started, adjusting his hat. “We have to not get caught up in the last two games because right now, today’s game is all that matters. We took some tough losses but we fought hard, and today we need to fight a little harder.”
You smiled, folding your knees up under your chin and resting your head on top. Good answer. The announcer continued. “I’m sure you’ve been following what the sportscasters have been saying, so I have to ask how you feel about the buzz for you to win Rookie of the Year.”
“I’m honored that they see so much potential in me, but it’s still so early in the season. Right now I’m just trying to focus on playing my position and helping my team win games.”
“Good man,” the announcer said, laughing as he clapped Shawn on the back. “Thanks for your time, and good luck today.”
“Thank you, man,” Shawn said, and with that he was off camera as he made his way back to the Blue Jays’ dugout on the third base side of the field.
The announcer sent the program over to a commercial, telling the audience to stick around because the first pitch was right after the break. You took this as your chance to finally make lunch, throwing together a sandwich with the few groceries you’d picked up from the store yesterday and then making your way back over to the couch. You pulled the blanket you’d laid over the back of the sofa down and covered yourself with it, the blasting air conditioning leaving you a little chilly in your spandex and old Maple Leafs t-shirt. Now that you were settled, you were ready to be glued to the screen for the next three and a half hours.
The game passed uneventfully, both teams’ pitchers throwing an amazing game. The score was still 0-0 in the bottom of the sixth inning, but the White Sox pitcher’s arm was clearly starting to get tired, evidenced in the two consecutive hits he’d given up. You perked up a little bit at the potential scoring opportunity, with only one out and Blue Jays players at first and second base. A single would score one, and a double or triple would likely get both runners home. You could hear the crowd through the TV, and your stomach swirled with the excitement of knowing that you’d be a part of this atmosphere in just over a week. You waited with anticipation to see which Blue Jays player was up to bat next, and you almost screamed when you saw that it was Shawn.
A graphic displaying his statistics flashed on the screen, the announcers gushing over the Blue Jays’ beloved young rookie. Shawn stepped into the batter’s box, raising his bat over his shoulder and watching the pitcher with anticipation. Your eyes raked up and down his body, his arms flexed beneath his jersey from the weight of the bat and his white baseball pants hugging all the right parts of his lower half.
The pitcher started his windup, refocusing your attention on the game and sending a pitch flying over the plate for a strike that Shawn didn’t swing at. The screen said the ball came across at 83 miles per hour, which was beyond slow for the kind of pitch he’d thrown. His arm was tired, and your legs were bouncing up and down as you silently prayed that Shawn could take advantage of the opportunity. Another pitch--this one ruled a ball. As the pitcher began his third wind up of the at-bat, your breath hitched. The ball hurdled towards the plate as Shawn brought his bat around, a crack echoing as the barrel made contact, sending the pitch soaring into left field between the left and center fielders, who both went chasing after it. Both runners had crossed the plate, scoring two for the Blue Jays, and Shawn slid headfirst into second base to avoid being tagged out. The umpire called him safe, and dirt was stained all down the front of Shawn’s uniform as he popped up from the slide.
You could hear the crowd going crazy just like you were, reflexively jumping up from the couch and cheering as the camera showed the Blue Jays dugout high-fiving the runners that had just scored. The White Sox manager walked out to the mound, signaling for a new pitcher to come in and replace the current one. With the score now 0-2, Toronto winning, the game had a new life to it--and you were as hooked as always.
The game went by pretty quickly after that, each team managing to score another run, which left the final score as 1-3 Blue Jays. You smiled, clicking off the TV to get back to work until Shawn (hopefully) stopped by in a couple of hours.
You walked over to the pile of boxes, most of which you’d emptied, and chose a random one to begin unpacking. As you looked inside, you laughed to yourself; it was the box you’d spilled in front of Shawn. You pulled your hair into a sloppy ponytail and set about unpacking, placing photographs where you wanted them and arranging the decor from your last apartment how you liked it in your new one.
Before you knew it the sun was starting to go down, and you’d unpacked the rest of your boxes. You took a proud look around your apartment, satisfied with how everything had turned out. There were still a few tweaks you wanted to make here and there, but for three days’ work you were pretty damn happy.
You’d walked over to the kitchen to get a glass of water when there was a knock on your door, and you dashed over to open it, practically sliding across the hardwood floors in your fuzzy socks. You swung the door open to reveal Shawn, wearing black workout shorts and a white Blue Jays t-shirt, his hair slightly damp from the shower he’d surely had after the game.
“Hey MVP,” you grinned.
“So you’re a hockey fan, too?” Shawn asked, pointing at the Maple Leafs shirt you had on.
“I’m an every sport fan,” you giggled, turning and allowing him to pass by you into the apartment. “Even football.”
“A Canadian who likes football,” Shawn mused as you shut the door. “Don’t come by those too often.”
“You’d be surprised,” you said, walking into the center of your apartment as Shawn took in his surroundings.
“You really whipped this place into shape.”
“Makes it easy when you’re stuck here all day with nothing else to do.”
Shawn smiled. “Well, how can I help you finish up?”
“I actually need help with my bed,” you said sheepishly, running your fingers through the ends of your hair. “The pieces are too heavy for me to lift on my own.”
“No problem,” Shawn answered cheerily, following you down the short hallway into your room.
“Oh, and good game today,” you remarked as you walked.
He smiled, his cheeks getting rosy. “You watched?”
“Of course I did,” you laughed. “Every minute of it.”
“Well, thank you. Glad we could win at least one game in the series.”
“And there will be many more wins where that came from, especially if you all keep hitting as well as you did today.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I hope you’re right.”
The two of you set to work on the piece of furniture, assembling the frame and attaching it to the headboard. What you couldn’t even finish on your own only took half an hour with Shawn’s help, and there was, of course, the added bonus of getting to see his muscles bulging under his shirt as he did your heavy lifting. You pulled your new queen-sized mattress from where it was pushed up against the wall, tossing it down so that it fit perfectly inside the white bed frame, and let out a little cheer over the finished project.
“That’s everything!” you exclaimed.
Shawn grinned, brushing his hands off and moving over to where you stood. “Feels good to be all moved in, doesn’t it?”
“No kidding,” you laughed. “Now, how about a drink?”
“Oh, I don’t really drink much during the season. Thank you, though,” Shawn sighed, but you weren’t having it.
“Come on!” you teased. “You just helped me with half an hour of heavy lifting after you played a hell of a game. Tomorrow’s a travel day for the team, anyways. All you’re going to do is sit on a jet for however many hours until you get to San Francisco. I think you can afford one glass of wine, and it’s the least I could do for your help.”
“Of course you’ve memorized the team’s schedule,” Shawn chuckled, and you felt a wave of heat rising to your cheeks. “But I guess you’re right. Pour me a glass.”
“Always am,” you teased, heading to the fridge. “Red or white?”
“Whichever you’re having. You’re pretty convincing, you know,” Shawn continued as you poured two glasses of red wine, handing one to him and leaning your back against the counter right next to where he stood. “And you always know what you’re talking about. I have a feeling this internship is going to turn into a job more quickly than you think.”
You let out a sigh, tilting your glass back to let the wine past your lips. “I seriously hope you’re right. I need a big-girl job at some point.”
“What day do you officially start?” Shawn asked, angling his body so that he was leaning up against the side of the counter and facing you.
“A week from Monday. Same day as the first home game back versus--”
“Boston,” Shawn finished, and you both laughed. “I’ve heard.”
“Sorry,” you giggled, picking up your glass for another sip.
“Don’t apologize. It’s cute how you know everything.” At this you almost choked on your wine, but you managed to force it down and suppress your coughs. Shawn kept talking, which you were exceedingly grateful for; you wouldn’t have immediately been able to form the right words to respond to his compliment. “There’s a long corridor at the stadium that connects the offices to the Blue Jays locker rooms, and there are a bunch of random rooms off to the sides of that hallway. If you can manage to get away, you should meet me in the one closest to the locker room, like, fifteen minutes before the game starts. I wanna hear about your first day.”
You smiled at him over the rim of your wine glass, trying to keep your butterflies in check. “Fifteen minutes before game time...got it. I’ll do my best.”
You smirked. You’d do more than your best; you’d be there like your life depended on it.
The rest of the days went slowly, with you desperate to pass the empty time in any way you could. You arranged your artwork, then rearranged it, then rearranged it again. You paid several visits to the apartment complex’s gym--something you’d normally never do, but resorted to out of pure boredom. You went on walks to explore the area around your apartment, identifying which restaurants looked good and the shops you wanted to look in when you finally (hopefully) had money to spend. You watched every Blue Jays game from the comfort of your couch, now with the added excitement of seeing Shawn on TV while also knowing him personally.
When Monday morning finally rolled around, you were out of bed much earlier than you probably needed to be. You put on the flowy dress you’d picked out, which was blue with white polka dots to match the team’s colors. It was cute but still professional, and when paired with simple jewelry and sandals it was perfect. You did your hair how you liked it and put on a touch more makeup than you normally would, checking the time to see that you still had an hour to be at the stadium and it was only a twenty-minute walk.
You headed into your kitchen and brewed yourself some coffee, making sure that it was decaf; you didn’t need caffeine adding to the jitters you already had. You sat at your kitchen counter and sipped it slowly, trying to think about anything but how nervous you were. When half an hour had passed you opted to start your walk, grabbing your purse from the hook you’d put by the front door and plugging your headphones into your phone to listen to music on your way.
You arrived at the stadium offices with seven minutes to spare, as you weren’t set to meet with Greg until nine o’clock. You were hit with a rush of excitement as you walked through the office doors, Home of the Toronto Blue Jays proudly displayed on a blue banner directly above the entrance. Once inside, you felt like a kid in a candy store. You could see past the receptionist’s desk, the front of which was adorned with a giant Blue Jays flag, to all of the cubicles in the center of the large space. The walls were lined all down the sides with door after door concealing the offices of higher-ups in the organization, shiny plaques displaying each occupant’s last name pasted to the doors. Additionally, there were two silver-doored elevators tucked into the left corner by the front, where you’d come in. The walls inside the reception area were lined with framed newspaper clippings, photographs, and jerseys, and everyone working seemed to have at least one article of clothing that matched the team’s blue; the entire space was a giant homage to the Blue Jays.
Before you had time to ask the receptionist where you were supposed to go, you were met with the sight of a tall, bald man who couldn’t have been older than fifty walking briskly in your direction, his gray suit pressed to perfection and adorned with a royal blue tie. This man, you assumed, was Greg--the one who’d called you to give you the job.
“Are you my intern?” he asked cheerily, reaching out his hand for you to shake before you’d even given him an answer.
“Yes,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”
“I’m Greg, and the pleasure’s all mine,” he said with a smile, and it seemed truly genuine. “Your application was beyond impressive, I remember it well.”
You blushed at his compliment, filled with pride for your hard work and dedication. You felt your nerves slowly slipping away in Greg’s presence, his exceedingly friendly demeanor making you more comfortable by the second.
“If you’d follow me,” he continued, setting off into the giant office area, “I’ll get you situated and introduce you to the other interns.”
“Are the others already here?” you asked, filled with a new wave of anxiety. You’d been almost ten minutes early, how had they all beaten you?
“Yes, but don’t worry--you’re not late. I told you all to come in fifteen minutes apart from one another so that you had time to adjust. It can be overwhelming on your first day, and I didn’t want the added pressure of a crowd,” he explained, sending you a smile from over his shoulder. You relaxed at this; not only was Greg friendly, but he was thoughtful. “I’ve got them all sitting in a conference room at the end of the offices--” he reached out to push in a door handle, “--right here.”
He led you into the room, where five people sat around a large conference table. Five men. They all stopped their side conversations, looking up to you. You felt the heat of five pairs of eyes sizing you up and down, and you swallowed hard in an effort to stay calm. Greg clapped his hands together once and took a seat at the table, you following suit.
“Alright,” he began, your eyes glued to him. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s introduce ourselves and then I’ll get you each started in your individual departments!”
You and the five other interns, who all appeared to be about your age, went around the table as though it were an icebreaker on the first day of high school and introduced yourselves with your name, hometown, and the department you were interning for. There was Chris who’d be interning with Finance, Matthew with Operations, David with Medical, Tony with Marketing, Brandon with Sales, and you with Public Relations. The difference between Finance and Sales, you learned from Chris (who seemed like a massive know-it-all), is that Finance deals with how the team spends money, whereas Sales is concerned with making money.
Once the rounds had been made Greg stood up, announcing that he’d take you one by one to your departments to get you situated. Know-it-all Chris was first, and as soon as he and Greg were gone the guys started talking to each other again. This left you sitting awkwardly, wanting to join their conversations but they were too quiet for you to hear. You tried to push the thought that they were excluding you on purpose into the back of your mind.
You looked down into your lap, pretending to be fascinated with a detail on your purse, when you felt the chair to your right slide out from under the table. Your head shot up, met with Brandon smiling warmly and sliding in next to you. “It’s Y/N, right?” he asked, and you nodded. “Brandon.”
“I remember,” you grinned, and he smiled back. Brandon had tan skin and light eyes, and he wore a black suit that seemed a little large on his frame despite the fact that his shoulders were so broad. His smile was friendly, and though it was early to tell, you thought he seemed kind.
He must have caught you noticing the size of his suit, because he ran his hands over it and let out a little chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s big. Couldn’t really afford a new suit, so I had to borrow this one from my dad. Anyways, I could tell the others were ignoring you so I wanted to come say hi. This place is nerve-wracking enough without having to be by yourself.”
“Thank you,” you shrugged, giving him a smile as you felt yourself relax. “You said you were from America, right?”
“Texas,” he confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “Really small town. Nobody ever moves in and nobody ever leaves.”
“Wow,” you quipped, intrigued. “What drew you to Toronto, then?”
“They took my application,” he answered, and you both laughed in mutual understanding of how challenging it was to secure a position like this. “I actually played baseball all through high school and college. Was projected to make the major leagues as soon as I graduated, but then I got hurt and nobody would sign me to play for them. But I knew even if I couldn’t play in the majors I wanted to work there, hence the reason why I’m hoping this internship leads to a higher position.”
“That’s quite a story,” you remarked, and Brandon shrugged. “I know what you mean about the internship, though. I hope it opens up something bigger for me, too.” Brandon nodded in understanding, continuing the small talk with you until Greg called him away.
You were the last intern that Greg pulled, and you were more than ready to finally have something to do after sitting in the conference room for an hour. “So you,” he started, leading the way towards the elevators, “are my lovely PR lady. Which means you are working to make sure that the team is positively received by the fans. You’ll mostly be making written contributions--conducting research and interviews to contribute to articles for the Blue Jays website--and eventually writing articles yourself once your training is done. The website is the main way we keep the community updated on the team both on and off the field, so it’s very important to the success of our organization. You’ll additionally get practice guiding post-game press conferences, which are also very important.”
You listened intently, making mental notes of everything Greg was saying. The man spoke very quickly, almost to the point where you couldn’t keep up, but your focus was razor-sharp.
The elevators opened onto the third floor of the stadium offices, where the PR department was housed, and you followed Greg as he stepped out onto the tiled floors. He took you into every single office, introducing you as The Intern to more people than you’d ever met in your life, whose names you only prayed you remembered.
Lastly, you were introduced to a woman named Cassidy, who didn’t seem much older than you. She stood up from behind her desk with a bright smile and, instead of greeting you with a handshake like everyone else had, she pulled you in for a hug. You learned from Greg that you’d be working very closely with Cassidy; she’d be your “mentor” throughout the internship, and your desk was inside her spacious office. Greg shook your hand one last time before saying he’d “leave you two to it,” and with that he started back down the hallway for the elevators.
Very quickly, you realized Cassidy was beyond cool. She was young, intelligent, and well-respected in her job; everything you aspired to be. She handed you a folder, containing the transcript of an interview she’d done with one of the players regarding his nonprofit work. She told you she was writing an article about how charitable the player was, and asked you to seed out several quotations that you thought would fit the article.
After several hours of doing back-and-forth work with Cassidy, breaking once for lunch and again for dinner, it was nearing 6:30--and that night’s game started at 7. “Me and some of the other PR staff are going to watch the game in the clubhouse, you’re more than welcome to join us,” she said, her eyes bright.
“I will!” you exclaimed, grabbing your purse and standing up from your desk. “I just have to check in with someone first.” Cassidy nodded and made her way out of the office, turning to lock the door as soon as the both of you were out. You were sure she assumed the person you had to check in with was Greg; little did she or anyone else know that you were about to sneak over to meet with Shawn Mendes. The simple thought of it sent adrenaline coursing through your body.
You took the elevator down to the first floor, retracing your steps back to the door you’d noticed was marked with Stadium Access. You checked to make sure that nobody was paying you any particular attention (as if anyone cared about The Intern), and you pushed the door open to reveal a long corridor much like the one Shawn had described.
You found the door closest to the locker rooms just as he had said, gingerly tugging it open and breathing a sigh of relief when you saw Shawn leaning against the wall in waiting. His head perked up at the sound of the door opening, and he smiled from ear to ear when he saw it was you.
“Your dress matches my uniform,” Shawn remarked, pulling you in for a hug after you’d shut the door behind you. This took you by surprise, but your arms found his waist as his squeezed around your shoulders.
“That was intentional,” you grinned, pulling away from him.
He smiled. “How was your first day?”
“Overwhelming,” you admitted. “I’m the only girl of the six interns, and only one of the guys has been all that nice to me. But there’s a girl named Cassidy who works in the same department as I do and she’s really cool, she’s not much older than me. I met a lot of people with such awesome jobs, though. I’d kill to be where they are.”
“First of all, those guys are insecure and you can’t let their fragile egos get inside your head, especially since you’re probably ten times smarter than them. And secondly, you’re gonna rock this internship. You will be where those people are, I know it.”
You smiled, suddenly shy from his compliments. “Thanks, Shawn. I really hope that’s true.”
“It is. How do you feel about the game?”
“You’re asking me how I feel about the game?” you laughed incredulously.
“Your opinion’s as good as any,” Shawn said, looking down at you with a closed-mouth smile that touched his eyes.
You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling your heart beat a little faster under the weight of his stare. “Well, I hear the Blue Jays’ rookie second baseman has quite the batting average right now. Think as long as he keeps hitting like he has been the game will be just fine.”
It was Shawn’s turn to be bashful from your playful compliment but, right as he was about to answer, you heard the loudspeaker announce that there were ten minutes until the first pitch.
You sighed. “You should go. You don’t even have your eye black on yet.”
“Do it for me?” he asked, reaching into the back pocket of his white pants and handing you the tube.
You felt another shy smile cross your face. “Move your hat,” you said softly, not wanting the cap’s brim in the way of the marks you were about to put under his eyes. Shawn reached up to take his hat off, placing it backwards on your head with a smug smile. You bit back a grin as you reached up to paint the lines on his face, gingerly taking hold of his chin to get a steadier hand. You could feel his gaze on you, and your heart was hammering in your chest so loudly you’d have sworn he could hear it.
“There,” you said, your voice scratchy as you slid the lid back onto the tube and handed it back to him. “Bright lights have nothing on Mendes now.”
There was a pause, each of you wishing you’d had more than five minutes with the other and knowing you both had to go. “Same time here tomorrow?” Shawn spoke up, evoking a confused frown from you.
“What do you mean?”
“Here, fifteen minutes before game time,” he answered matter-of-factly, and by this point you were grinning like a little kid.
“Okay, yeah. Same time tomorrow. But now,” you said, grabbing his hat off of your head and reaching up to place it back on him, “You have a game to win, and the team’s probably looking for you.”
He sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here. Give ‘em hell, rookie.”
“You too,” he grinned, and with that he left the room, his metal cleats echoing as he jogged down the hallway to the locker room.
You leaned back against the wall, feeling like your breathing had stopped and relishing in the fact that this was actually happening to you. You smoothed down your hair, tangled from where Shawn’s hat had been, and made your way back to the offices to watch the game.
Oh, how you were starting to love Toronto.
Feedback is so appreciated, and let me know if you want a part two!!
Hello again, friends! Thank you to everyone who’s taken the time to read this series or send feedback, your kind and encouraging messages are so so appreciated!! I took some inspiration from this little Kate Upton/Justin Verlander moment (aka one of my favorite MLB couples) for a scene in this part and thought I may as well include the gif to match. I also proofread this while watching a hockey game, so please forgive any mistakes/typos! Previous parts can be found in my masterlist.
Don’t have a pre-read study guide for this one, because I think everything is fairly basic. But, of course, if you have any questions you are more than welcome to ask me!! Without further ado, here’s 8.3k of more Baseball!Shawn. Enjoy the fluff while it lasts, because conflict is coming in part four...
The first thing you noticed when you woke up was that you were hot. Burning up, actually, a likely combination of the sunlight streaming in through the window and the fact that your back was flush up against Shawn’s chest, which you had quickly learned was naturally quite warm. You groaned and ran a hand down your face, immediately tossing your white duvet cover off of you and sighing with relief when the air conditioning hit your bare skin. You flew up in search of the blue jersey Shawn had given you, smirking while you shrugged it over your shoulders and buttoned it up as the memory of last night came back to you.
You padded into your ensuite bathroom and sighed when you caught sight of your reflection--more specifically, the various purplish marks covering the expanse of your neck; you were almost afraid to see the additional damage that your jersey was surely hiding. You silently prayed your concealer would be strong enough to cover the marks as you raked your fingers through the ends of your hair in a desperate attempt to tame it, running a tired hand over your forehead when you decided that your current appearance was as good as it was going to get.
You started towards the kitchen to make some coffee, but as you approached your bedroom doorway you heard from behind you a raspy “Where are you going?”
You paused and turned around to where Shawn was still folded under the covers. You’d thought he was asleep, but upon second glance you saw his eyes were half opened and trained on you, a lazy smile crossing his mouth. “Was gonna make coffee,” you explained, unable to keep the corners of your lips from pulling up at the sight of a sleepy Shawn nestled into your bed.
“No,” he said matter-of-factly, rolling onto his back and folding his arms behind his head to prop himself up.
“Why?” you giggled, already beginning to gravitate back towards him.
“Because,” he hummed, a small grin still adorning his features.
You sighed and crawled back into bed, Shawn immediately pulling you to him so that you were chest to chest, his arms wrapped lazily around your back. He hummed in satisfaction, and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh.
“What?” Shawn groaned, his voice still thick with sleepiness as his fingers trailed up and down the fabric of the jersey you had on.
“Nothing, I just--this is a side of you I’ve yet to see”
“What side is that?”
“Clingy and whiny,” you teased, and his eyes went wide as he feigned offense.
“I am not being whiny!” he defended, and you erupted into a fit of giggles.
“Then what would you call this?”
“Content,” he grinned, and you rolled your eyes.
“And why’s that, rookie?”
A cheeky smile crossed his face and his eyes narrowed. “‘Cause I ran all the bases last night.”
“Oh, God. I was waiting for that innuendo,” you laughed, burying your face into your pillow to hide your flustered expression.
“Was it really that predictable?”
“Would it hurt your feelings if I said yes?”
“You’re so full of shit,” he grinned, rolling over to lay on top of you and laughing as you wriggled under his weight.
“Shawn. Shawn!” you squealed, attempting to push him off while he just laid there and laughed. Trying to overpower his sheer muscle mass was like pushing on a wall and hoping it would dent, but you kept going anyways...until you got a different idea.
“Shawn, wait, I can’t breathe,” you pleaded, trying to get your giggles under control. Shawn rolled off of you immediately, concern evident in his wide honey-colored eyes. Before he could ask if you were okay, you scrambled out of the bed and turned to face him with the most smug expression you could manage. “Gotcha,” you smirked, and as soon as you saw Shawn make a move to get up as well you shrieked and went flying down the hallway towards the kitchen.
He came dashing out after you, clad in nothing but his black athletic shorts from the night before. He caught up to you more quickly than you’d anticipated, and you squealed as you felt his arms come around you from behind and lift you off the ground. You clung on for dear life as he spun you in circles, both of you giggling uncontrollably.
He finally set you down, smiling as he panted to regain his breath. “I’m not sure Coach Montoyo would be very happy with you wearing yourself out on game day,” you smirked, breathing heavily as you walked into the kitchen to finally make your cup of coffee. You noticed some of the dishes from the night before still out on the counter, sighing at the thought of having to scrub them clean. You had meant to take care of them last night, but obviously had other things on your mind.
“Game’s not ‘til seven,” Shawn shrugged with a crooked smile, leaning against the counter and watching you start to set up your Keurig. “And I won’t tell if you won’t.” You chuckled, reaching into the fridge to get your coffee creamer.
“Speaking of game day,” he continued, and you looked up from making your drink to see him running a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on the floor. Intrigued, you set down your mug and crossed your arms over your chest as you turned to face him, waiting for him to keep going. “We only have home games today and tomorrow, and then we’re on the road for, like, nine days.”
Your face fell, and you were sure your disappointment was evident to him. You knew the team’s schedule back and forth, of course, but you were so caught up in the excitement of being in Toronto and being with Shawn that you’d forgotten to consider the bane of every baseball player’s relationship counterpart: away games. The idea of being involved with an athlete had always been dripping with glamour in your mind; watching him shine on the field and earn the love and fanaticism of thousands of spectators, knowing that you were the one who knew him beyond the stadium lights and grandeur. But you’d forgotten that during the season a good chunk of your time would be spent apart from one another, which seemed draining and stressful. Aside from your quickly-intensifying feelings for him, Shawn was easily the person who you’d spent most of your time with since arriving in Toronto; you weren’t sure what you’d do for nine days without him.
You took a breath, correcting your facial features so that they were no longer downcast. “Guess we’ll have to make the most of the next two days, then,” you sighed, taking a sip of your coffee.
Shawn’s head suddenly snapped up, his eyes brighter than they’d been all morning. “Would you want to go to the game today? See it from the stadium for once instead of from TV?”
You looked away, setting your coffee mug down on the counter. “I’d want to, yeah, but I can’t really afford tickets right now. I’ll just watch it from here.” It was almost embarrassing, admitting that you were tight on money, but you didn’t want to hide it or make up an excuse. It was the truth, and it’s what you told him.
But Shawn scoffed and took a step towards you. “You really think I’d make you buy tickets when I could get my hands on some for free? All I have to do is talk to the VP of Sales and he’ll hook me up with a couple of seats anywhere in the stadium, even right behind home plate.”
“Shawn, you don’t have to--”
“Stop,” he laughed, cutting you off. “I want to. You can bring Cassidy, and you and I can meet up when the game’s over.”
You exhaled and looked back up to meet Shawn’s expectant eyes. “Are you sure?”
“It’s no trouble for me. And it’ll be easy for us to see each other again tonight because we’ll both be at the same place.”
“We live in the same apartment complex,” you giggled. “We’d be at the same place anyways.”
Shawn rolled his eyes, obviously trying to hide a smile. “I think we can agree that the stadium is more exciting than our apartments.”
You grinned. “I’ll give you that.” You swiveled to grab your coffee off the counter behind you, but as you did so you noticed the time displayed on your microwave: 12:04. “Damn,” you muttered, grabbing Shawn’s attention.
“Hmm?”
“It’s past noon,” you answered, turning to face him. “We really slept in.”
“Would’ve been longer if you hadn’t wound me up by calling me whiny.”
“You’re literally whining right now,” you laughed, and Shawn rolled his eyes. “But you should probably go prepare for the game. Eat something, shower, rest, all that stuff.”
He sighed. “You’re probably right. I have to be at the stadium at 4.”
“That’s so early,” you exclaimed, raising your eyebrows. Shawn just shrugged. “Why don’t you go get your clothes and I’ll make you some coffee for the road?”
“You mean for the elevator?” he smirked, earning a playful swat on the arm from you.
“You know what I mean,” you laughed, pressing your hands against his bare shoulders to push him in the direction of your bedroom.
“Woah, if you wanted to get me back in your room all you had to do was ask,” he snickered.
“Oh my God,” you groaned as he laughed his way down the hallway, but you were smiling even though he couldn’t see.
You brewed another coffee, pouring it into one a paper coffee cup and pressing the lid on just as Shawn came back out with his shirt and shoes back on. You held the cup out for him, and he took it and planted a kiss on your cheek all in one smooth motion.
“I’ll text you about the tickets,” he said as you felt a burn in your cheeks. “After the game I just have to shower and change, and then I’ll meet you at my Jeep in the team parking lot.”
“I don’t think I can get in there,” you said. “Isn’t it blocked off to the general public?”
“Yeah, but you’re not the general public,” Shawn smiled. “There’ll be a security guard standing by the door that the players and coaches go through to get to the lot. Just show him your work I.D. so he sees that you’re with the team, and he’ll let you through.”
“Okay,” you smiled, Shawn making his way to the door. “Good luck tonight.”
“I’ll see you after the game, honey,” he said, then shut the door behind him. Your stomach still flipped every time he used that pet name.
You grabbed your half-empty coffee mug off the counter and trudged into your bedroom, sitting on the edge of your bed and reaching for your cell phone from the nightstand. You dialed Cassidy’s number, lifting the phone to your ear to wait for an answer. It rang three times before she picked up with a casual “Hey, Y/N!”
“Hey, are you free tonight?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“I have two tickets to the game tonight, would you want to come with me?”
Her demeanor changed entirely as though you’d flipped a switch. “Of course! Is that even a question?”
You giggled at her enthusiasm, glad to be finding a friend in someone from work. “Okay, sweet. I’ll text you the details and we can meet in front of the offices and then walk over to the stadium together.”
“Yay!” she cheered, eliciting another laugh from you. “See you tonight.”
“Thanks, Cass. See you tonight,” you echoed, hanging up and placing your phone back on the nightstand.
You let out a breath as you flopped back onto the bed, staring straight up at the ceiling. The past twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind, and it seemed that you’d had no time to process or relax. You were suddenly blatantly aware of how much your heart was racing, a likely combination of the coffee and anticipation of the night to come.
Come 6:15 that evening, you were standing in front of the doors to the stadium offices and checking your appearance via your reflection in the glass. You’d opted for the white jersey Shawn had given you even though it was almost laughable how big it was on you, and you’d left it unbuttoned to pair with your typical jersey-day attire of a tank top and jeans. Your trusty concealer had come in handy, your neck showing no traces of the attack it had endured less than twenty-four hours ago.
You pulled up the tickets on your phone while you waited for Cassidy, Shawn following through with his promise to text you the link to them. They were row one of section 126, which you knew was on the third base side but you weren’t sure exactly where. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen a Blue Jays game from the actual stadium, so the seats could have been in the very last row of the very top section for all you cared; you’d still have been just as excited.
“Y/N!” you heard, and you whipped your head around to see Cassidy bounding towards you, clad in a blue jersey and her short dark hair blowing behind her in the breeze.
“Hi, Cass,” you grinned as she pulled you in for a quick hug.
She pulled away, her eyes falling on your attire and making a little lump rise in your throat. “Where did you get your jersey?” she queried with wide eyes, reaching out to feel the material between her fingertips. “This is one of the most authentic-looking ones I’ve ever seen.”
You shrugged, fumbling to come up with an answer when something else (thankfully) grabbed her attention. “Oh, also!” she exclaimed, beginning to walk towards the stadium as you fell into stride next to her. “Where are the seats you have? So we know which gate entrance of the stadium to use.”
“They’re section 126.”
Cassidy looked at you in bemusement, a small furrow in her brow. “Yeah, Y/N, I’m sure,” she laughed. “Where are they actually?”
“I...I’m not kidding,” you replied, reaching for your phone to show Cassidy the tickets. “It says right here, section 126.”
She looked at your phone in disbelief. “How did you score these seats?” she cried, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Uh, just a friend of mine,” you stuttered, still unsure as to their exact location in the stadium and therefore not knowing why Cassidy seemed so shocked.
“Some friend,” she scoffed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “If they can get tickets right behind the Blue Jays dugout, I want to be friends with them, too.”
“Behind the where?” you asked a little too loudly for it to be natural, convinced you’d heard her wrong. What did Shawn do?
“126 is directly behind Toronto’s dugout,” she explained, her eyes still aglow. “You can basically hear the conversations the players are having, and it’s a great view of the field. What row are they?”
“Um,” you gulped. “One.”
Cassidy’s face immediately lit up with so much enthusiasm that you couldn’t help but laugh along with her. “Oh my God!” she cried, grabbing onto your arm and doing a little jump. “I’ve never had seats that close!”
You giggled, steering her towards the entrance on the third base side of the stadium. After going through the lengthy line for security you were officially inside Rogers Centre, and you followed the signs until you came to section 126.
When you and Cassidy got to your seats, your excitement was immediately equal to the level hers had been. The dugout was literally directly in front of you--you could rest your feet on the top of it if you wanted to. Your view of the game would be top-notch, and as the visiting San Diego Padres were warming up on the field you couldn’t contain your eagerness for the game to finally start.
“Oh, by the way,” Cassidy started, drawing your attention away from the field. “I meant to ask you earlier, but why didn’t you show up to watch the game yesterday?”
The unpleasant memory of overhearing the things your fellow interns were saying about you came pouring back into your mind. “Um...something came up,” you replied bleakly, avoiding eye contact. It was not a moment you wanted to relive.
“Hey,” she said softly, placing her hand on your arm. You looked up to see concern etched across her features. “Is everything okay?”
“Do you ever get shit for working in sports?” you blurted, the words out of your mouth before you realized you were saying them. “Like, from other guys in the office?”
She sighed knowingly. “Are the other interns giving you a hard time?”
“I--” you hesitated, unsure as to whether or not you wanted to get into this with Cassidy. You trusted her, yes, but it was still embarrassing to talk about the fact that these guys thought less of you even though you were their equal. Speaking about it made it feel fresh, and it was something you wanted to push as far away as possible. But, ultimately, you decided to tell her. She was the closest thing to a friend you had in the office, and talking to someone who might actually understand could be nice. “Yeah,” you finally said, looking up to meet her eyes. “I overheard some of them talking about me as I was headed back up to the clubhouse for the game yesterday. I heard them call me a jersey chaser--among a bunch of other nasty things--and it really got under my skin so I just went straight home. I wasn’t really in the mood to watch the game anymore.”
“Holy shit,” Cassidy muttered, running a hand through her hair. “You don’t deserve any of that, and I hope you know that you have every right to be working for this team. Sometimes we just have to work a little bit harder than guys do to prove ourselves in this industry, but that’s the way shit goes sometimes,” she laughed, and as she continued talking her words make you feel progressively more reassured. It made you feel better to know that there was someone else who could relate to the treatment you were getting; that you weren’t alone in what you were experiencing. “I didn’t know half of what you know about the game or the industry when I first started out. You deserve to be here just as much as those assholes do.”
You smiled, feeling the heaviness leave you. It didn’t matter what the other interns thought of you; you didn’t work for them, and you didn’t owe them anything. You adored everyone in your PR office, and that little work community within which you existed was the only thing that mattered. “Thanks, Cass,” you said wholeheartedly. “Didn’t mean to get all dramatic there.”
“If you think you’re dramatic, you obviously haven’t spent enough time with me,” she giggled, and you laughed with her. You finally felt refreshed, you were happy, and you were ready for the game to start.
The crowd was beginning to get louder as time drew closer to seven o’clock, and the excitement in the stadium was contagious. You and Cassidy were bouncing and giggling like little kids as you saw the players begin to fill the dugouts as the ceremonial first pitch was being set up. You could see into the front of the Blue Jays’ dugout, having a line of sight to any player that was up on the railing by the field. Your heart hammered in your chest as you saw the top of Shawn’s head appear, laughing with the right fielder, Randal Grichuk.
You froze when Shawn leaned back against the raining and turned to face the stadium seats. You could see his amber eyes scanning the crowd from underneath the brim of his hat, and when his eyes met yours he grinned and gave a little wave. You smiled and waved back, growing confused when Shawn held up his pointer finger as if to say one second. You looked over at Cassidy as Shawn disappeared deeper into the dugout, her head bent over her phone to check the batting order for the game; in other words, she was oblivious. Everyone around you, however, not so much.
You could feel the stares from the people on all sides of you, and you’d have thought your minor exchange with Shawn had been broadcast on the jumbotron with the way your cheeks were burning under the heat of the eyes of strangers. Not judging, necessarily, just...curious.
Your heart rate picked up again when you saw Shawn reappear in the part of the dugout you could see into, him shooting you another perfect grin. You smiled back shyly, not waving this time in an effort to keep a lower profile. Your attempts, however, went out the window when Shawn reached up and rolled a baseball across the top of the dugout right in your direction. You reached out to grab it out of instinct, and now you knew you’d attracted the eyes of almost everyone that had a sightline of the third base dugout--including Cassidy, who was surprisingly still silent. You took a breath and picked up the baseball, laughing despite yourself when you saw that Shawn had written a message in Sharpie between its red seams.
Are you a baseball? ‘Cause you’re a catch.
You rolled your eyes and reached into your purse, deciding to play along with Shawn. You were already wearing one of his actual jerseys, after all; people had surely caught on by now, and you figured the damage was already done. You grabbed a black pen and found a spot on the ball next to what Shawn had written, smirking as you added your own words.
That made zero sense.
You capped your pen and rolled the ball back over the top of the dugout towards him, and he grabbed it immediately. He raised his eyebrows playfully and his eyes, twinkling with amusement, lifted to meet yours. He disappeared back under the dugout and returned with a Sharpie in hand, leaning back against the railing and adding yet another message.
Like the seats? Picked them myself. The ball came tumbling back towards you.
The view’s nice, you added teasingly, sending it back to him. He received it, his shoulders giving a little shake with his laughter. He’d now drawn the inquisitive attention of some of his teammates, who you could see were watching him from the front of the dugout. Shawn added one more thing, rolling the ball back towards you and blowing you a kiss before disappearing under the dugout.
See you after the game, honey.
You smiled to yourself and tucked the ball into your purse, but not before Cassidy hissed a high-pitched “What the hell was that?”
You sighed, initially trying to come up with the right words to make the situation seem trivial. But, if you were honest with yourself, you’d sort of been dying to tell someone about you and Shawn. Realistically, you probably would have told Cassidy sooner had you not been put off by her apparent obsession with him, but now there was no getting out of it.
You spoke at a low volume so that the people around you--who were surely listening in--couldn’t hear. “Please don’t freak out, but I’ve kind of been seeing Shawn Mendes since I moved here.”
“Kind of?” she shrieked, earning a vehement shush from you. You couldn’t tell if she was excited or mortified.
“No, I--” you sighed. “I am seeing him. I met him the day I moved into my new apartment because he lives in my building, and it sort of just...happened.”
She leaned down, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She let out a little laugh before resurfacing to face you. “That explains so much. These seats, your jersey, why you get all frozen anytime anybody in the clubhouse talks about Shawn.”
“No I don’t!” you defended, quirking your eyebrows.
“Anytime someone says his name it’s like you’ve seen a ghost,” she replied. “I figured you just had a stupid little celebrity crush on him like I do--oh, did, sorry.”
You giggled. “It’s okay, Cass. I just honestly can’t tell if you’re angry or happy about this.”
“I’m only angry you didn’t tell me sooner!” she cried in exhilaration, and you felt a huge breath of air leave your lungs. “And the game is starting, so I’m gonna put a temporary pin in this. But the second this inning is over, I’ve got about a million more questions to ask you.”
You laughed, turning your attention to the field as the first Padres batter stepped up to the plate and the fans in the stadium began to cheer even louder. “Ask away.”
The game ended with the entire stadium on its feet, whooping and hollering as the Blue Jays’ pitcher threw a third strike for the final out of the game. This secured a win for Toronto: 6-2 over the Padres. The Blue Jays had been explosive offensively, making for a largely exciting game for you and Cassidy to watch. Shawn specifically had been stellar, with three solid hits and zero errors in the field. You swelled with pride watching him play, knowing how special it was for someone as young Shawn to already possess such immense talent.
On your way to the game you’d been making up excuses as to why you wouldn’t be leaving the stadium with Cassidy after the game, but now that she knew the truth you were relieved to be able to admit that you weren’t going home because you were meeting up with Shawn. She gave you a bone-crushing hug in parting before setting out for her car, thanking you for inviting her to the game and making you promise to update her on the rest of your night.
You stayed in your seat until most of the fans had cleared the stadium, your legs bouncing up and down in your anxious state. You forced yourself to sit still and wait, as Shawn still needed time to change and you didn’t want to fight off the rush of the crowd trying to leave the stadium all at once. After a good twenty minutes you finally decided to head for the team parking lot, your anticipation growing with every step you took.
As you arrived where Shawn had directed you to go, you sighed with relief when you noticed the security guard he’d described. You must be in the right place. He was a big man likely in his late fifties, wearing black slacks and a bright yellow shirt that said (shockingly) ‘security.’ You fished your Blue Jays I.D. out of your purse so that you could get into the parking lot, flashing it to the guard with a smile. You were surprised when his eyes seemed to light up in recognition of your I.D.
“So you’re Y/N,” the man said, eliciting an amused expression from you at the fact that he seemed to know who you were. “Gotta say, I had the feeling when I saw you walking over here. I’m Jake, I’ve heard a lot about you.” The man extended his hand, and you shook it with a curious expression on your face.
“Y/N,” you answered. “But I guess you already knew that?”
“Shawn’s not one to keep his mouth shut around me,” Jake chuckled, and you couldn’t help but smile back. That’s how he knew who you were. “Been doing this job for four years and he was the first player to give me more than a head nod on his way out to the lot. He stopped to talk to me after the first game of the season, and I was so shocked one of the players finally acknowledged me I could’ve cried. He’s stopped to chat after every home game since, and I’m not sure he knows how much it means to me. He’s a real good kid.”
“Yeah,” you said, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and making no attempt to hide the grin that was as big as your heart felt. “Yeah, he is.”
“But,” Jake continued, a playful look in his eyes. “If that kid ever starts putting you through hell, you just let me know and I’ll rough him up for you.”
You giggled. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue, but if it is I’ll know who to call.”
Jake smiled, then reached for the door to open it for you. “Have a good night, Miss Y/N.”
“You too, Jake. Thank you.”
You made your way through the door and into the parking lot with a warmth in your chest that hadn’t been there before your conversation with Jake. Shawn was not only sweet with you, but he was clearly sweet to everyone he’d ever met or spoken to. He was beyond skilled as a player, and it’d be easy for him to let the buzz get to his head to the point where he was cold and arrogant; but Shawn was different from other players. He relished in his love of the game, and he had not allowed his morals or his character to be compromised along the road to the Major Leagues. He was humble and kind, and with each passing second your feelings for him seemed to spread.
You spotted Shawn leaning against his black Jeep, damp hair hanging over his forehead as he stood with two other people, their backs to you and therefore preventing you from seeing who they were. You caught Shawn’s eye when you got a little closer, and he waved you over to join the little circle. When they saw Shawn divert his attention, the two other people turned to face you and your heart immediately dropped; he was standing with Kevin Pillar. You tried to keep your cool as you approached the Blue Jays’ star center fielder, but you knew your eyes had blown comically wide.
“Y/N, this is Kevin,” Shawn said as you approached, Kevin sticking his hand out for you to shake.
“I-I’m a huge fan,” you stammered, your grip on his hand a little too strong. “I’ve been watching you play for years.”
He laughed. “Shawn told me you’d say that.” Your eyes shot to Shawn’s like laser beams, silently conveying your embarrassment. “And this,” Kevin continued, gesturing to the gorgeous blonde woman at his side, “is my wife Amanda.”
“Hi,” she smiled, reaching to shake your hand. Her teeth were bleached white and you could tell that her eyes were bright blue even under the dim lighting of the parking lot lights. She was stunning--completely befitting of the role of an MLB player’s wife.
Once the introductions were done you finally turned to Shawn, moving next to him as he inconspicuously wrapped an arm around your waist. The four of you stood and chatted for a solid amount of time, and you very quickly relaxed around Kevin. You also decided that Amanda seemed like a lot of fun, especially with the way that she was constantly joking with her husband. She and Kevin were a good fit, and you couldn’t help but smile at the obvious chemistry between them.
Kevin and Amanda finally voiced that they were going to head home, exchanging goodbyes with you before they walked away to Kevin’s car. Once they were out of earshot, you immediately turned back to Shawn. “You didn’t prepare me for that!” you cried with widened eyes. He just laughed, and much to your dismay you felt the corners of your mouth pulling up.
“Shawn!” you whined, trying to fight your smile. “That was Kevin fucking Pillar, and I went complete fangirl on him.”
“For, like, thirty seconds!” he laughed, and by now you were fully grinning as well. “Then you calmed down.”
“Whatever,” you joked, rolling your eyes. “In other news, you played one hell of a game tonight. And Jake the security guard seemed to know who I was.” A flush rose to Shawn’s cheeks as you smirked at him knowingly.
“Yeah, I, uh...Jake knows a lot about my life,” he smiled sheepishly, and you giggled.
“He really appreciates that you talk to him,” you said. “And he thinks very highly of you. Can’t say I blame him.”
Shawn averted his eyes to the ground, suddenly shy. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” you breathed, kicking your toes into the ground. “It’s kind of astonishing how good you are, and not just as a player.” You kept talking, eager to get some of your feelings out of your mind and into the air. “So many pro athletes let the attention get to their heads, but you just...don’t. Has Jake told you that you’re the only player in all four years of him working here that’s ever spoken actual words to him?”
Shawn’s head lifted up, his brows furrowing. “Are you sure? Did he tell you that?”
“He said he almost cried when you stopped to talk to him after the first game of the season because no coach or player had ever acknowledged him like that before. And you didn’t even know that, yet you’ve continued to talk to him every game since.”
Shawn was blushing profusely by this point, the sweetest smile crossing his mouth. His eyes were focused on the ground in timidity, and you couldn’t do anything except stand there and admire him. Not only the way he looked, but the way his mind worked. He was so much more complex than you’d realized when you first met him, and it was almost painful how attached you were becoming to seemingly every part of him.
“Whatcha thinking?” you finally spoke, desperate to break Shawn’s silence.
“Thinking about whether or not I should ask if you wanna go down on the field,” he said abruptly, his gaze coming back to yours.
You eyes opened all the way, your jaw dropping ever-so-slightly. “What? A-Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent,” he grinned, holding up his keys to dangle in front of you. “All the players have a key that unlocks almost every door in the stadium, including the ones that lead to the field.”
“Are you serious?” you repeated, because it was the only thing you could think to say. Your mind was desperately trying to process the excitement (and rarity) of what Shawn was offering.
“Yes, honey,” he laughed, the spark in his eye visible even through the barely-there lighting in the players’ parking lot.
“Like, right now?”
“Mhm,” Shawn hummed, grabbing hold of your hand and pulling you back towards the door you’d come out from. “Everyone should be gone by now, so we’ll have the whole stadium to ourselves.”
What a thought that was: having the entirety of Rogers Centre at your disposal. “Will you take me into the dugouts? And the bullpen? And can we--”
“I will show you every single inch of the stadium if that’s what you want,” Shawn laughed as he cut you off. “Yes to all of the above.”
“You’re the fucking best,” you blurted, the widest smile plastered on your face. “Though that seems to be what everyone’s been saying about you these days.” Shawn smiled shyly and looked down at his feet, unspeaking.
“Oh, come on!” you continued, giving his hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to be so humble all the time, Shawn. You batted 3 for 4 today, including a two-run home run in the bottom of the sixth, and you were flawless in the field. You safely stole second base at the beginning of the game, which put you in scoring position and allowed you to come home when Pillar--Kevin, sorry--singled to right field. You absolutely knocked it out of the park today, pun intended.”
“Who needs ESPN game recaps when you exist?” he teased, but you were suddenly serious.
“I know I’m gushing, but I just want to make sure you know that everyone is really proud of how you’ve been playing.”
He leaned over to press a kiss to the side of your head, silently thanking you. Satisfied, you walked with him through all of the hidden hallways of the stadium to get to the locker room, a consistent smile on your lips. Once inside the locker room, he reached behind the door to flick the lights on, illuminating each player’s uniform for the next day hung neatly in individual cubbies, their bats, mitts, helmets, and other equipment carefully stacked on the shelves below their jerseys.
“Wow,” you said involuntarily, taking in the sight. “You guys have quite the setup.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” Shawn assented, pulling you towards a small closet off to the side labelled Equipment. He opened the door, revealing pile after pile of exactly what the door said would be behind it. Extra ball caps, batting gloves, bats, and anything else a baseball player could possibly need littered the room, and Shawn ventured inside in search of specific items. You quirked your head in curiosity, but decided not to ask what he was doing in favor of letting it be a surprise.
He first retrieved a Blue Jays hat, reaching back to place it on your head. You giggled as you adjusted its fit, finishing in time to accept the wooden bat he handed you next. “This is kinda heavy,” you remarked, and Shawn laughed.
“It’s the lightest one in here.” He emerged with three baseballs clutched against his chest, and he shut the door and jogged over to his little cubby to retrieve his own glove.
“Okay,” he said, coming back over to you. “Ready to take the field?”
You grinned like a little kid, nodding your head feverishly as he lead the way out of the locker room and into the dugout, climbing the steps to get up to field level. You looked around in awe as you finally stepped onto the dirt, the hand that wasn’t holding the bat clasped over your mouth as you tried to contain your off-the-charts excitement. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Most people haven’t,” Shawn laughed, following you over to the pitcher’s mound. You perched yourself on the rubber, your toes hanging off the white strip. You stared right at home plate before doing a full spin and taking in every bit of the stadium that you could: tens of thousands of empty blue seats, the giant scoreboard in center field, the Canadian and American flags both on display on either side of the jumbotron. Being at the stadium itself had always been magical, and it was still everything you’d thought it was when you were a kid. But standing on the field was an entirely different feeling altogether, and you couldn’t choose just one word to describe it. Surreal? Overwhelming? Dreamlike? You settled for an amalgamate of all of the above.
“Here,” Shawn said, gesturing towards the bat in your hand. “Go step into the batter’s box.”
You glanced up at him with quirked eyebrows. “I thought you would be doing the hitting.”
“What fun would that be for you? You watch me hit all the time. C’mon, go stand at the plate and I’ll pitch to you.”
“Don’t hurt yourself, Mendes,” you teased, clutching the bat and making your way to the batter’s box.
Shawn stood about halfway inbetween the pitcher’s mound and where you were, a ball in his right hand and his glove covering his left. “Ready?” he asked.
You lifted the bat over your shoulder. It was a little heavy, but you managed. “Ready.”
Shawn softly threw the ball towards you, but it was high and way too far away for you to possibly get your bat on it. “Nice pitch,” you joked, and you could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “You should probably stick to second base.”
“Aren’t you just so funny,” he razzed, and you giggled.
“C’mon Mendes, give me something I can actually hit.”
He shook his head playfully before sending another ball your way, which you actually managed to get your bat on. Shawn’s head whipped around to see the baseball you’d knocked land right at the edge of the grass behind second base, and you let a smug smile cross your face. “Woah,” he grinned, turning back to face you. “Impressive.”
“I don’t just watch sports,” you smirked. “Played them all the time when I was younger. I was pretty good.”
“Yeah?” he mused, his eyebrows raised and a toothy grin on his face.
“Oh yeah,” you giggled. “I bet I could easily throw a football with a tighter spiral than you.”
He laughed. “I’d say that’s fair considering I’ve never thrown a football in my life.”
“Never?” you cried, your face lit up with amusement.
“I play baseball, not football!”
“Excuses,” you teased. Suddenly getting a new idea, you dropped your bat next to home plate and headed over to where the second basemen typically stood. You smiled when you saw Shawn follow you, and he went to his position as if he could read your mind. You inched your way towards him and wrapped your hand around his arm, leaning your head on the side of his right shoulder.
“Your view’s nice over here,” you remarked as you looked towards home plate, and Shawn huffed out a soft laugh. “I’m sure it’s even better when the seats are filled and the fans are all cheering.”
Shawn turned to look at you, a closed-mouth smile that touched his eyes gracing his features. “Nah,” he simply said, and you looked up at him with a quizzical expression.
“What?”
“I like the view right now just fine,” he answered, never tearing his eyes from yours. His smile was unfaltering and his eyes gleamed under the lights of the stadium, and as your heart started to beat faster all you could do was mutter something about how cheesy he was and turn to bury your head in his shoulder, your arms finding their way around his waist as his quickly wrapped around your upper back.
As you stood there, unmoving and unspeaking as Shawn held you with his chin resting on the top of your head, you felt tears prick your eyes. You were standing on the field of your dreams with the guy of your dreams, and you had the job of your dreams in the city of your dreams. If someone had told you a month ago that your life would have worked itself out like this, that the stress and the work and the debt would have been worth it, you’d have told them no way. But this was your reality now, and the mere truth in that fact had brought you to tears. Good things really did come to those to wait.
You were suddenly shocked out of the moment when, slowly but surely, all of the stadium lights began to turn off. Before you could ask what was happening, Shawn let out a quiet, “Damnit.”
“Why are the lights going off?” you asked, looking at his face that was now dim in the decreasing light.
“They go off every night at midnight,” he sighed, letting out an exasperated laugh as he ran his hands through his hair. “I lost track of time, I didn’t realize it was already so late.” He grabbed your hand, beginning to pull you back towards the dugout.
“Shawn, wait,” you cried, sporting a grin he likely couldn’t see.
“It’s pitch black, it’s gonna take us forever to find our way out of here.”
“Shawn,” you pressed, and he finally stopped. “First of all, our phones have flashlights,” you giggled, “And secondly, the roof is still open.” His silence indicated that he didn’t understand what you were getting at, so you kept going. “Just--here. Come here.”
Shawn’s hand still in yours, you led him off the dirt of the infield and onto the grass in the outfield, laying down on your back and pulling him down with you. By now, your eyes had adjusted to the new darkness and you were able to make out Shawn’s silhouette, but not his facial expression.
You looked straight up, able to see the stars splitting the black sky into a million tiny pieces, backlit from the lights of downtown Toronto. Your left hand was still firmly wrapped in Shawn’s, and your right was absentmindedly weaving through the grass of the outfield next to you as your eyes remained fixated on the night sky. You knew in the back of your mind that this was undeniably cheesy and cliche, but a bigger part of you didn’t care. You had tonight and tomorrow with Shawn before you lost him for nine days, and you’d be damned if you didn’t make the most of the time you had before he left for the away series. The two of you laid by each other in silence until he cleared his throat, prompting you to turn your head towards him.
“I, uh, I know tomorrow--well, I guess technically today--is Sunday, so you don’t have to be at the stadium, but if you wanted to come, y’know, to see the game again, you’re more than welcome to watch it from the suite with Amanda and all the other players’ wives and, um, girlfriends. I think they’d love to have you.”
“Girlfriends?” you questioned, raising your eyebrows.
“Y-yeah,” Shawn whispered. You could hear the waver in his voice, and you giggled and rolled over so that you were nestled into his side.
“That’s quite a step up from when we decided we were dating.”
He shrugged, letting out a heavy breath. “I think we’re a step up from when we decided we were dating.”
“Touche, boyfriend.”
“See?” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t you like the sound of that?”
You laughed in agreement, and then went silent for a while until you became aware of the absurdity of the moment. “At least we’ll have a good story when people ask us about all this.”
“What do you mean?” Shawn asked, turning his head towards you.
You sighed, thankful for the darkness concealing your expression. “When--if--people ask us about how we, you know, happened, we get to tell them it was past midnight and we were laying in the outfield of Rogers Centre, which you snuck us into,” you giggled. “Not to mention the fact that all of the lights in the stadium shut off and we could barely see our hands in front of our faces.”
“Except it’s not sneaking in if I have a key,” Shawn said with a smirk in his tone, and you laughed.
“You don’t think Coach Montoyo would consider this sneaking in?”
“Not sure,” Shawn mused. “But I don’t exactly intend on telling him about it, so I guess we’ll never know.”
“Whatever, Mendes,” you grinned, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder.
“‘M gonna fall asleep if we lay here much longer,” Shawn said after a while, and as if on cue, you found yourself trying to suppress a yawn.
“The game’s not ‘til seven tomorrow, right?” you asked, finally allowing the yawn to pass your lips.
“It’s at one,” he corrected, and you shot up off of the grass.
“Shawn!” you cried, suddenly wide awake. “Why are we still here? You need to be home sleeping!”
“Relax, honey,” he laughed nonchalantly, propping himself onto his forearms. “I’ll be fine.”
“Shawn, it’s almost one in the morning and you have to be back here at, what, eleven a.m. tomorrow? How are you supposed to be fully rested for the game if--”
“Y/N,” he pressed, still amused.
You sighed, sinking onto your knees in the grass next to him. “I don’t want you to be exhausted tomorrow because of me.”
“It’s not like you’re holding me here against my will,” he laughed, and you finally let out a little giggle.
“I know, but you just said you were about to fall asleep,” you said softly, grabbing his elbow and gently helping him sit up. “I’m not sure the outfield grass is capable of providing a good night’s rest.”
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, standing up next to you. “You win.” You giggled as he grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together, bringing up the flashlight on his phone to guide the two of you out of the stadium.
The two of you started walking back towards the dugout, Shawn bringing your hand up to place a chaste kiss to the back of it. “Thanks for coming to the game tonight,” he said quietly.
“Are you kidding?” you laughed, nudging his arm with your shoulder. “Keep pulling free tickets out of thin air and I’ll be at all of them.”
“Is that all I’m good for?” he teased, looking down at you with a smile.
“Maybe a few other things.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “So you’ll be at the game tomorrow then, too? Watch from the suite?”
“Sure,” you said, giving his hand a squeeze. You didn’t know anyone that would be there other than Amanda, and even she had barely gotten the chance to talk to you. The idea of seeing the game with the group of the players’ wives and girlfriends made you a little nervous, but it clearly meant a lot to Shawn which proved that it should mean a lot to you.
“Cool,” he smiled, and you were able to see it touch his eyes in the dull light of his phone. “Now let’s go home.”
