"My reputation proceeds me these days," Scarlett said with a laugh. "Bitches know better than to come for my bread, or whatever that one rap song says." Scarlett was more of a post-hardcore type of girl, but she'd indulge in plenty of different genres when she went on longer runs. Rap, admittedly, wasn't one that was well versed in outside of the classics from high school. "Bitches being birds, by the way. In case that was missed." Her lips tilted upward, and her eyes flicked to the water in his hand.
"That's less fun than the flask." The whiskey that night was good on the rooftop scene he'd gotten to witness. Whiskey from a flask and a cigarette, tough times in the big city. She almost snorted a laugh, think about that night, and how he said she always won in his retelling. She knew damn well he never retold that story. "I don't think I ever apologized for drinking like half of it, so I probably owe you a drink at some point." Her eyes suddenly traveled to the group of women that were watching them. Well, him, in particular. "Well, actually, that all depends on if your horde of admiring fans will scratch my eyes out."
Then, true to form with a woman who threw a rooftop pebble at a bird who stole her breadstick, Scarlett waved at them and smiled. Popping a tomato from the salad into her mouth and chewing it, she wrestled with her inclinations. The urge to mess with them was fighting with the urge to leave it alone and it was playing out in her eyes as they dance with mischief. However, Weston never said he was into messing with them, so she let the thoughts have a moment before she stepped into line with him. "I don't know you well enough to mess with them, despite how I want to. Plus, you might not want that sorta drama in your life," Scarlett said and stopped paying the gaggle of onlookers any attention.
"I think it's bitch better have my money." He said, but it was obvious that he really didn't know. "Not a huge rap person." That really should't have been a surprise, just by looking at him, but some people had some outlandish music tastes, so he didn't judge. "I had a teammate a few years back, and I think he listened to the dirty rap I have ever heard." Wes laughed, "and I don't know that I ever tried to listen to it--" he paused thoughtfully, "actually I think I actively tried to not listen to it. Luckily, when you're the pitcher you don't have the same workout as the rest of them." He didn't hit, he wasn't allowed to. He also wasn't allowed to play the outfield or a base. His fitness was exclusively done in the gym with a trainer. A blessing and a curse.
"You think I don't have a flask." He paused, before patting his pockets like maybe-- "you'd be right. I don't. They don't like, really appreciate the teacher drinking in public at these things." If he was at a bar it would be different, but here he was, at the picnic, and somehow it seemed inappropriate. "You do owe me though, and one day you'll have to pay up." He shrugged, "you should be out here carrying one around in your purse, seems smarter." And something that an alcoholic would do, and while Scarlett Browning was a lot of things, an alcoholic wasn't something that was on his bingo card for her.
Wes casually glanced over his shoulder, and flashed them a quick smile before immediately turning his attention back to Scarlett, "here's the thing." He sighed, "I am not saying kids are bad. I am not saying single mothers are bad. I am not saying mothers with high school aged children are bad." The list was long, but he felt like it needed a disclaimer, "women with high school aged children that are in my physics class? Are generally older than me, and married. Not saying being older than me is bad, but not super into the cougar thing, and I am definitely not into being the other woman." He said with a shrug and a broken smile, "one of those women near in tears because my classroom was not straight out of her teachertok dreams, and the other ones, you know if they could just get their son on the varsity baseball team, they'd be so grateful." He paused, "SO. grateful." He rolled his eyes, "however I don't know what they'd do. Maybe use one hand to cover your eyes and the other to cover your throat. Cougars." Wes wiggled his brow at her before laughing. It was part of the territory, unfortunately. He however, was good at letting people down easy.
"I don't know that I need it." He said, deliberately not looking back to them, "and unless you want 50 moms to be stalking you?" He asked, but really didn't give her a chance to answer, "I don't know that you really want it either." Unfortunately for him, none of his social media was private, while he'd been out of professional baseball for a handful of years now, it didn't make him any less well, in the spotlight. It was good publicity for the school, for the team-- and if the price he paid was a box of DMs he didn't dare open, then that was the price. He didn't want to wish that evil on other people too, "unless this is your way of telling me you're absolutely insane and you've just been keeping it a secret this whole time." He said it like they knew each other, they didn't. She could be anything, and he wouldn't know any better.




















