Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
There are lots of names for women who chase professional athletes, and I refuse to repeat any of them. Quite frankly, more power to the ladies who go after what they want. I’m stuck around the guys for a very different reason. It’s more like…I can’t escape them. My brother’s a veteran pitcher on the team. Sophia’s boyfriend, Josh, also plays. His best friends, Dustin and Nick, are now my good friends. We’re all together all the time. At this point, I might as well be the team’s resident little sister.
When Daphne and Sophia issued their dare earlier, they knew it wouldn’t involve anyone from the Pinstripes roster. I will never date a professional baseball player and they know that. The reasons are complicated but sound.
Don’t get me wrong, it has nothing to do with the sport itself. I love baseball. I’ve been surrounded by it my entire life. I’m the product of a collegiate baseball coach and a small-town Texas beauty queen. I had a bat glued to my hand when I was still toddling around in diapers, a big bow stuck in my hair while I was catching fly balls in the outfield. I was carted from ballet to the ball field and back again, endlessly.
My dad had his hands full with his job at the University of Texas and coaching my older brother who showed real talent from a very early age, but that didn’t mean I could escape the mandate. Oh ho ho, no way. The sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and the Allens play baseball, end of story. In kindergarten, I was the only girl on an all-boys T-ball team. Those little shits harassed me endlessly, especially if I made an error on the field, so I learned not to mess up. I hit better than any of them could. I figured out how to throw the ball hard enough that I once gave ol’ Tommy Nichols a black eye. From that day on, I was a walking legend.
Eventually, my baseball career came to an end in middle school in favor of dance (much to my dad’s dismay), but I was still part of the world. My brother was already getting noticed by major league scouts. Our weekends were spent at baseball tournaments. Our summer travels always included a tour of that city’s professional stadium. Fall ball, winter ball, spring ball—baseball was all I knew.
So it should come as no shock that my first kiss happened in a dugout. My first boyfriend asked me out underneath a set of bleachers. My first date involved stadium peanuts and nachos and nine innings where our attention never once strayed from the field. I can’t even remember the guy’s name, but I do know Joseph Vargas pitched a no-hitter that game.
My issue with baseball guys begins when they make the transition into the majors. Aside from the fact that their schedules are horrendous, their priority is always the game, and their egos are obscenely inflated—most of them have this unyielding urge to go crazy the second they sign on the dotted line on their MLB contracts. And I get it. For most of their lives, these guys have been focused on honing their craft and putting in the work to play professionally. Once they do, all bets are off, especially when it comes to women and how many they choose to date at once.
Anyway, the point is, when it comes to dating baseball guys, it’s plain and simple: don’t do it. Look elsewhere. A cafe, a park, a retirement home—any other place will do.
Daphne and Sophia don’t agree with my poor assessment of professional baseball guys. Sophia is crazy about her boyfriend, Josh, and I will say, he’s one of the good ones. An outlier, if you will. They’ve been together for years and he’s never so much as sniffed in the direction of another woman. He puts her first, always. Also Daphne, while single, has made it very clear that she would be willing to entertain any Pinstripes player who happens her way. Just ask my brother. Unfortunately for her, he’s been officially off the market for a while.
Once we’re in the elevator in a swanky high-rise in Midtown, I look over at my friends. “There are going to be other guys here tonight, right? Not just our group?”
That was the promise. This isn’t supposed to be another standard get-together with all the usual suspects. I’ve done that a million times, and while fun, nothing unexpected ever happens with our group. Josh and Sophia fawn all over each other. Dustin and Daphne get on each other’s nerves. Nick regales us with a story that is either funny or gross or outright idiotic. Rinse and repeat.
“Yes,” Sophia insists. “This isn’t even a baseball party, really. It just so happens that the guys will be here.”