Chapter Text
“What are we, a bunch of cheerleaders?”
Melky’s comment had earned a chorus of boos from the other infielders and a solid punch to the arm from Sonny. Ginny had said nothing, just taken a moment to bask in the changing attitude of her teammates.
The remark rings in her head now, though, and she is just waiting for a chance to throw it back in Melky’s face. Because for all grumbling and complaining the team had about participating in the charity carwash in the parking lot of Petco, they certainly seemed to be having a blast now. Most of the players had lost their shirts after about an hour in the unseasonably warm winter sun. Shortly after, Salvi and Dusty had begun a pool to see who could earn the most in donations and it had been non-stop preening and flexing since then. So, yeah, really not any better than a bunch of cheerleaders in bikinis.
Rolling her eyes when Ellis begins to rub soapy water over his pecs for a car full of hooting college girls, Ginny turns back to her task of collecting donations and passing out swag to cars at the end of the line. The trainers have pretty much limited her to the cash box to avoid any strain on her elbow. She gives a quick smile and wave to a car that’s exiting the parking lot when she sees several camera phones pointed in her direction. Is this day over yet? Somehow she’s not feeling the same pep rally vibe as her teammates.
Her gaze slides over to her captain because, to her irritation, she can’t help but notice where he’s at all the time. Lawson still wears his Padres t-shirt over his athletic shorts as he chats with a family in a mini-van. Though he’s on scrub duty right now, true to form, he’s managed to avoid any real dirty work by engaging the drivers in idle chit-chat, much to their delight.
Of course he catches her staring and throws a nod in her direction. Ginny turns on her heel with a huff and goes back to sorting cash. Still, every few seconds, she finds her eyes lifting to him. She tells herself it’s because she doesn’t have anything better to do at the moment. That watching Blip nitpick Melky’s washing technique is getting a little old. But she knows it’s because there's something irresistible about Mike Lawson, Future Hall of Famer, at work. She can never not watch him, whether it’s hitting bombs, giving one of his stupid speeches, or turning his charm on his fans. It’s that last one that’s striking her today. She still finds herself getting anxious navigating the constant onslaught of photo requests and praise and little girls wanting hugs. It’s gotten better, but she knows it visibly wears on her after awhile. Mike shows no such fatigue. She doesn’t know if it’s his giant ego (probably) or years of practice (maybe, if she’s being generous), but she finds herself just as starstruck by him during times like this as she was during her first day in the bigs.
And, yeah, it’s totally his personality that has her distracted and not the way his damp t-shirt clings to his shoulders, highlighting his broad chest, and the way those shorts hug that ass as he leans against the van.
“Baker!” Javanes snaps her out of her reverie, waving and pointing at the growing line of cars waiting to pay.
Shaking her head, Ginny gets back to work and reminds herself that he’s just her captain, just her catcher, just her friend and that she has no business wondering how his skin, warmed and slightly reddened by the sun, would taste under her lips…
“Hey, rookie!”
She trips over a hose. Dammit.
“What, Lawson?” She snips, showing no reaction to her misstep even as his eyes twinkle at her, and places a hand on her hip as she comes to stand near her captain.
Mike gestures at the convertible full of what Ginny can best guess are over-aged groupie rejects, women who should really have something better to do with their time. “These lovely ladies here offered up $100 bucks each for me to take my shirt off. Whaddya think?”
Biting her lip, it takes Ginny every ounce of strength not to roll her eyes. It’s for charity, she reminds herself. “Taking your clothes off for money? Testing out some post-retirement options?”
“It’s for a good cause , ” Mike smirks, stepping toward her. And away from the drooling housewives.
Ginny shrugs. “True. I hope you didn’t tell them that you’d probably have done it for free.” She shrugs at the women, doing her best to play up the moment because, for however much she hates it at times, this is what they’re supposed to do. The women laugh like they are all in on some big secret together.
“Think of the children, rook,” Mike murmurs more to her than his audience. His wink is directed more in her direction, too, and then he is peeling his shirt off in one swift move, yanking it from the back over his head and somehow catching his cap in his hand as it tumbles off. The women in the convertible hoot and holler; one holds her phone up to catch the action. Ginny grits her teeth hard.
“Are you serious right now?” Ginny arranges her face into a photo-friendly look of friendly exasperation, just in case she’s in the frame, as Mike gives the women a pose and then a bow.
“Now one with Ginny!”
Before she can get out a protest, Mike has an arm around her, pulling her flush to his side, her body pressing up against his skin. On reflex, Ginny’s arm wraps around his back and her breath hitches as she registers the expanse of warm, slightly sweaty Mike-skin she has contact with.
“I will murder you.” She digs her nails into his side with intent. She feels Mike’s flinch but it only makes him squeeze her closer. Wearing her best fake smile, Ginny leans into her captain. On autopilot, they hold and shift their gaze in perfect rhythm to ensure each of the screeching women gets a good shot (and likely everyone else in the parade of cars.)
“I would rather it be you doing the deed than that red-head with the hungry look in her eyes. I swear she was ten seconds away from clipping off a lock of my beard.” His words are mumbled through his smile as he maintains a firm grip on her arm. And if she didn’t know any better, she would swear he is enjoying the effort it’s taking her not to stumble into him completely.
“I thought you liked red-heads,” she can’t help but tease, though her tone isn’t exactly light.
That does it. His parry back is to yank her hard toward him, so she tumbles and he catches her. She shrieks and laughs at the same time. Her world shifts and tilts. For a dizzy second, she doesn’t know which end is up and then he has her dipped like a freaking ballroom dancer with no grace whatsoever.
“Lawson!” She wants to be mad, is really annoyed actually, but finds herself looking up at him— her posterboy, shirtless and strong, cradling her like it’s nothing. She finds that she gets a really good look at his face because he’d put his cap back on backwards and she hates that she finds something so bro-y, so irresistible. He looks years younger despite the familiar lines on his face. He’s beaming down at her and they’ve attracted a bit of a crowd now. She recognizes Javanes’ wolf whistle.
“Okay, okay, uncle, ” she gasps, scrambling to find her footing as she pushes away from him.
Chuckling, he helps her right herself and takes a step back to keep their distance respectable. Ginny finds her breath, touching the blotches of heat on her cheeks self-consciously. Damn him. He’s back to schmoozing the carful of wannabe groupies, collecting their cash and offering them quick, one-armed hugs. Something burns in Ginny’s stomach and, swiping quickly at her lips, she looks away.
The convertible moves down the car wash line. Mike makes a show of the money for the team photographer, who’s snapping shots down on one knee. Ginny is called back to her duties so she turns, feeling suddenly clammy and dizzy. Her skin still buzzes where it made contact with his and it makes that weird feeling in her stomach intensify.
In her daze, she hardly notices Blip walk past with a muttered comment about high school shenanigans. Glancing around at her teammates, shirtless and silly on this sunshine day, she can’t help but feel horrendously awkward in her t-shirt and cut-offs. There is something so high school about the whole thing, it's true, and she wishes, yet again, for it all to be over.
“Rookie!” Mike calls for her again and Ginny wastes no time in hitting him with her most frustrated glare. Yes, definitely high school, with the captain of the varsity baseball team apparently having a really intense beard and crow’s feet, true, but still looking completely, disgustingly hot with his bare-chest and backward cap. He gives her that lopsided grin that always melts her just a little bit. “Brown and curly. That’s my thing now.”
With a wink and a chomp of his gum, he’s back to sponging off the next car in line. Ginny is stuck to her spot, blinking without seeing, her heart pounding all out of rhythm.
Yeah. This day was definitely a terrible idea.