Molly Jo Realy
Stasia ducked as the foul ball whizzed past.
“Liam!” The coach hollered and jerked his head toward her.
The pitcher dropped his glove and galloped over. “Sorry ma’am.” He ran a hand through his sun-lightened hair. “Didn’t think it would head so close to, well, your pretty head. My apologies. Liam Doyle. Nice to meet ya.”
She shook his hand before brandishing her card. “Stasia Andrews with Andrews Sports. We’ve emailed.”
“A few times, ma’am.”
“Mind if we have a few words?”
He tossed a look at the coach who shooed them toward the dugout.
Liam found a rag and dusted debris from the bench. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re off-season so—”
She motioned for him to sit. “You have to stop staying that.”
“What, that we’re off-season? Yeah.” He scratched his throat. “Coach is always telling me that too. Guess we’re never really off-season. Just don’t happen to be currently playing.”
“Good theory but no.” She planted her palms on her jeans. “Stop calling me ma’am. I’m just Stasia.”
He blushed and glanced down with a chuckle. “Yes, ma’am. Uh, Ms. Andrews … Stasia.”
In their emails, Liam had seemed open and friendly. Welcoming. Even a bit flirty. In person, he was different. Distant. Distracted. He tossed a ball between his hands and tried to play a short round of hacky sack.
Well, nothing to do then but treat this as just another business appointment. Ask the questions. Sign the contracts. Move on. “How’s your game, Liam?”
His tongue moved along the inside of his lower lip. “Before or after the accident?”
She nodded. “That was a hard hit, to be sure. I know you lost some prospects. But it’s good to see you back on the field. And it’s my job to put you on the best one. When you’re ready.”
“I appreciate the redemption. I lost more than just the game after … Well, to answer your question, I been playing all my life.” His face emanated joy and confidence. “In my past lives, too.”
Stasia stifled a giggle and shifted.
He laughed heartily, a laugh that disrupted her sense of business. “Don’t mind me. Just a joke Pops always says. I come from baseball origins.”
“Tell me.” She crossed her arms on her legs and leaned forward.
Half a smile curled his cheek. “Jack Doyle was my great-great-grandfather.” He drew closer. “But you already knew that.”
Stasia did know. She knew all about Liam, his baseball game, his heritage. Outside her job, she wanted to know everything else about him. But she wanted to hear it from him. Here, in person, his presentation was even more compelling than the bits and pieces she’d been able to cobble over a handful of emails and spotty internet connections.
His lyrical voice continued. “Ended his seventeen-year career in 1905 playing for the New York Highlanders.”
“Who changed their name in 1913 to—”
“The New York Yankees. Yes, ma’am!” He beamed. “If you don’t mind me saying, you know more about baseball history than most scouts or agents I’ve talked to. They know the current game sure, but … You’re prettier too.”
It was Stasia’s turn to blush. She glanced away to gather her thoughts and wits. After six years of handling major league careers, she was about to be undone with childish notions of … whatever this was.
“Yes, well. Let’s walk and talk.” She stood and made her way out of the dugout.
They ventured onto the dirt circumference and strolled close to the field walls.
“Why do you like the game so much?”
“You doing a book report ma’am?”
“Stah-sha.”
“Stasia.” He repeated with a grin. “Stasia.” He played with her name, and every way he sounded it out made her giggle.
She returned the fun. “Lee-yam. Li-yum. Lim. Lam.”
Their laughter was true and vibrant.
Stasia’s foot slipped into a soft hole, and she reactively stretched for balance.
Liam’s left hand caught her arm as quickly as his right hand went around her waist. They stood breathless, poised like dancers ready to move. All they needed was the music.
The PA system crackled. The duo turned their heads toward the press box to see several of Liam’s teammates dramatically dancing and lip-syncing to the Intruders’ “Love is Like a Baseball Game.”
Stasia regained her composure and stepped out of Liam’s reach. “Should we sign the contracts, then?”
Liam winked. “I have a few questions of my own first. What happens to you if I don’t sign? Or if I want a bigger bonus?”
So this was it. He was just a player after all. She pivoted. “Look. If you’re not serious, there are other prospects—”
He leaned into her line of vision. “Aww, I’m sorry. I’m just having a little fun. Don’t mean to offend. I thought we were hitting it off, out of the park.”
“Our business relationship, my representation of you, are hardly games, Liam.”
“I know that. I’m just asking, what if I want more?”
Stasia held her bag closer and stepped away. She blinked back the anger of allowing herself to feel more than anything strictly professional. “I’ll have my assistant handle the contracts.”
Liam called after her. “I don’t like your assistant.”
She exhaled. “And what do you like, Mr. Doyle?”
His head tipped. “Don’t you know?”
Her mind and heart filled with answers she couldn’t speak.
The PA system buzzed to life again. “Hey, are you that lady he can’t stop talking about? The one he’s in love with?”
She looked up. The team wasn’t teasing now. They were waiting with an eager energy.
“Ma’am. Miss Stasia.” Liam spoke behind her.
She chewed her lip and turned.
“I have just one condition for signing your contract.”
“And what’s that, Liam?”
“Let me pay for dinner tonight. I got a feeling I’m getting a big bonus soon.”
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Spark Flash Fiction 