The Ninth Inning Page 6

  The craziest part to me was the fact that I’d never even been Cole’s official girlfriend in the first place, but for some reason, other girls loved throwing his sex life in my face. Over the years, I’d been told more times than I could count about Cole hooking up with someone who wasn’t me. They whispered when I walked into the commissary, said things as they sat next to me in class, made sure I overheard them at frat parties. It was always the same; first would be his name to get my attention, and then things like, “She’s not the only one. She knows that, doesn’t she? I was with him last night. He sure knows how to use his hands,” would immediately follow.

  I never understood why they cared so much to try to hurt me when it was obvious that Cole and I weren’t a couple. What did they have to gain by bringing me down? Why did we women enjoy seeing each other suffer or hurt? We were competitive. No matter how much girl power we preached, it was kind of bullshit. I thought it was ingrained in our DNA to be competitive with one another or something. Fight for the most virile man.

  I used to care a lot more in the beginning. I’d stayed silent and let them talk while I sat there and took it. I stopped taking it about a year ago and started speaking up. Once I’d started talking, they’d stopped. For the most part.

  The two girls had already passed us by, but I turned around and shouted, “Hey!” to get their attention.

  They stopped and turned to face me, nervous looks on their faces.

  Yeah, not so tough when I call you out, are you? I thought to myself. “Just for the record and just so we’re clear, I don’t give a shit what or who Cole does. You make sure and let him know, ’kay?”

  The girls who’d had so much to say when they were strutting past me were suddenly at a loss for words. I was not surprised. What did surprise me was seeing Cole. He was taking the steps two at a time up the side staircase of our parking structure.

  I watched where he was going until he reached the top level and disappeared out of view.

  Of course.

  The one place that I avoided like the plague because it held way too many memories, he continued to use it like it meant nothing. Like our lives hadn’t become intertwined up there on that top floor. Me and that stupid structure were the same to him ... just a place to hang out until he had somewhere else to be.

  Social Media Guru

  Christina

  I spent my afternoon after classes researching the band, The Long Ones’, social media sites and taking a ton of notes. There were four members, all local surfers, born and raised in Southern California. Their Facebook page had been set up but never posted on. It was a literal ghost town. They had a YouTube account, but it only had one video on it. And their Instagram had sporadic posts at best. The only thing that was up-to-date was their website, which, in the grand scheme of things, was a good sign. They weren’t completely dysfunctional.

  None of this had truly surprised me, however. Most of the time, the people who I considered “the talent” didn’t have the extra hours, knowledge, or the desire to handle the social media side of things. It truly was a full-time job in and of itself and overwhelmed even the most organized professionals. The fact that they even had an account set up at each one of the appropriate channels showed me that they at least wanted to maintain them, but for whatever reason, they hadn’t been able to.

  And that was where I would step in tonight and offer my services. I definitely was at the point where I could charge a fee for my knowledge, expertise, and time, but since these guys were all students, I knew they wouldn’t be able to pay me. I would build their accounts, upload content, and maintain them until I graduated. Then, my days of doing things for free would have to be over. Not because I didn’t believe in helping people when I could, but because I deserved to be paid for my work, and I would have bills that my parents no longer covered.

  Graduating meant it was time to grow up, be an adult, and pay for your own way. As terrifying as the concept was, I also felt ready to tackle it. I knew a big part of that was because I knew what I wanted to do with my life and was taking the steps to get there. The majority of students who put off graduating for as long as possible did it because they had no idea what they wanted to be when they grew up. I totally understood that but was thankful I couldn’t relate.

  Closing my notebook, I glanced at the clock. Hours had flown by, as they usually did whenever I was excited about the prospect of a potential client. Lauren used to tease me about how I wouldn’t even notice that the sun had risen and fallen while I was immersed in work. And it was true. I was too busy paying attention to all the details online to notice the ones off of it. She’d come home an hour or so ago, and she knew better than to distract me, so when I stretched my arms over my head and looked around, I was surprised to see her sitting on the living room couch, reading.

  “Have you been there the whole time?” I asked, and she laughed, her head nodding as her feet tucked up underneath her.

  “Pretty much. But I’ve been quiet, so you haven’t noticed me,” she said like she was a proud child waiting for a reward from a parent.

  “We’d better start getting ready.” I stood up from the chair and stretched some more. My body was tight from staying in one position for so long.

  Lauren slammed her book shut and breathed out, “Finally! But I’m hungry. And I was afraid to bang around in the kitchen while you were in it. You know how grumpy you get.”

  I frowned. “I don’t get grumpy. I just hate getting distracted. It takes me out of my mindset and throws me all out of whack, and then I have to start over.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Grumpy. Anyway, I need to eat something before we go because I am not eating at The Bar.”

  “Why not? Their food’s decent?”

  The Bar’s food was definitely edible but greasy. Maybe she wasn’t in the mood for anything fried.

  “I don’t want to eat in front of the drummer,” she admitted, and I gave her a half-smile.

  “Understandable,” I said because drinking in front of a crush was one thing but trying to eat greasy bar food in front of them was something else altogether.

  Walking into the kitchen, I pulled open the fridge and frowned. We were pretty bad at keeping food stocked. Like most students, we ate out way more than we could afford to.

  “There isn’t much here,” I said as she appeared behind me, looking over my shoulder.

  “Please don’t make me eat another salad,” she whined, noting how much lettuce was in our vegetable drawer.

  “I don’t make you eat anything,” I said with a laugh. “And you love salads.”

  The girl ate more salads than anyone I’d ever met in my life.

  “I know; I know.” She waved me off. “Don’t get me wrong. I just feel like they steal joy from my life every time I eat one for a meal. I know I’m supposed to eat it, and it’s good for me, but it’s not fun. I get tired of eating them all the time.”

  I laughed, not only because she was an absolute crazy pants, but because I also totally agreed with her. I loved a good salad myself, but she was right; they weren’t necessarily fun to eat. They felt like something you were forced to put in your mouth, not something you wanted to. And it was such a female thing because how many guys did you see walking around, eating salads for meals? None. Unless they were vegetarians, but they didn’t count for the sake of this argument.

  “Joy-stealers. That’s our new name for salads from here on out,” I said with a laugh.

  Lauren cracked up. “Yes! I love it! Now, make me one of your famous grilled cheeses, please!” She reached for the bread on the counter and slid it toward me.

  I grabbed the freshly sliced deli American white cheese and salted butter. “All right. But don’t blame me when you feel all bloated and full and gross.”

  “I’ll feel delicious because your grilled cheese is the best. And I won’t even be sorry because it will bring me joy and make me so happy to eat it!” she singsonged as she spun around in circles.

  “If you
say so.” I went to work on the sandwiches, making them exactly the way my grandmother had taught me when I was young. It wasn’t like you could really go wrong when making a grilled cheese, but you could improve it and make a good thing even better. And that was what I did. I made a really great grilled cheese, thanks to Grandma Travers.

  After the sandwiches were made and eaten and the dishes placed in the sink for later, we headed into our separate bathrooms to shower and start getting ready. It took me no time at all since I wasn’t looking for anything other than some new clients. Heading into Lauren’s room, I looked around at the mayhem. There were a ton of clothes all over her floor, and her room was usually impeccable. It was only then that I realized how nervous she must be.

  “Do you want some help?” I asked as she clearly struggled over what to wear.

  “Yes! And fair warning: I have no idea what kind of music they play. They might totally suck. I have no clue.” She offered me a short shrug before pulling on her third skirt since I’d walked in. Tight. Black. With a slit in the thigh.

  “That’s hot as hell. Do not change. Wear that,” I said, knowing that she would fight me on it a little.

  “It’s pretty attention-grabbing,” she mulled, looking in the mirror from all angles.

  “Look, you’re allowed to dress sexy because you like a guy in a band and not worry about getting kidnapped and sold into sex slavery, okay? Girls go out, looking hot, every night! I won’t let anyone steal you,” I said, telling her exactly what she needed to hear.

  “Okay, but if I get taken, it’s on you.” She pointed a finger in my direction.

  “Deal.”

  “And you’ll have to tell Jason what happened,” she added, and I squinted at her.

  “Jason who?”

  “The drummer!”

  “Okay. I’ll claim responsibility, and I’ll tell Drummer Boy it was all my fault. Happy now?”

  “Yes.” She smiled before offering to call a ride, but I jingled my car keys and promised that I wouldn’t drink more than one beer all night.

  This wasn’t a social call for me. I was in work mode and didn’t want to forget anything, so drinking too much was not on the agenda. After I grabbed my notebook and pen, we headed out the door and into the night.

  I pulled into The Bar’s parking lot, and the first thing I noticed was how crowded it was. There were some parking spots available, but it definitely wasn’t as dead as I’d assumed it would be on a Wednesday night. When we stepped out of the car, we could hear the music pouring out. They’d already started, and I hated the fact that we were late. It screamed unprofessional.

  When we showed the bouncer our IDs, he said we had a table reserved, and both Lauren and I shot each other surprised yet thankful looks. He directed us to the lone empty table in the entire place with a handwritten Reserved sign on top. The Bar was packed and not just with college-aged kids. It was a younger crowd, but some people had clearly come here straight from work, dressed in business attire and loosened ties. I watched as they rocked out, their heads nodding along with the beat.

  We sat at our high-top table, both of us enjoying the music and the way in which the band commanded the stage. The lead singer reminded me of a male Gwen Stefani from back in the day, if such a thing existed. They were really good. A mix of old school punk and ska with catchy melodies and lyrics. It was easy to see why the place was so packed.

  While Lauren was laser-locked on to Drummer Boy, my eyes wandered, and I mentally took notes on the amount of people here on a Wednesday night. I questioned if they had come to see the band or if they just liked to drink during the middle of the week. The majority of people who not only knew the lyrics, but were also actually singing along gave me my answer.

  They were fans.

  And they had come here to watch the band.

  I felt proud and excited, and I hadn’t even met the guys yet. The realization that they already had a fan base made me smile. And it could be so much bigger if they kept their online presence up-to-date and informed people where they were playing and when, among other things.

  But my first order of business was to find out if they even wanted that growth in the first place. It seemed like a question that went without saying, but it wasn’t. Not every band was trying to make it big. I needed to know what their ultimate end goal was. Was it a record deal, radio airplay, sold-out concerts, or were they content with being a big fish in a little local bar scene? In order to serve them the best way that I could, I needed to learn exactly what they wanted.

  All things I would ask them once I got the chance to sit down and talk to them. Hopefully, they’d all be on the same page. That was the first challenge when it came to working with multiple people—aligning their goals, especially if it was something they had never discussed before. Putting your dreams and desires into words made them real. Almost like once you’d said them out loud, you weren’t allowed to take them back. That was a very scary concept for some people, especially artists I’d learned.

  “I’m going to go get us some drinks,” I yelled toward Lauren, who nodded her head but didn’t make eye contact with me.

  I’d already lost her. She was encapsulated in the wonder of live music. And to be fair, there was something about seeing a band perform live that was a step above anything you could ever hear through your speakers. Well, most of the time anyway.

  I made my way toward the bartender, wiggling and sucking in my stomach as I pushed through the crowd. When the bartender finally noticed me—or should I say, when he noticed the top of my head—I shouted my order and pushed all the way in, my chest firmly pressed against the dark wood that currently smelled like spilled beer.

  “This is a nice surprise,” a guy to my left said.

  I racked my brain, wondering how and if I knew him. He looked familiar.

  “I’m not sure we’ve ever formally met. I’m Logan LeDeoux.” He wiped his hand on his shorts before holding it out toward me.

  Logan LeDeoux ... Logan LeDeoux ...

  Recognition dawned on me. Baseball player. I should have known or at least put it together, but then again, why would I have? There was more to my life than just the Fullton State baseball team.

  “Christina,” I said with an unsure smile, not knowing what he wanted or what was about to come out of his mouth. Anything having to do with Cole always made me a little uneasy.

  “Nice to meet you.” He gripped my hand and gave it a firm shake right as the band announced they were taking a twenty-minute break.

  “You too. I actually have to go.” I broke our contact and thumbed toward the band, who were putting down their instruments.

  “Come back. I’ll buy you another beer,” he said as I made my way toward Lauren without answering him.

  Lauren was smiling at Drummer Boy as he walked toward our table. It was cute, seeing her so enamored. And he seemed to feel the same way. At least if I was reading his expression right anyway.

  The four band members surrounded our table as I handed Lauren her drink, and a waitress appeared, giving the guys each a beer and water. Where was she when we needed drinks?

  “You guys are really good.”

  “Thank you,” Jason, the drummer, said.

  “This is my roommate, Christina. The one I told you about.” Lauren started the introductions, and I paid attention even though I already knew their names and what they played from my research earlier, “And this is Jason, the drummer. Aaron, the bassist. Frazier, on guitar, and Charley, the lead singer.”

  Drummer Boy wiped the sweat off his head with a towel before dropping it to the ground. “It’s nice to meet the social media guru.”

  A loud laugh came out of me without warning. “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” I started to say, “but okay.”

  The group laughed along while they all stared at me, so I decided to get right into it. We only had twenty minutes anyway, and it wasn’t enough time.

  “So, I took a look at all your sites today, and you guys
have a lot that needs to be done,” I started my pitch.

  Charley interrupted, “We can’t pay you.”

  “I mean, we barely get paid to play,” Frazier added.

  “I know,” I said, hoping to calm them down.

  I felt their fear, their apprehension. They were struggling artists who knew that nothing was free or cheap in this industry. It was one thing to hope for a break, a helping hand, or someone to throw them a bone, but that rarely happened. And the majority of people who offered it usually had a hidden agenda.

  “I didn’t come here, hoping to get the big bucks.”

  “That’s good. ’Cause we got no bucks,” Aaron said.

  “What did you come here hoping for then?” the lead singer asked with a wink.

  Is he flirting?

  He leaned his body closer to mine.

  Yeah, he was definitely flirting, but I shook him off and focused on the business at hand.

  “I came here, hoping you guys would hire me. And I’ll work for free for the next three months until I graduate. I’ll take pictures and video tonight to add to your pages, I’ll update all your sites, and I’ll build you guys a solid foundation that you can use, going forward. We also need to have one big meeting where we sit down and talk about each individual social media channel and your goals. I have a lot of things I want to ask you, but I need way more than twenty minutes.”

  I could tell that I was starting to lose them, overwhelm them. Social media was like a giant Oak tree that had a few large branches but what felt like a million smaller ones sprouting off in all directions. It was easy to get lost on a tiny branch and never get back to anything else.