As I slipped into the passenger seat in Eric’s shiny new Lexus, I said, “So this is what that half a million dollar raise buys?”

Eric laughed. “I do like cars. I’m still renting an apartment in Charlotte and trying to decide if I want to buy a house or condo and where.”

Eric Hinsdale was called up to the minors from triple-A a year ahead of me. He played center field, and I got sent to right field in Charlotte even though I played center field for the Ramblers. Eric was finishing up his first full year in the majors with Charlotte when I joined the team the previous September. He has the best smile I’ve ever seen, but he’s straight as an arrow. That helps make him excellent friend material. I don’t get distracted by wondering what else could happen between us.

“Thanks for inviting me for the drive. We’ll have plenty of time on planes soon enough.” Eric got approval from the front office to drive from Florida to Charlotte, North Carolina on our day off between spring training and opening day. Most of the team flew instead, but Eric wanted his car to be available without having to trust someone he hired to drive his luxury vehicle.

Eric said, “It’s good to have company. Are you the kid that wants to stick to the road and get there as soon as possible, or would you be up for a stop at the beach along the way?”

“Are you kidding? I love the beach. I grew up in Missouri thousands of miles from the coasts. Let’s stop. It’s not supposed to rain, is it?”

Eric said, “The forecast is good all week long. I’ll detour out to the islands by Savannah. Maybe we can have a fish sandwich for lunch. I grew up in Atlanta, and my family spent a lot of summer weekends in Savannah.”

Talking to Eric was easy. Many of the other players were a little standoffish with me. I think they avoided moving too close to a rookie when it was far from certain that he was in the big leagues to stay. My performance in the last month of the previous season introduced even more doubt. I arrived from the Ramblers in Chattanooga highly touted by the press, and then I batted a meager .230 for September. I knew it was only a slump, and my natural talent would kick in again soon. The fans and my fellow players weren’t as confident.

Spring training was a different story. I burned the opposing pitchers, and it didn’t take long for the media to push my name into headlines again.

I said, “You know, we need to find that perfect guy to take over the left field duties, and then we’ll have one of the best outfields in the league.”

Our left fielder was a journeyman veteran, Clarence Hammond, and his best days were behind him. I saw him fail to reach too many fly balls that a younger, faster player would have pulled down.

“You’re pretty confident, aren’t you?” asked Eric.

I grinned and said, “Always. At least I try to be.” I added in my announcer’s voice, “Introducing the next All-Star outfielder, Chase O’Rourke!”

Eric glanced at me and then returned his eyes to the road. “You know, that is what a lot of the guys on the team are saying about you. They are talking up both the All-Star game and Rookie of the Year selection. Doesn’t the pressure get to you sometimes?”

“Not really, but, honestly, let’s keep that noise to a low rumble. It would be fantastic if it happened, but I’m superstitious enough to think we could all jinx it if we talk about it too much.”

“Superstitious, eh? You’re playing the right game then. Mo carries a ratty old rabbit’s foot in his pocket that his uncle gave him when he was four years old. He said it’s been in his family for a lot longer than that.”

Mo Sadler was our secret weapon. He was a relief pitcher and likely to be named our closer for the season. The Yellowjackets acquired him in an off-season trade, and Mo terrorized batters all the way through spring training. Even though he was 38 and nearing the twilight of his career, I knew it was going to be a big year for Mo. I was glad I didn’t have to bat against him. He was built a little like a lean version of a football tackle. I wouldn’t want to encounter Mo in a dark alley.

I said, “Superstitions are interesting. I guess I never told you about my Grandpa’s silver dollar.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“That’s because it doesn’t exist.” I threw my head back and laughed.

I could hear and smell the ocean before we could see it. The wind was whipping up the waves at Tybee Island, but the air was warm, and the sky was sunny. Eric drove past the more touristy places and pulled up at a fish place that was little more than a shack. He said, “You get the real thing here.”

Eric pulled a blanket out of the trunk of the car and tucked it under his arm. I said, “I thought we were eating.”

“We are. We’ll grab our sandwiches and drinks and then sit on the sand and eat.”

The man at the shack with a dark, weather-beaten face handed over our food in brown paper bags. I followed Eric to the beach, and he spread the blanket out for us to sit. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks, and let my toes wiggle around in the sand. I set my food and drink on the blanket near me and stared out at the waves.

“Will this work for you?” asked Eric.

I held a finger up to my lips and said, “Shh, I need to watch the water for a few minutes.”

Eric took his sandwich and fries out of the bag while I pulled my knees up and rested my arms on them. After another sixty seconds, the aroma of fish and fries was too much. My stomach growled, and I had to eat, too.

Eric asked, “So, all you did was work out and hang out with relatives in the off-season? That’s all you mentioned. You didn’t have any hot dates?”

I bit into the sandwich. The fish tasted like the ocean. We never had fish like it in Missouri. Catfish wasn’t the same thing.

I contemplated Eric’s question and wondered how much I should share. I said, “I want to tell you something about me because I consider you a friend, but I don’t think it can be common knowledge on the team.”

Eric stared at the waves and asked, “Are you gonna tell me that you’re gay?”

I was so startled by the unexpected question that I nearly fumbled my sandwich. I juggled it in my hands and managed to avoid dropping the top bun tartar sauce side down on the blanket.

“Good hands,” said Eric. “That’s why they put you in the outfield.”

“How did you know?”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I see the way you look at guys. You used to look at me that way until we started hanging out together, and you saw me flirt with women in the bar. I’m sure you already know, but there are a lot more guys in the league like you than most people think.”

“I hope it changes soon, and I can be out, but I’m not gonna be a sacrificial lamb. At least I’m not going to do it this year. Anyway, I decided to mention it because I did have a couple of dates and then the relationship blew up like a gay soap opera.”

Eric set his sandwich on the paper bag and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Oh, I want details. I love sordid stories.”

“Sordid? I’m not sure it’s that. His name is Brandon Hunt.”

“Sounds like a baseball name.”

I shook my head. “Brandon couldn’t catch a ball if it had a handle on it. We had a serious crush on each other in high school, but we were both too nervous to do anything about it. He was a nerdish type in black-rimmed glasses playing the saxophone in our jazz band, and I was a rare bird, a gay jock.”

Eric shook his head. “As I said, there’s more of you than most people think.”

I continued my story. “Brandon ran into my mom when he came back to our hometown for Christmas, and she gave him my phone number. She doesn’t understand the concept of privacy. Anyway, three days later my head was on Brandon’s pillow in his apartment, and he was pawing at me with his thin, spidery fingers.”

“Uh, I don’t need the gory man-on-man details,” said Eric.

“Well, something was missing for me. Brandon’s braininess wasn’t exciting anymore like it was in high school. After we spent a few hours together, I got tired of his annoying, superior attitude toward most other people in the world. He wanted me to join him in his view of the earth as the two of us perched on a peak looking down and judging the rest of humanity.”

Eric snickered.

“My realization didn’t stop me from being stupid. I still followed Brandon to bed. I’d spent so much time obeying the trainer’s advice and grinding away in the gym that I wanted some fun in bed, and I knew Brandon going down on my cock... Oops, sorry!” I turned toward Eric with a sheepish grin on my face.

He waved his hand. “That’s okay. Go ahead. I want to know how this turned out.”

“It was all underwhelming, but Brandon was enthusiastic. He was into me, and he blushed from ear-to-ear when I kissed him. It wasn’t long before something embarrassing happened.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Well, he showed up in Florida during spring training.”

I watched Eric wrack his brain. “You’re not saying that’s the guy that you said was an old buddy from home, are you? I remember that you begged off that night when I asked you out for tacos with Javier and me.”

I nodded. “Yep, that was him. At first, I didn’t believe my eyes when I saw him. He didn’t contact me in advance. He was seated just above the first base dugout. I recognized his trademark glasses from clear out in the outfield.”

“Was that the game when you dropped the easy fly ball?”

“Yep, distraction.”

“Well, get to the juicy part of the story minus the sex detail of course.”

“Okay, yeah. We ended up in bed, but I couldn’t stop thinking about another guy.”

“Oh, that’s bad. I’ve been there and done that with women. It’s guaranteed to get you in trouble. What happened next?”

“I closed my eyes, and it was sex. It felt good, and I tried not to think about the fact that I didn’t care about Brandon. Instead, I imagined that it was Aaron. Then at the big moment, I yelled out, ‘Aaron!!’”

Eric threw his head back and laughed. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “You didn’t.”

I stared back at him. “I did.”

He roared with laughter again before asking, “Hey, wait. Who’s Aaron? I’ve not heard about an Aaron.”

“Yep, that’s what Brandon asked. I can quote him. ‘What the fucking hell?! Who’s Aaron?”

Eric rubbed his hands on his jeans again. I said, “This is the part you have to keep quiet. Do you promise?”

“Of course. I told you about sleeping with my sister’s best friend, and I trust you to never tell her. Someday you’ll meet, and you’ll be tempted to tell the story. It will probably be on my wedding day. I’ll slap duct tape over your mouth if I have to.”

I laughed softly. “That was a funny story. Anyway, Aaron. Damn, he was good.”

“I don’t care about that. Who is he? Was Aaron another friend from high school? Is he a player in Chattanooga with the Ramblers?”

“The manager.”

Eric’s jaw dropped open. He mumbled, “No…”

I nodded and said, “Yep. Afterward, all I could think about was my sister’s comment, ‘Never have sex with the boss!’”

“Well, you know she’s right.”

“But it was after we knew he wouldn’t be my boss anymore.”

“You were saying goodbye and somehow ended up in bed?”

I nodded, and Eric laughed again. My story provided quality lunchtime entertainment for my buddy. “Anyway, I refused to tell Brandon. It was none of his business, and I didn’t ask him to stalk me in Florida. A few minutes later, he stormed out of the hotel room. The funny thing is that it was his room. I left fifteen minutes later when he didn’t come back.”

“I only have one piece of advice for you, buddy.”

I turned my head to face Eric and asked, “What’s that?”

“Keep your dick in your pants. Seriously, at least hold it back until you hit a groove in the season. You can’t afford the distraction. The first full year is hard work. Trust me.”

I shrugged. “Baseball is never hard work for me. I’m not bragging when I say that. It’s the truth. I was a little distracted last September, but I knew the stats would rise again. You saw me in spring training.”

Eric polished off the last bite of his sandwich. Then he reached for the hem of his T-Shirt and pulled it off over his head. Eric was thin and wiry with dark curly hair on his chest. He stood up in his jeans and his bare feet saying, “It’s a lot of hard work for me, Mr. Natural, but I want a little jog in the waves before I cram this body back into the car. Are you gonna join me?”

I followed his example and peeled off my T-Shirt, too. I watched Eric glance at my muscular body and shake his head. I said, “I’ll race you.”

He ran ahead of me shouting, “You’re on!”