oh that’s too good!! too too good!!! I tweaked this just slightly for the ~slow burn~ but oh god i love the idea of Mike being a total shit trying to wheedle info from a slightly surly Ginny.
got you deep in the heart of me | ao3
Before exiting her dressing room, Ginny poked her head out the door and looked both ways, feeling like a little kid again, waiting to cross the street. Only, the danger here wasn’t some inattentive driver about to mow her down. In fact, she would welcome some negligent, self-centered behavior right now. It sure as hell beat what was actually happening.
Sighing in relief at the empty hallway, Ginny ducked back into her room, snagged her tablet and headphones, and snuck out the door.
That’s what she’d been reduced to. Peeking around corners and creeping through the clubhouse like some kind of criminal. If this kept up, Ginny was pretty sure she was well on her way to be the youngest, healthiest woman to die of a heart attack. She’d become a paranoid mess, constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for the inevitable moment when—
“Just a hint, Baker.”
That.
Ginny managed not to jump out of her skin this time, but she did whirl on the source of her constantly suspicious state.
“Christ, Lawson. Wear a bell or something,” she complained, pushing past six feet of solid major league catcher. She strode down the hall, ignoring her bearded shadow in favor of nodding to her other teammates. He was pretty hard to ignore, especially considering the way their teammates didn’t. They’d flick him curious looks, which, at first, Ginny thought meant they were in the dark, wanting to know why the hell he’d been hounding her lately.
She kept thinking that right up until Stubbs asked him, “You find out what it is yet?”
Though he’d been quiet, Ginny was standing literally three feet away. Of course she heard him. The hissed chorus of “Shut up!” didn’t help anyone’s case.
Ginny leveled Mike an exasperated glare. “You told them?”
“About your ink?” he asked, chomping on a wad of gum and somehow managing to give her a shit-eating smirk at the same time. “I may’ve mentioned it.”
Taking a look around the clubhouse and clocking too many faces turning away, trying not to get caught, Ginny narrowed her eyes in consideration. She sighed in defeat and slouched into an empty seat, beckoning them on. Mike’s face lit up and several of their teammates perked up, too.
“What have you heard?” she asked first, looking around at the room full of gossipmongers parading around as her teammates.
There were a few guilty looks thrown around, but Sonny got the ball rolling.
“You really get tatted up in Vegas, Baker?”
She rolled her eyes, thinking the tiny bit of ink hardly qualified her as “tatted up,” but confirmed anyway.
“Why Vegas, mami?” Livan splayed out in his chair and smirked at the dirty look Ginny threw him.
“Haven’t ever been,” she replied, sticking to the bare facts, “aside from road trips with the Chihuahuas. My friend was driving out for the weekend and invited me along.”
Cara, upon learning that they both had free weekends—practically unheard of in the middle of baseball season—had declared a girl’s trip to Vegas was in order. Ginny was more than happy to oblige, even bankrolling a room in a real hotel rather than the rundown motel they would’ve been stuck in otherwise. Any argument that rundown motels were part of the experience was trumped by the thread count of the sheets at the Wynn.
It seemed that the Wynn was just as excited to have Ginny Baker as a guest as she and her friends were not to worry about bed bugs. Several bottles of complimentary champagne awaited them in the room.
What was it about being champagne drunk that made bad decisions seem so rational?
Whatever it was, Cara went home covered in a stripper’s body glitter while Ginny left permanently branded.
“It hurt?”
“Just ‘cause you need someone to hold your hand while you get yours doesn’t mean we all do.”
A low “ooh” echoed through the room, like it was full of a bunch of teenagers and not pro ballplayers. The guys ragged on Sal good-naturedly and Ginny grinned to soften the blow. Salvi still clutched at his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.
“So. Where is it?” That was Voorhies, waggling his eyebrows.
A hush fell over the room and Ginny considered for a moment. Her gaze darted over to Mike and his head was tilted inquiringly, though the corners of his mouth were tugged down in a faint frown. Like he was thinking too hard.
That decided it.
“Well,” Ginny rubbed her neck, a little sheepish, before plowing on, “it’s kinda personal, you know? I put in a lot of thought to what I was going to get. I had to. It’s gonna be on my body forever, right?”
She gestured up and down and was pleased to see nearly every pair of eyes trace the movement. Several guys nodded along, wide-eyed and hanging on her every word.
“Since it’s so personal, I knew it had to go somewhere that wasn’t always on display. Somewhere that not many people would get to see. Just someone special,” she breathed, smiling soft and biting her lip for emphasis.
It was utterly silent in the San Diego Padres’ clubhouse. Pin drop silent. Twenty-four fully grown men waiting with baited breath as Ginny’s fingers toyed with the hem of her jersey, flirting with the seam.
“But you guys are my teammates. You’re all important to me and,” she drew a deep breath and scanned the room, making eye contact with each and every Padre, including the now scowling catcher and captain, “I’ve decided…”
Ginny paused, waiting until the tension in the room was palpable, every man on the edge of his seat in anticipation, before springing her trap.
“… that none of you losers are ever gonna see it,” she finished firmly, pushing to her feet and striding off to the cardio suite.
A chorus of disappointed groans followed her, but Ginny didn’t care. They deserved it, the busybodies. And no one more than her captain, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, apparently.
She set herself up on a bike that faced that door—no more sneak attacks from Lawson, thank you—and started going over hitters for her next outing in a few days. Better to concentrate on that than her teammates’ apparent inability to mind their own damn business.
Of course, just because he couldn’t sneak up on her the way he’d been doing for the past week, didn’t mean Mike was going to leave her in peace.
Watching Mike amble around the otherwise empty room like he just so happened to wander in, not even ten minutes after Ginny’d gotten there herself, she couldn’t help but curse Eliot’s big, fat mouth. Again.
To be fair, she hadn’t told him that her tattoo was a secret, but really. Some things didn’t need to be said, did they?
Though, she never would’ve thought that Mike would be the one Eliot told. Honestly, she didn’t want to know what conversation had led to that information being in play. Or how that conversation even started. If she’d ever thought about it, she would’ve put money on Mike not even remembering Eliot existed half the time.
Which was why it was such a surprise when her captain showed up outside her changing room one afternoon looking like the cat that ate the canary.
“A little birdy told me your secret, Baker,” he’d sung, leaning in the door frame.
She’d spared him a glance, by now used to the way he made her heart speed up and her brain fuzz over. But he was her teammate and they weren’t talking about it, so she ignored the way her body wanted to rebel and fold itself up in his arms.
“Got a lot of secrets, Lawson,” she’d drawled. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
A flash of frowning surprise passed over his face, like he hadn’t realized he might not know everything there was to know about her, but it was gone in a blink. He hadn’t been put off for long.
“Something about a little bit of body art you may have gotten over the break?” Her dumbstruck look must have spoken for itself because his expression turned self-satisfied. “So it’s true? Ginny Baker got a tattoo?”
“How d’you even know that?” she’d demanded. The only people who knew were Cara, who’d been in the parlor with her, and—
“Eliot,” she and Mike had said at the same time, Ginny with a grimace and Mike with a cocky grin. She sank back into her chair and groaned in annoyance. She’d told Eliot about the tattoo so he’d keep any hint of it off her social media accounts, keep it private. Not tell a man—one who loved to hear himself talk—all about it.
Then, he’d cocked his head and given her a considering look. A look that Ginny was becoming more and more familiar with the longer they kept not talking about it. His cocky grin turned a little dangerous and Ginny would deny to her dying day the way it made her body thrum with awareness.
“So, what’d you get?” A simple question complicated both by the low rumble of Mike’s voice and it’s answer.
So, in defiance of the way his voice made her knees turn to jelly, Ginny’d stood, marched straight up to Mike, and slammed the door in his face with a “None of your goddamn business!”
And she’d stuck with that answer in the week since Mike found out about the tattoo, though he’d done his best to goad her into letting something slip. He popped up where he was least expected—waiting outside her changing room, showing up to her bullpen sessions, following her to her PT appointments—leaving Ginny on high alert at all times. For the past seven days, she’d been constantly aware of the better than good chance that her captain and catcher was lurking somewhere nearby, ready to ambush her. Now that he’d roped the team into his information gathering mission, Ginny was positive her stock answer would be put into even heavier rotation.
One eye on her heat maps and one eye on the catcher trying to casually roam the cardio suite, Ginny waited.
Not long. Within a few minutes Mike ambled over as if he’d just noticed he wasn’t alone.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted sunnily, leaning against the bike’s console. Ginny leveled him with her best unimpressed stare, though it seemed to bounce right off Mike’s layers of studied nonchalance and self-importance. “You wanted to get away from all the questions, I’m sure.”
“And yet I’m positive you’re itching to ask one of your own,” she replied dryly. “Spit it out, Lawson.”
He grinned and inclined his head in acknowledgement. Ginny definitely didn’t track his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. No, her attention was entirely focused on her scouting reports as she braced herself for the interrogation.
Surprisingly, Mike led off with a new question. Well, for him, at least. “You’re really not gonna show anyone?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she cut him a sideways glance. “Not any of my teammates, no.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not any of their damn business what I put on my body.”
Mike’s head tilted in consideration, but he nodded slowly. Ginny wanted to sigh in relief. If he accepted that, then maybe that was the end of it.
She should have known better.
“What about someone who’s not your teammate?” he asked, studying her intently enough that she wanted to squirm.
“It’s not like I’m running around showing it off to everyone who’s not a Padre,” she grumped under his scrutiny. She punched up the resistance on the machine and hoped Mike would take the hint.
He didn’t.
“So, you’ll show someone special.”
“Someone special,” she echoed, at a loss. Sure, she’d said it out in the main area, but that was a joke. What was with the significant looks he was giving her? Should she know where he’s going with this?
“Who’s not a Padre.”
And it clicked. What Mike had been asking all along.
Ginny’s heart stopped. They didn’t talk about this. They’d agreed not to talk about this. And yet, if the serious expression on Mike’s face was any sign, that didn’t matter. She swallowed and her heart sputtered back into rhythm. Her legs started pumping again, feeling strangely disconnected from her brain.
“Who’s not a Padre,” she agreed hoarsely. And then, because she couldn’t hold it in: “Anymore.”
Mike’s dropped any pretense of nonchalance. His gaze cut straight to hers and he leaned in a little, his sudden intensity making her mouth go dry. Ginny looked back and tried to will herself not to flush, or break eye contact. She wasn’t going to compromise on this.
There were still two seasons left on Mike’s contract. Even if his knees didn’t last the whole time, that was a long stretch where they were going to be teammates. Ginny was sure that her career, only in its first full season in the majors, wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny and scandal that would descend if it ever got out that she involved herself with her captain while they were still playing together. She wasn’t even sure that it would survive if they kept everything above board, but at least she’d be able to live with herself.
They’d gotten so good at reading each other, Ginny knew Mike would know exactly what she wasn’t saying.
He looked away and sighed. “You’re really gonna make me wait that long to see it?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, still reeling a little from the surreal turn her day just took.
He nodded his understanding, but didn’t crack a smile. Knuckles rapping softly against the bike’s hand grip, Mike pushed back, and turned away.
“It’s—” Her mouth went dry, but she had to give him something. “I think you’ll like it.”
“It’s on you, Gin,” he replied, though he didn’t bother to stop or turn back to face her. “Of course I’ll like it.”
Ginny watched him go, the 36 emblazoned on his back taunting her. She rubbed self-consciously at her ribs.
Just under her fingertips, navy ink outlined in gold, that same number lay etched into her skin.
What Mike would say when he finally got to see it, Ginny could only imagine. Although, the imagining was pretty fun all on its own.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, thoughts that were decidedly not helpful to her resolve to wait, Ginny turned back to her tablet. She didn’t need to figure things out right now.
After all, she had two seasons to figure out a good comeback.
i'm dying! to death! 