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Bellamy Blake felt like he lived with a comfortable amount of fame. Although he was a professional athlete and had his picture on baseball cards, posters, and even a few ndorsement deals, he was still able to live a relatively normal life. At least as normal and someone who traveled the majority of the year and played 162 baseball games a year, not counting spring training and post season. He wasn’t the kind of guy to go out of his way and seek out attention when he was on his own free time.
So why he felt the need to talk to the girl perusing the art history section of the bookstore was slightly out of character. Especially with Miller a few rows over looking through True Crime novels and Murphy lurking nearby texting a girl he had met earlier in the week.
It might have been because she was humming an old tunne quietly as she flipped through a coffee table book on great American artists and he had always had a soft spot for Moon River. It reminded him of sitting on the couch with his mom and watching Breakfast At Tiffany’s when it was her turn to pick the movie.
It might have been because she was beautiful with long blonde hair that fell in waves down her back and big blue eyes surrounded by a fringe of lashes. She was the perfect height to fit against his side, and had a mole above her lip that was distracting in the best way.
Or it might have been that she was wearing his jersey.
He knew he was a popular player. He had a tragic backstory the media liked to bring up whenever they ran a piece about the time and energy he put into the charity he started after his career began to take off. He realized that rich people liked to donate money to have their names associated with award winning athletes. Not to mention, the Centennial has made it to the playoffs last year so seeing one of his jerseys around the city was a common occurrence. But for some reason, seeing this woman in his jersey, with Blake on the back above his number 9 was causing him to lose all of his ability to act like a normal person and talk to her. So instead, he was pretending to read a book on Greek architecture and the impact on Western Europe while surreptitiously glancing over the edge of the pages to watch her make her way through the section.
When she made her way through the aisle, finally coming within a few steps of Bellamy, he cleared his throat and spoke up. “Excuse me, he began.
She looked up, noticing that he was standing next to her. “Oh, sorry.” She said. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
He smiled and asked, “Want me to sign your shirt?”
What the fuck. He thought to himself as the words left his mouth. WHAT THE FUCK.
She looked at him oddly and then down at the jersey she was wearing open over a blue tank top. “What?” The corners of her eyes wrinkled with confusion.
He stood there like a deer in the headlights, trying to think of a way to comeback from possibly the worst pick up line he had ever used in his entire life. He felt the tips of his ear getting hot and rubbed the back of his neck, “I uh…that’s my jersey. Do you want an autograph?” From the corner of his eye, he could see Miller fling his arm out and smack Murphy’s chest with the back of his hand, indicating Bellamy’s direction with a jerk of his chin.
The girl cocked her head and looked at him for a moment, studying him, before realization dawned over her features. “Oh, are you a soccer player?”
Bellamy couldn’t stop his head from snapping up in surprise, “What? No, I’m a catcher. I play baseball…” He trailed off lamely.
He could hear snickering coming from Murphy’s direction.
She scrunched her nose and looked back down at the jersey where an antlered buck was embroidered on the left side of the chest. “I didn’t know it was for baseball. I actually stole this from my roommate. It might actually be her boyfriend’s? I’m not sure.” She laughed. “It was mixed in with our laundry. I thought the deer was cute so I stole it.”
Bellamy could tell without looking that Miller was inwardly dying from laughter. He could feel the judgement from across the room. From the speed of Murphy’s fingers flying over his phone screen, Bellamy would guess that he was live tweeting the whole thing.
Bellamy was embarrassed and felt like an idiot. He thought he probably ought to cut his losses and try to bow out of the situation gracefully. “Oh ok...I thought maybe you were a fan. I don’t ever actually ask people that.” He dragged his hand through his hair, fully aware that the disorderly curls were probably looking even more chaotic but he was beyond caring. “Sorry, I feel like such an asshole now.
She hugged the book to her chest and smiled slightly at him, watching him stammer though his apology.
“I’m just going to go now,” he began to back up.
Just before he could turn, she spoke up. “My names Clarke.” The corner of her mouth tilted up in a smirk and her eyes glinted. “I’m just fucking with you. I know who you are. Bellamy Blake, drafted out of high school but didn’t sign. Went on to play college ball and signed after graduation with Mecha. Arcadia traded for you 4 years ago. The year before last you played in the All Star game. Last year you guys made it to the playoffs. Hopefully you guys get to the Series this year.”
She sent him a wicked grin and he knew he was staring at her dumbfounded. “Oh, and it is my jersey.”
He felt a slow smile creep across his face and he took a step back towards her. “Well, if I can’t interest you in an autograph, how about a cup of coffee?”