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David glared at the back of Stevie’s head, hoping looks could kill Stevie and her pack of lies. This baseball game was nothing like the one Dad forced him to attend at Rogers Centre – no cushy seats, no nacho bar, no glass to protect him from rogue balls. Stevie lured him here under false pretenses with the promise of barbecue and it was apparently still cooking. At least he’d managed to wheedle a bag of chips out of the barbecue guy.
David adjusted his signature white sunglasses and wished he’d thought to snag one of Mom’s parasols. Would it have killed Stevie to tell him there was no shade covering these uncomfortable metal benches? Or that the game goes on forever? The only thing making this game worthwhile was the ass on Number 7. Number 7 had spent several ball catching turns squatting behind home plate and one memorable one in the grass-ish part of the arena running and jumping to catch the ball. His performance during the team’s ball hitting turns also provided excellent eye candy. David thoroughly enjoyed the ten minutes he spent imagining Number 7’s brown eyes and determination focused solely on him as they got to know one another in 1,000 thread count sheets in a penthouse apartment somewhere far away from Schitt’s Creek.
“David!” Stevie’s shout startled David out of his latest daydream staring Number 7 and his delicious tree trunk thighs.
“What?” he yelled back.
“Come hang out for the seventh-inning stretch.”
David reluctantly made his way down to the dirt part of the arena. Stevie punched him in the shoulder and then began loudly singing a song about baseball. Everyone around him was singing too. Is baseball some kind of cult? Does he need to stage an intervention for Stevie? Thank fuck the song was short.
“David, I want to introduce you to Patrick. He just moved to town and is living with Ray.”
David looked up to see Stevie giving a thumbs up behind Number 7’s back. “My condolences,” David said as he shook Patrick’s outstretched hand. “Or I guess congratulations if you and Ray are dating and just moved in together…”
“No! No, no. Ray is my boss and landlord. I’m single,” Patrick replied with a grin.
“Budd, Brewer, come get your heads and asses back in the game,” someone yelled.
“It’s nice to meet you, David. Do you like baseball? Because I’d love to strike up a conversation with you. After the game, that is.”
“Umm, okay, I guess.”
“Great! See you after the game,” Patrick said with a wink before running off to the shack on the far side of the baseball arena.
“Ciao!” David replied.
Fuck, did I just say ciao to that person? Also am I seriously contemplating chatting up someone who uses baseball puns to hit on people? David thought. He watched Patrick throw him a cute little wave before bending over to adjust the strap on his leg guard, then squatting down behind home plate. That was a man with a beautiful smile and, frankly, an ass that David wanted to get to know better. Apparently Schitt’s Creek David was indeed the kind of person who could be picked up with shitty baseball puns.
⚾⚾⚾⚾⚾⚾
For their six-month anniversary, Patrick cooked David his mom’s lasagna, setting the table with a large bouquet of roses, lilies and tulips and lighting candles. It was the most romantic dinner of David’s life to date. Though, to be fair, every romantic dinner on David’s top ten list involved Patrick.
As they reminisced about meeting at the baseball game a week before David’s appointment to get his business license, David finally decided to ask Patrick something he’d been mulling over since that day.
“Obviously, everything worked out in the end,” David began.
“Obviously,” said Patrick with an upside down smile as he gently caressed David’s knuckles with his thumb.
“Yes, things,” David gestured wildly between them, “worked out. But why on earth did you use a baseball themed pickup line to flirt with me?”
“Seriously?” Patrick sputtered.
“Yes. It’s never made sense to me. Do I look like someone who enjoys frequenting small town baseball arenas or baseball games in general?” David asked, clearly offended by the implication.
“David, sweetheart, of course not. Now that I know you better, I know that a baseball themed pickup line was probably the worst possible thing I could have said to you. But do you remember what you wore to the game?”
David thought back on his cute spectator look. “Oh!”
“Yes, oh. You wore your gray Givenchy baseball and skull sweatshirt. I thought I was being cute and clever. But don’t worry, Stevie told me you were only there for the barbecue and likely wouldn’t ever show up to a game again.”
“So that’s why you kept offering to get me more food.”
“Guilty. I wanted any excuse to keep you there and talking to me.”
“Well, it worked. I want you to know that I love you,” David locked eyes with Patrick, “and I’d go to bat for you.”
“Aw, David. Did you just use a baseball themed pickup line on me?”
“Depends. Did it work?”
“Home run, baby! Let’s go upstairs and see if we can round all the bases.”
“You’re lucky I love you.”
“The luckiest. I love you, too.”