The Ninth Inning (The Boys of Baseball #1) - J. Sterling Page 0,24
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.