ME: Shouldn’t you be stretching or bagging flies right now or something? Why do you have your phone on you?
DREW: Shagging flies. And I just wanted to check in to make sure you’re okay
I smirked to myself, trying to suppress my amusement since I was attracting eyes around the restaurant for laughing to myself so much. But I couldn’t help it. Drew Maddox being protective was as adorable as it was sexy to me, and I honestly couldn’t believe he was taking time out of his pre-game routine to check in on me so much. I kept imagining him in uniform, jogging back and forth between the field and the clubhouse to sneak texts to me.
ME: Drew as cute as you are to worry about me I’m going to tell you to get back to doing your pre-game thing. Still not sure how baseball works but I do know I need you to win tonight, especially if the crowd is going to be as bad as you say.
DREW: I will win tonight. And they’re probably going to be even worse than I said.
And as it turned out, he was right on both counts.
Because as soon as I got to the stadium the heckling started up again, and were it not for the company of the other WAGs, particularly Angie Diaz, I’d be a little intimidated – mostly because the majority of the yelling was directed solely to me.
It was mostly a lot of “fuck Drew Maddox” with some “stupid gold-digger” and “whore” comments peppered in, but by the time we sat, the hecklers got more creative.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing with a psychopath, huh?”
“Is he holding you against your will, sweetheart?”
“Hey, blink twice if you need us to call the cops!”
“Ignore them, girl.” Angie squeezed my hand while wearing a big grin and waving down the field to her husband, Alex – or as Drew called him, Diaz.
“I am. Not even looking behind me,” I reassured her.
“Good. The boys always worry when we come to L.A games because the fans get rowdy,” she said between her brilliant, smiling teeth as she blew Diaz a kiss. “And they were even more worried today, but I told them we’re big girls, and we don’t scare easy.”
“Yes. Totally,” I nodded vehemently, but then I frowned. “Wait. Why were they particularly worried today?”
Angie turned to me with a funny smile.
“Well… because you’re here today, sweetie,” she said as if it were obvious. “Drew can ignore the hecklers easy, but with you here? The fans know he’s got a weakness now, and if they can’t get under his skin, they’re gonna try to get under yours – which is why we’re just gonna let that shit roll off our backs, right? Because we don’t want to give our boys anything to worry about.”
“Oh yeah. Totally,” I agreed readily, though I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of worry.
And guilt.
For God’s sake, I had come here to serve as Drew’s emotional support, not his Kryptonite.
“It’s okay, honey,” Angie said, patting my hand when she read the look of concern in my eyes. “As long as you stay strong for him, he’ll be fine. All Drew needs is to know you’re okay, and he’ll be okay, too. That’s just how love goes.”
“Of course,” I said, blushing like an idiot over the L word.
Still, I did manage to heed the rest of Angie’s advice by staying calm and giving the crowd nothing to work off of for the next two-and-a-half hours – even as the abuse started to move away from Drew and more toward my family. Clearly, these people were Googling me between innings because the taunting was starting to get insanely specific.
“Evie! That beer you’re drinking could pay your mom’s mortgage this month!”
“Hey, Belfield girl, are you really his fiancée? Or are you his drug dealer?”
“Hey, sweetie, I’ll buy you a pack of cigs if you suck my dick.”
“Fuckin’ trailer traaaash!”
I could see it getting to even Angie.
“Jesus, these fuckin’ pendejos, are they serious?” she muttered to herself, in the midst of turning around in her seat before I stopped her.
“Angie. It’s okay,” I said, forcing a laugh. “It doesn’t bother me. I’ve already started getting used to it.”