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To be honest, Cara didn’t ever expect to hear from Ginny Baker again. There were a pile of bobby pins in the cup holder of her car and a pair of ridiculous heels in the trunk, traded for jeans, a shirt, and a ride to San Diego, but that was all that she ever expected to get out of her wild night with America's most famous pitcher.
(She assumed. Cara still didn't understand—or care, honestly—all that much about baseball. But the only woman in the league had to be pretty famous, right?)
And it was fine. She could accept that. Even if she wished it were different. Ginny clearly had a lot going on in her life and Cara, well, didn't. Sure, she was an actress, had her SAG card and everything, but that didn't mean much in a town like LA. Her big break—hell, a little break—had yet to hit. Mostly, her days were spent waiting to hear from her agent about shitty roles in shittier B-movies as she made rent by waitressing at any number of trendy places around town. They went under so often, Cara was basically always on the hunt for another job.
So, as much fun as she and Ginny'd had, as real as their connection felt, Cara was more than prepared to let it go. It'd be her fun story to tell at parties: The time she took Ginny Baker out for one night of zero-responsibility fun.
Which was why it was such a surprise to receive a package full of her stuff and a handwritten note from Ginny herself.
Coming home to the thing waiting outside her apartment was a shock in and of itself. The only packages Cara tended to get were from her mom or Amazon. This definitely wasn't one of her mom's bimonthly care packages, though at least that meant she didn't have to guiltily recycle the printouts of job listings from back home that always "accidentally" fell into the box without reading them. And there wasn't enough branding to be Amazon.
Was it any wonder Cara tore into the thing the moment she got inside? She could hardly contain her curiosity. Since none of her roommates were home—the joy of being the only one to work days—she didn't have to fend off anyone else's either.
Rather than a misdirected package as she almost expected, like the time she accidentally received someone's obscenely expensive lingerie—if it'd been her size, Cara would've seriously considered keeping them—it was unmistakably meant for her. Unmistakably because the box was full of her own stuff. Well, it was mostly her own stuff. Right at the top, she recognized the t-shirt from her old roommate's ex's terrible band. Beneath that were her jeans and the hoodie she'd last seen clutched in Ginny's hand as she drove out of the parking lot. Neatly folded below those, however, was a white Padres jersey with BAKER proudly displayed across the back. Nestled inside that was what could only be a Ginny Baker bobblehead and a plain white envelope.
Flicking the brim of the bobblehead's Padres hat, Cara couldn't help but grin as she opened the letter, scrawled on hotel stationery, and read:
Cara—
I wanted to make sure you got this back. You gave me so much that night—seriously, thank you—I couldn't repay you by stealing your clothes, too.
Hope you like the jersey. You should wear it when you come down and catch a game. I can show you San Diego the way you showed me LA. Just maybe with less poolside dunking.
Then, underneath her signature, complete with what could only be Ginny Baker's actual phone number—which, how many tabloids or stalker fans would kill to get that information and here Ginny was, just sending it off in packages that didn't even require a signature on delivery—was one last aside.
P.S. It's weird to send the bobblehead, isn't it? I told Amelia it was weird, but she said they look way better than the original prototype. Which, now that I write it, I realize doesn't address the weirdness factor. They kind of creep me out, so feel free to get rid of or burn it if you want.
Funny. Cara thought the little figurine, her head still wobbling on its spring, was pretty damn cute. Maybe not as cute as Ginny herself, but then again, what was?
After the package came the texting. And the pictures.
At first, it was less a conversation and more sporadic and superficial check-ins whenever one of them had the chance.
Cara sent a quick thank you for the package and attached a picture of her Ginny bobblehead nestled in the leaves of the houseplant she'd managed to keep alive all through college. Now it sat in pride of place on her sunny windowsill. That kicked off a short exchange, basic pleasantries that still managed to fill Cara with a warm sense of excitement.
When it'd been a few hours without a response from Ginny, even though it was a natural place to stop, Cara told herself not to be disappointed. This was more than she'd ever expected to get from her, after all.
She resolved to forget about it all. Which didn't mean that Cara was all that successful, but she figured it was one of those things that got easier with time.
Except, a few days later, Ginny sent her own picture. It was a, frankly, breathtaking sunset as viewed from a cruising altitude of 38,000 feet. And in a private—charter, Ginny was quick to point out—jet, no less. That led to a discussion over whether or not it really was safe to text from a plane and which of Ginny's teammates required Dramamine or a beta blocker to even get in the air. Which in turn inspired a report on all the weird superstitions and jinxes that filled the clubhouse. For a sport full of macho dudes, baseball players sure were wimps.
Thus began a pattern. A few times a week, they'd trade pictures and casual hellos, maybe a funny little anecdote to cap things off. Sometimes it was just a string of all the dogs lounging at the feet of their owners as Cara served them overpriced quinoa salads and deconstructed sandwiches. Sometimes it was Ginny documenting the next in a long line of jury-rigged changing areas set aside for her use in the ballparks of America. Every so often, a picture sparked conversations that swung between pure silliness and unexpected depth.
Ginny
Have you ever gotten gum
out of hair before?
Cara
Not since I was in kindergarten.Why?
Within seconds, Ginny's scowling face, flanked by a dangling lock of hair with an unmistakable wad of gum stuck to the strands, hit Cara's phone, quickly followed by an explanation.
Lawson apparently hasn't
learned how to keep his gum
in his mouth like an adult.
Oh no. What happened?
He swears it was an accident,
that someone elbowed him
but I think he's just mad
I shook him off three times
today.
So he spat his gum on you?
Ok, maybe it was an
accident, but he's not nearly
as sorry as he should be.
Ahh. Well, you need any
help with a little payback,
I'm your girlp.s. try peanut butter
I'll keep that in mind :)
Cara was even pretty sure she wasn't talking about the peanut butter.
(When, just a few days later, she was solicited for feedback on a revenge prank, she couldn't help but thrill a little that, even in a small way, she really was Ginny Baker's girl.)
Soon, their conversations didn't need a visual icebreaker. It wasn't even multiple conversations. It was just one that kept rolling over from day to day, picking up new threads, but mostly forging ahead on its own steam.
They didn't even stick to texting. Cara couldn't actually remember the last time she talked on the phone so much with one person, but she couldn't quite get enough of Ginny or her low laugh and husky voice.
So, she didn't even think twice about calling Ginny after her most recent audition from hell. Murphy's Law could have learned a thing or two from that experience. Seriously, they tried to spring a tarantula on her? And it wasn't even a callback! But rather than share the tale with the other two aspiring actresses sharing her two-bedroom apartment in the Valley, Cara went to the world's most famous woman.
Ginny didn't question it, either. She just settled in and became the perfect audience, offering outraged indignation at every beat and twist in the story.
(It wasn't until they hung up, hours later, that Cara even thought to wonder a little at what her life had become. She pressed a hand to her burning cheek and bit down on the impulse to spin around or giggle or fling herself dramatically onto her bed. So what if Ginny Baker—easily one of the most beautiful, kind people she'd ever met—was rapidly becoming her best friend? That didn't mean Cara's crush was going anywhere.)
Of course, it wasn't just a one-way street. In return, Cara was more than happy to pick up the phone every time Ginny needed to vent about any number or the unyielding and unfair stresses put on her: her teammates or the pressure or the scrutiny or the loneliness.
Cara liked to think that she helped, at least a little, with that last one.
Except...
The other shoe had to drop, didn't it? Cara kept waiting for the catch. For the intimidating blonde agent to show up on her doorstep with threats and an NDA.
It never came.
She was just friends with Ginny Baker.
Just friends.
And that was how it was going to stay, which was something Cara needed to remind herself more often than she should. Ginny didn't need whatever circus would put down stakes the minute anyone suspected America's Glass Ceiling Smasher might be involved a woman. Hell, Cara didn't even know if Ginny was into girls, so it was something of a moot point. And they didn't even live in the same county, which in California meant they might as well be in different countries. They only actually saw each other in instagram posts and the odd facetime call. They'd only ever met the once.
There were lots of reasons Ginny and Cara were going to stay just friends. Some of them weren't even complete bullshit.
Until Ginny had to go and kick the legs out from under one of those reasons.
"You know you can come visit me, right?" she asked out of the blue. Well, not quite out of the blue. Cara'd been complaining about how much she needed a vacation from the whole starving artist schtick. Her restaurant job had ended when the owners decided food service wasn't in the stars for them. Literally. Their astrologist told them to try a new business venture. Reluctantly, Cara was back to cater waitering. "If you want to relax, the Omni has a really nice spa. Or, that's what Evelyn told me."
"If you think I can afford a spa treatment from the Omni—"
"Oh, I've got vouchers. They gave them to me when I first moved in, but I haven't had the time to use them."
"Not to mention you can get professional massages for free. And surrounded by a bunch of hot, jacked dudes," Cara teased.
She could practically sense Ginny rolling her eyes. "I've told you most of them aren't that hot in person, right?"
"Which implies that at least some of them are."
Cara may have been almost exclusively into women since she hit puberty, but she'd seen this year's Body Issue. She knew that a lot of the Padres—and not just Ginny—were objectively hot. If she was also trying to subtly suss out where Ginny's romantic interests tended, that wasn't a crime, was it? It was just the kind of information that friends knew about one another.
"Ha ha," Ginny returned, which really didn't answer any questions.
"Y'know," she said, mental cogs whirring, calculating how much she needed to work to make rent for the next few months. September was typically slow for cater waiters (and a slower one for struggling actresses). There was no reason for Cara to stay in LA if no one was going to be paying her. "I could probably make better assessments if I met them in person. I do have an in with the team, you know."
The line went quiet for a second before a bright burble of laughter rang in Cara's ear. "Really?" The pure glee in Ginny's voice sealed the deal.
Grinning softly even though there was no one around to see, she replied, "Really."
Immediately, Ginny started making plans, chattering away as Cara settled in and offered ideas when her friend seemed to lag.
Yeah. A trip to San Diego sounded like just what the doctor ordered.
Just, she never really imagined there would ever be any real doctors involved in it all.
Cara didn't find out about Ginny's almost no-hitter until almost 10 hours after the fact.
She'd booked a bit part that was probably going to end up on the cutting room floor if the movie ever even made it into distribution, and had to go from a brunch event straight to set and from set to an unseasonably late wedding to tend bar. Her phone had died six hours ago, and it wasn't until she climbed into her car to head home and sleep for the next century that Cara even thought to be more than mildly annoyed about it. At least she generally knew where she was going and how to make it back to the Valley, but it would be a trek.
This couple hadn't just cut corners by pushing their wedding to September; they'd pushed it all the way out of LA County. Who the hell had a wedding in Chino?
Without the GPS or even one of her own playlists to keep her occupied on the drive, Cara jabbed at the ancient radio. She let it scan for something as she put the car in gear and craned around to see if it was safe to back out of her parking spot.
No sooner had she eased off the brake, though, than she had to slam her foot back down. She jerked against the seatbelt as the car lurched to a stop, but Cara didn't care. She was too transfixed by the unfamiliar voice coming out of her speakers.
"... across the country were shocked when today San Diego Padre Ginny Baker, in the eighth inning of a would-be no-hitter, collapsed on the field and had to be removed from the game. The team has yet to issue a statement on the extent of her injury. Unaffiliated analysts and medical professionals have speculated that this could signal an abrupt end to the career of the first woman in the major leagues."
She didn't bother listening to the rest of the report, though it continued to air as she drove like a bat out of hell back home. By providence or dumb luck, Cara made it back to the Valley without having to around or drive in circles for twenty minutes trying to find a familiar landmark. Once she made it back in the apartment, she got her phone plugged in and waited impatiently for it to have enough juice to actually turn on.
Only when she was faced with the blank window above her keyboard did she realize she should have put her time waiting to better use.
What the hell was she supposed to say? She didn't know shit about baseball or injuries. She couldn't offer much more than moral support.
But maybe that was all Ginny really wanted right now.
Before Cara could overthink the content of her message, or the two tiny letters at the end of it, she hit send and dropped her phone like it would burn her.
Hey G- No need to respond, I'm sure
you've got a ton on your plate right
now. Just wanted you to know I hope
you're doing ok and I'm thinking of
you. xx
A watched pot might never boil, but the same couldn't be said for a watched text chain.
Even as Cara stared at the screen, a bubble popped up on Ginny's side of the conversation. God, why was she even still awake? It'd been hours and hours since she went to the hospital. At the very least, she should have been sleeping off the side effects of the good pain pills she'd definitely been dosed with. The perks of celebrity.
Ginny
I've been better.
Seems fake, but ok.
lol
Really? Are you actually laughing out
loud? No lying, now.
I chuckled!
Does a chuckle qualify as a laugh,
though? I'm gonna need a judge to
weigh in. Where's the spelling bee guy
when you need him??
Ok, now I really am laughing
That's my job here done.
With a sigh, she set her phone down. Now that she'd actually talked to Ginny, Cara's nerves weren't quite so jangly. Her pulse had evened out and her racing thoughts had calmed. Anyway, what mattered was how Ginny was doing, not the slight shock Cara'd suffered hearing about her friend on the radio.
Before she could tap out a final message for the night, telling Ginny to get some sleep and call her when she felt up to it, her phone's screen lit up again.
Hey. Thanks. It's nice talking about
something other than... you know.
Any time. Serious.
Um, about that...
Any chance you want to move
your SD trip up by a few weeks?
Cara blinked down at her phone. Hesitantly, she formed a reply.
Not against it, but... Are you sure?
Won't you have a ton of doctors and
people to see? I don't wanna get in
the way.
You won't! It'll be nice to have some
company with the team on the road.
I'd really like if it was you.
Well, no need to beg. When works
for you?
The sooner the better please.
And who was she to argue with a request like that? So, with a sigh that did not feel appropriately rueful and was entirely belied by the giddy excitement building in her stomach, Cara typed one last reply.
Your wish, my command.
Within 36 hours, Cara was back in San Diego for only the third time in her life. The first: Senior Week two years ago, which she could barely even remember courtesy of copious amounts of tequila. The second: dropping Ginny off outside of Petco before heading back up the coast to catch her afternoon shift at the restaurant. The third: whatever this was going to be.
Honestly, she had no idea what to anticipate, but was doing her best to keep expectations low. She and Ginny would have a lowkey girl's weekend and go back to being long distance friends. Modern day pen pals or whatever.
She felt conspicuously out of place pulling into the Omni's shallow drive in her shitty blue convertible, but the valet didn't even bat an eye when she handed over her keys and a tip.
Cara hadn't even made it three steps inside the lobby before she was nearly bowled over. Her bag hit the ground, but she didn't even care.
Even with just one good arm, the other confined to a sling with a Nike swoosh (gotta love branding), Ginny Baker was an excellent hugger. It was good to know Cara hadn't just imagined that the first time.
Automatically, Cara hugged her back, arms slipping around her trim waist and wrapping her up tight.
"It's so good to see you!" Ginny sighed, not quite ready to let go.
The reluctance was mutual.
"Back atcha, beautiful."
With one last squeeze, Ginny released her. She didn't bother to take much of a step back, though. This close, Cara couldn't help but be dazzled by the force of her presence. It wasn't just that she was beautiful—she was—or that she smelled like lemons and honey—she did—but there was something more about Ginny that Cara just couldn't name.
Maybe she'd figure it out one day, after a lot of thoughtful study.
Ginny, thankfully, seemed totally oblivious to her friend's awe. She grinned and bounced a little on her toes. "You ready to hit the spa?"
Cara shook herself out of her thoughts and shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Good! First appointment's in ten minutes."
"Well, then. Lead the way, G."
Cara leaned down to pick up her bag again, but Ginny stopped her.
"Marco"—she flashed a dimpled smile, and the waiting bellman didn't have a chance against it—"could you have someone bring this up when they have a minute?"
"Of course, Miss Baker."
"Thank you, Marco," Ginny sang, even as she led Cara over to the bank of elevators.
"How chivalrous," Cara noted. At Ginny's curious look, she explained, "You won't even let me take my own bag."
Ginny shrugged, though with the sling it looked more pitiful than nonchalant. "I'd carry it up myself, but."
"Right. Are we talking about that or avoiding it like the plague?"
She frowned at the lit "Up" button in front of her as she considered her response. It wasn't until they'd stepped into an elevator and the doors had swept shut that she replied, "Not the plague, but the flu maybe? It's not the end of the world if you bring it up, but I haven't talked about anything else the past two days. It'd be nice to avoid it."
"Got it. Consider this my flu shot," she joked, bumping Ginny's arm—the good one!—gently, and proceeded to regale her friend with the tale of one of her roommates' more disastrous dating experiences.
Ginny was still laughing when she dropped Cara off at the Omni Spa, promising to see her later.
Not much later, as it turned out.
When Cara emerged from her dressing room, wearing what was quite possibly the fluffiest robe in existence, she wasn't alone. Seated in one of the cushy chairs of the lobby, swathed in a robe of her own, Ginny flipped idly through a magazine. She didn't seem all that invested in it if the way she tossed it aside at Cara's approach was any indication.
"They said it'd be a couple minutes for the masseuses to get ready."
"All right," Cara replied, automatic. Then, because she still wasn't quite sure what was going on: "We going on a spa date?"
Ginny flushed, eyes going wide and fingers fiddling with the tie on her robe. "If you don't mind. I know it was just supposed to be you, but since I can't go to the Park and I had the vouchers anyway—"
"G," Cara soothed, padding over to flop into the armchair next to Ginny's and cut off the ramble before it really took root, "it was a joke. Of course I don't mind."
If their tandem appointments—side by side massages and pedicures, not to mention the seaweed wrap—did feel dangerously close to a date, Cara wasn't going to complain. She could afford to stew in a little sexual frustration for the weekend. In the name of friendship or something.
The fact that they then went back to her room and lounged around in their cushy robes, feasting on room service and heckling bad movies on Netflix, didn't really help matters. It was all too easy to notice the dark pink flush of Ginny's cheeks when she laughed so hard she couldn't speak or the long line of her leg poking out of the flap of her robe.
Easy to notice and hard to ignore.
Oh, Cara was in trouble. So much trouble.
But she was also an actress. She could fake her way through this, just like she'd faked her way through almost every romantic plot she'd had to play opposite boys all through high school and college.
She even played it cool when it was time to finally go to bed. Ginny'd abandoned her sling hours ago, but she still cradled her arm close to her chest. It didn't make Cara want to gather her up and hold her until everything stopped hurting. Not at all.
Since they were sharing the bed, though, who knew what might happen while they slept.
"You're not a kicker, are you? Or a blanket hog? I've been told I'm a cuddler, but otherwise, I've gotten no complaints."
Ginny snorted, turning back the blankets. "So am I. A cuddler at least. No one will sit next to me on the plane anymore because they say I don't have boundaries when I sleep." Cara, personally, thought this made Ginny's teammates sound like complete idiots, but she figured it was better to keep that kind of thought to herself. Anyway, Ginny wasn't quite done. "Blip and Mike say I snore sometimes, but I think they were just trying to mess with me."
They were not, as it turned out, messing with her. Still, when Cara woke up in the middle of the night, her head angled towards Ginny's, practically resting against the springy cushion of her hair, she didn't think it was much of a problem. Even with the low snores coming from her bedmate, it wasn't hard to fall back asleep.
It was the waking up again that was difficult.
Mostly because Cara wasn't quite sure how to get out of this predicament without waking the slumbering octopus that had taken over Ginny's body.
Sometime in the night, Ginny had abandoned her side of the bed and curled into Cara. Cara, because she absolutely hadn't lied about her tendencies towards sleep cuddling, hadn't even stirred. She'd simply curled around the pitcher in return, banding an arm around her flat stomach and pushing her cold feet between Ginny's ankles.
That was cuddling. Ginny, however, was on a whole different level.
She sprawled, completely oblivious, like a human blanket across Cara. A firm thigh had wedged itself between Cara's much softer ones. (Seriously, she worked out, but Ginny Baker was almost all muscle. She didn't hate it.) Through the thin fabric of her sleep shirt, it was impossible not to feel the soft swell of her breasts pressed against Cara's side. Ginny's face pressed right into Cara's neck, too. There had to be so much hair in her mouth, was all Cara could think about that. It was safer than thinking about how close her mouth was to her pulse, how she might like Ginny's lips there in a context where both of them were awake and aware.
That last part of which was what Cara needed to worry about. Waking up her friend before things got more out of hand.
Friend, friend, friend, she chanted to herself, shaking Ginny's shoulder as gently as possible.
"Rise and shine, G. You promised to show me the town."
Ginny nuzzled into her neck, murmuring sleepy nonsense. Her arms somehow managed to tighten around Cara.
With a slight wheeze, and not just from the strength of the arms banded around her, she laughed, "C'mon, if you suffocate me, I won't be here to help you hide the body."
From her slightly awkward angle, Cara could make out one deep dimple in Ginny's cheek as she smiled, chuckling sleepily. Her arms loosened a touch and she stretched, eyes fluttering open. For a second, her velvety brown eyes were soft and dreamy. But then, the real world caught up with her waking brain and Ginny seemed to realize exactly what position she was in.
She rocketed upright, cheeks burning a dark red. Nonetheless, she didn't make a move any further away. If anything, Ginny seemed too frozen to do anything else.
Slower, more cautious, Cara sat up, too. She didn't know quite what to say. She hadn't meant to embarrass her.
"I'm sorry," she tried, but Ginny just shook her head. At least she was looking at her again, even if mortification still clung to her face.
"No!" she protested, shifting to draw her knees up to her chest. "I should be sorry. I was practically groping you!"
"I really didn't mind."
It wasn't at all what Cara meant to say, and even if she did, she would've said it differently. More like a joke than the gentle assurance it sounded like. But since she had and couldn't suck the words back into her mouth, she'd just have to deal with it.
Ginny stared at her, speechless.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry!" she apologized. God, how many times were they going to say that to each other this morning? "I shouldn't have said that. I just made this so much more awkward. I should go—"
A slim brown hand darted out to grab her wrist, keep her from climbing out of the bed. "Don't go. Just— You really didn't mind?"
"Did I mind waking up with a gorgeous woman wrapped around me?" she asked, incredulous. When it became apparent that wasn't enough of an answer, Cara sighed, "No, I didn't mind."
"Okay." A beat, then, "You really think I'm gorgeous?"
"G, the entire world thinks you're gorgeous."
"Yeah, but I didn't know that you did."
"Oh. Well, I definitely do."
"Oh," Ginny echoed. Then, shyly, she added, "I think you're gorgeous, too."
Cara couldn't help but grin at that. It faded a bit, though, when Ginny frowned, her shoulders slumping.
"I've never—" she swallowed, pretty brown eyes going wide and worried. Vaguely, she gestured between them, like that did anything to illuminate the situation. When Cara continued to stare uncomprehendingly, Ginny swallowed again and managed, "With a girl before."
Ah. That cleared up a few things.
"Okay," she replied, as neutrally as possible. Which she'd like to point out was pretty damn hard when it felt like her inner cheerleader wanted to take over and turn cartwheels. "Do you want to?"
The question seemed to catch Ginny off guard. Nonetheless, her attention flickered to Cara's mouth and it took a lot of self-control not to lick her lips. That would just be cruel. And unfair.
But, God, did she want to.
Even without Cara playing dirty, though, Ginny nodded. She even licked her lips.
Yeah, that really wasn't fair.
"Okay," Cara said again, feeling a little like a broken record. To jar herself out of it, she tentatively reached out to touch Ginny's cheek.
She leaned into the touch, her neck arching and a soft hum breaking into the quiet.
Ginny was the one to lean in, but Cara was only a split second behind her.
Somehow, kissing Ginny Baker was so much better than she'd ever imagined. And now that she was actually doing it, Cara could admit that she'd imagined it. A lot.
It was over far too quickly, though.
Cara couldn't quite believe how much she had to struggle for breath after such a short kiss. There hadn't even been any tongue! Still, she felt as electric as when she was on stage or nailing a scene. Like she was flying or had won the lottery or defied death.
But so much better.
If this was what a no-tongue kiss got her, she couldn't wait to see what else was possibly in store.
Her lips tingled, warm and wet and seriously! Ginny Baker's lips had been right there! Just a second ago!
"What'd you think?" she managed, feeling too dazed to string anything else together.
Ginny hummed in thought. "I'm not sure." Cara's eyes flashed open, the daze falling away. Before disappointment could set in, though, Ginny grinned, quick and mischievous. "I think I'm gonna need to try it a few more times to figure it out."
"I think we can work something out," Cara returned, laughing in a mixture of relief and amazement. Kissing Ginny Baker once had seemed like a pipe dream. Anything more felt like a miracle.
Ginny leaned in and brushed another kiss against her waiting mouth. "That's what I was hoping for."
Funny. Cara could say the exact same thing.