It wasn't long before the two found each other in the lobby. Christian had managed to change into a simple Brewer t-shirt and basketball shorts. He'd admit his back was tight. He silently cursed that walk-off. 

There weren't many players or staff hanging around. Roosevelt felt bad for making him wait, "I'm so sorry. Diekman had a hamstring problem." 

"No worries. Shall we?" Christian prompted with a small smile. He was just happy to be leaving and not stuck listening to his roommate play his Nintendo all night. Plus, he was about to be touched by an attractive woman.  

"Absolutely. My truck's over there." She motioned toward her black 2017 Chevy Silverado 1500.

"You are full of surprises." He commented as he approached the large truck. He had not pictured her driving a large truck; he thought she'd be in a Lexus or Audi. Then again, when did this woman appear to be like the others that he'd previously encountered? Roosevelt Olson was her own woman. Christian made a mental commitment to halt any more assumptions about her. 

 Smiling at him, she returned, "What can I say? You can take the girl outta Georgia, but can't take Georgia outta of the girl."

"Apparently." He returned as he carefully climbed into the passenger seat. Bouncing with energy, she started the truck which prompted light, older rock music to float out of the speakers. "Is this alright?" 

"Yeah, I'm not too picky on music." 

"Duly noted. For the record, I've been giving out walk up music recommendations, and they are straight fire." Her confidence and energy were contagious. Feeling her energy and how excited she was to talk music, he feigned confusion and asked, "Oh?"

"I mean, did you think Chapman came up with his on his own?" Her face readily demonstrated otherwise and was accompanied by an animated shaking of the head. 

"So older music is your aesthetic?" 

"Well, 2019 hasn't given me anything to lose my shit over you know?" 

"Fair. I listen to whatever." He conceded as he looked out the truck's passenger window. If he kept watching her, she'd catch him, and it'd be an awkward adjustment. His eyes looked at the landscape, he had no idea where he was. 

"Are we still in Oakland?"

"Yeah, I live in a loft over by Jack London Square. Almost there." With ease, she paralleled parked and hopped out of her large truck. Roosevelt quickly made her way around to help him out of the truck. 

"Thanks." He muttered, slightly flustered by her assisting him. He wasn't that injured, was he?

"No problem. I didn't want you to hop down; it could further aggravate your back." It all made sense. The woman had zero interest in being dominant; she just happened to have all the medical knowledge. He followed her through glass doors and into a very modern looking lobby and elevator. 

"You didn't bring your table?" He questioned as he finally noticed that she had a simple gym bag draped over her muscular shoulder. His eyes could make out the curve into her shoulder blade—and it oddly made him feel warm. He silently cursed all the tight athletic shirts in existence. 

"I have two. The one in my apartment is way more comfortable. Also, ignore the mess. I didn't plan on having guests." 

"Guest? We're friends, aren't we?" He challenged with a smirk. Roosevelt stared at him for but a moment, "Absolutely, friends. Cuz who else would I have over?" 

"Boyfriend?" Christian quipped with skeptical eyes. He hoped she didn't. Then he could try to figure out how to make her his. His mind reminded him that he was on the road for 100 plus days, and she was working with another team. They'd be separated quite a bit. 'Worth it.' He thought, shooting down his doubts. 

"Pfft, boyfriend. No, no. Tried that. Didn't work out."  Her voice was loud and genuine. He'd just learned one thing about her: she was truthful. 

"What happened?" He was curious. How could a guy leave her behind or let her go? If he ever got her, she would be his til she told him to go. 

As she unlocked her door, she laughed, "He couldn't handle my other job's uniform, and he certainly didn't like that I was going to be around attractive baseball players." Christian didn't miss the compliment directed at him. 

"Attractive?" He teased as he took in her modern, minimalistic loft.

 His eyes rested on the wall that stood opposite of the couch where a large tv was surrounded by a large number of medals and trophies. He paced to look at them, "Damn, I thought I had a wall."

"Eh. It's whatever. Let me change and get the table." 

Christian was surprised that she was so quick to dismiss her accomplishments. Why would she shrug off all that hard work? He counted several world championships, two Olympic games, and a ton of college tournaments. As he continued to glance about, he noted her small array of photos, some were of her and her family. One was of her and Chapman. He glared briefly at that one. Did that third baseman have intentions with her? His eyes caught a picture of a clearly young Roosevelt with the boys of One Direction. She had her silver medal draped around her neck, and her team USA tracksuit on. God, she was cute then. He had watched the Olympics; how did he not notice her? 

Meanwhile... 

'What the hell do I wear?' She mused with clear frustration. Finally, keeping her sports bra on, she settled on a PINK! Navy blue workout set to replace her A's themed outfit. Roosevelt didn't want to give him the impression that she was desperate or trying to hook up with him, because she wasn't. She genuinely liked him and found him to be somewhat mysterious. 'A very attractive puzzle.'

 Grasping her table, she returned to the front room. His back was to her. Clearly, he was intrigued by her photo display, and she was mesmerized by his broad, muscular back. 

'Get your shit together.' She scolded herself. This wasn't the time for a booty call.

"I'm back. Want anything to drink before?" She announced and asked as she set up the table. He noted the color change; and damn if she didn't look good in dark blue. It had been a fantasy during team warm-ups, and now, it was almost a reality. He moved closer to her; it took all his will power to not pull her into his arms. "Water's fine. Met One Direction, huh?"

"Yeah, they were the closing act for the Games. They were sweet." With fluidity, she moved away from him, flitted back and forth from the fridge, and firmly handed him a chilled bottle of water. 

"Thanks." He wanted to kick himself. 'Pull your shit together.' He was at a loss as to what to say, and normally, he'd already smooth talked his way into getting her number and scheduling a date.

"No problem. Hydration is key to not having muscle issues." The lilt in her voice hinted that she was slightly scolding him. 

"Was that a dig at me?" He asked in mock shock. 

"Athletes in general, but you, especially." She baited with a coy smile poking him on the pec. Roosevelt felt her finger bounce back from his muscled chest. An image of him shirtless hit her like a freight truck. 'Nah, uh' she scolded herself. Trying to pull herself away from him, she moved to turn on the tv and muted it. ESPN. Again, full of surprises. 

"So how do you want to do this?" He asked as he set down the water.  

Her caramel eyes rested on him with a contemplating look, "Shirt, shoes, and socks off. Shorts can stay." The pathetically lonely woman in her wanted him down to nothing, but again, professionalism won out this time. Plus, he was worth more than just being eye candy. There was an aura about him that she found calming to her, addictive even.

"Gotcha." He easily stripped off his shirt revealing what she'd already suspected was there: at least a six pack, well developed arms and shoulders, and the dangerous v leading her eyes downward. Inwardly sighing, she motioned for him to lay down, face first onto the table. He set his iPhone on the marble counter beside his nearly finished water bottle. 

"Okay, I'm going to inspect your back first. Where do you normally find stiffness?" 

"My right." Was all he could manage to reply as he felt her hands began to search for the problem area. It felt good but also painful at the same time. 

"You throw right, huh? Your right side is far more tense than your left. Do you stretch at all?" She mumbled. As her hands moved to realign him, he felt each adjustment making him more and more sleepy. By the time she was done, he was passed out. 

"Christian?" She whispered while carefully trying to wake him. He was out cold. Contemplating what to do with the handsome sleeping giant, she carefully lifted his phone off the counter and noticed that there was bunch of texts from "Lo."

Her brain readily supplied that it must have been Lorenzo Cain. Avoiding looking at his texts, because those were private, she called the middle outfielder. 

"Yeli! You comin back or what?! How was the trainer?" The innuendo was clearly implied by the tone. 

"The trainer is fine." She fired off with annoyance and then continued, "I adjusted his back, and he passed out on the table. I'm unable to wake him at the moment. Can you relay to whoever's in charge of his whereabouts that's he's safe and will be returned to the team ASAP." 

"Damn Olson. My bad and okay. I'll let them know. Thanks for helping him."

"No problem." Hanging up, she glanced at the clock. It was nearing midnight. Sighing, she silently moved about the apartment, first pouring herself a glass of red wine. Both Matts would be furious with her if they knew who was passed out on her table. Not only was he a hot, single baseball player, but he was not an A's player. Technically, she was aiding the "enemy." But she couldn't help it.  

As he let out a soft snore, she couldn't help but smile. 'So cute.' 

As she sipped on her wine, her eyes caught SportsCenter recapping the MLB games. She turned on closed captioning as the announcer discussed the Astros dominating the AL West followed by the Dodgers doing the same in the NL West. Frowning at the notion of those teams being the top dogs, she took another long sip. Checking her phone for messages, which thankfully, she had none.  Well, a snap from Chappy showing him with a beer in which she snapped back a picture of her wine did not truly classify as a 'message.' As she glanced up at the tv again, she saw a quick picture of Christian flash across the screen before the announcer began discussing tonight's game. Her eyes were glued to the screen. 

'To Oakland, where there are so many surprises lurking. From the A's hiring Olympian Roosevelt Olson, to her throwing out an impressive first pitch. Can you believe they clocked her at 70 mph?' The video of her was flattering. The crowd reaction had been unbelievable. Granted, the crowd was into oddities, and the Olson siblings definitely fit the bill. The screen flashed to Christian, "Now to the recap of the game, it's clear to see that the reigning NL MVP Christian Yelich was distracted all game and even at times, frustrated...'

At that very moment, every part of her wanted to be near him. The frustrated look on his face had struck her in such a profound way. She couldn't explain it. A true gut feeling. It was rare that she ever ignored those feelings. They'd served her well thus far.

Mustering all the confidence and strength she possessed, Roosevelt gently shook him awake and murmured, "Hey, Christian. C'mon." 

"Hmm?" To say the poor player was groggy and still asleep was an understatement. Helping him off the table, she guided him to her room. "Lay down, Christian." She directed as he collapsed on her Cali King Tempur-Pedic. He quickly turned to be on his back, and soft snores resumed. 

Sighing in relief, she paced back to her front room, turned off the TV, and put away the bottle of wine for another evening; then she got ready for bed—teeth brushing and face washing. At least tomorrow was another late game. 7:07pm start. 

Grabbing his phone, she set it on the small table on his side and plugged it in to charge. Silently and carefully, she set her phone alarm, climbed onto her side of the bed, and desperately tried to sleep. Fortunately, the bed was designed so one did not feel the other move, so her tossing and turning did not wake him. Finally, after a half hour battle, she dozed off.

Sometime later, Christian woke up, startled. His mind quickly registered that he was not on the table or in his hotel room. Glancing about wildly, he took in a dark, well decorated bedroom of gray and blue hues, and then his eyes landed on her. Her facial expression was tense. Whatever she was dreaming about was causing her a large amount of stress. Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms and whispered, "You're alright baby." She didn't awaken, but she snuggled deeper into his side. 

'So this is what it feels like.' He pondered. He'd never really been so mentally invested into a woman before. Most of his past relationships were light flings and lasted a couple weeks at best. But with her? A cuddle with her was worth all of his past combined. He closed his eyes and took an inventory of his body. He was sore, but she had fixed his back and more. His right ankle no longer felt angry.  As impressed as he was, he knew he needed to sleep, so he settled back in and fell into a sound slumber.