~ Chapter Two ~

This very moment, Nick hated the entire world.  He hated George Rubenstein, he hated his girlfriend - well, now she was his ex-girlfriend - he hated the Yankees, he hated the stewardess on his plane flight, he hated Arizona, he hated that dark haired catcher who had greeted him when he came in the clubhouse door, and most of all, he hated the Seattle Mariners.

"Hello, Nick!"

Nick hated the smiling man in front of him, whoever he might be.

"Did y'all just fly in today?"  He didn't stop smiling either.

"Yeah."  Nick stared into his locker at his blue and silver uniform.  No pinstripes for him this year.

"I don't think we've ever met."  The smiling man held out his hand.  "I'm Brian Littrell."

"Hey."  Nick shrugged, purposely not shaking his hand to make a point.  He knew who Brian was.  In fact, he knew who the entire team was, just from playing them last year.    Brian was the Mariner's second baseman.  He was a switch-hitter, and usually a threat to steal.  He hadn't hit a home run in five years. 

"Excuse me."  AJ McLean shoved his way past Brian and stared at Nick over his round sunglasses. He whipped a small spray bottle from his pocket and carefully squirted the liquid in the bottle onto the front of Nick's shirt.

"Hey, man!"  Nick yelled, yanking his shirt away from his chest and staring down at it.  "What are you trying to do?"  Nick knew who AJ was too.  AJ McLean wasn't someone you forgot easily.  He wasn't someone you got a hit off of easily either. 

"AJ."  Brian shook his head.  "He's not even a pitcher."

"Oh."  AJ stopped, his eyes darting from Brian to Nick and back again.  "Brian, you know what?  You're right!  That is Nick Carter."  He said Nick's name with just a touch of reverence, then reached over and rubbed at Nick's shirt.  "Sorry about that.  You don't need ghost repellent now, do you?"  He wiped his hands on the side of his pants and darted back down the clubhouse aisle, no doubt looking for another victim.

"What was that?"  Nick rubbed at his shirt again.  It seemed like it was just water.

"AJ."  Brian shrugged.  "Get used to him."

"CUT IT OUT!"  Kevin hollered from the other end of the aisle.  "IF YOU SQUIRT ME WITH THAT BOTTLE ONE MORE TIME..."

~*~

Third baseman Howie Dorough took in a deep breath, surveying the crowds filing into the stadium and milling around on the grassy knoll beyond the outfield.  "You know what I love about spring training?"  Howie asked, not directing the question at a certain person, just whoever happened to be listening.

"What?"  Kevin was looking too, but not at the fans.  Kevin had a tendency to stand and stare at the sky.  His teammates attributed this to his left-handedness.

"The bikinis."  Howie said solemnly.

Kevin's head swiveled downward to focus on the curly-haired infielder.  "What?"

"Look - they're everywhere."  Howie waved his arm, narrowly missing smacking Nick in the chest as he passed by, giving Howie a disgusted glance.

"Yep, they are."  Kevin scanned the crowd.  "You're right, Howie."

"I think I'll go flirt."  Howie started towards the foul line.  "I mean... sign autographs!"

Kevin shook his head and pulled his mask down over his face.  You had to give Howie credit for trying.

On every team, there's always one player the fans love to hate.  When things start to go wrong in August and the team starts to lose, the fans turn to that one player and blame him.  Howie, unfortunately, was that player.

True, the fans had their reasons to hate Howie.  Last season, he had managed to astonish not only his teammates and coaches,  but baseball fans everywhere, when he single-handedly committed as many errors at third base as the entire Red Sox team committed in the entire season.  Howie had even been a joke on The Tonight Show at the close of last season.

To hear Howie tell it, he didn't mind, but Kevin knew for a fact that Howie had spent the offseason in Puerto Rico, playing winter ball, in an attempt to get the lead out of his glove.  Howie wasn't stupid - he knew if he didn't field better, he wouldn't be fielding at all. 

"Hey."  AJ jogged up next to Kevin, wearing his warm-up jacket, hands shoved in the pockets.

"What are you wearing that for?"  Kevin said in curiosity.  "It's ninety degrees out."   Kevin wasn't the kind of person who warmed up to new teammates quickly, but he couldn't help liking AJ.  He might be weird, but Kevin had played with weirder.  Besides, AJ was the sole hope for the relief pitching staff this year.

"It's a dry heat."  AJ said solemnly.  "I'm used to humidity.  I'm cold."

"You don't have a water gun or something hidden under it?"  Kevin said suspiciously.

AJ's eyes widened behind his wire-rimmed sunglasses.  "Hey - that's a pretty good idea!"  He flagged Nick down as the blond rookie wandered past again.  "Nick!  You're from Tampa... c'mere a minute."

Nick scowled.  "How did you know that?"

AJ  shrugged.  "You're Bob Carter's kid."

"So?"  Nick said defensively.

"Do you think this is a dry heat?"  AJ said in all seriousness.

Nick's face went blank, then he blinked once.  "Huh?"

"Compared to Florida?"

"Oh. I suppose."  Nick shrugged and continued back to the clubhouse, making it perfectly clear he wasn't going to stand and make small talk with anyone.

"He's Bob Carter's kid?"  Kevin said in amazement.  Bob Carter had been the star first baseman for the New York Yankees almost a decade before.  Kevin could remember watching him on TV when he was playing high school ball.

"Duh."  AJ stared at Kevin like he was from another planet.  "WHERE have you been?"

"Here."