I expected a lot of things out of this season: to bat third for my team. To compete for a World Series ring. To fight like hell to win.

Check. Check. Check.

What I didn’t expect? My childhood best friend to show up in my dugout, courtesy of a trade to my team. Or for him to need a place to stay. I offer him mine, since we’re just friends. 

It’ll be good, clean fun.

Right? 

Except I didn't plan on him stealing my spot in the line up. And I definitely didn’t  plan on him stealing my heart.