#but he was busy trying to keep Ginny from committing attempted murder

[idontliketomatoesleavemealone]

[the Anti-Heroes are playing a board game together] Eddie: I will put 'A' down to make 'A'. Sammy: I will add onto your 'A' to make "AT'. Yzla: I will add onto your 'AT' to make 'RAT'. Reza: I will add onto your 'RAT' to make 'BIOSTRATAGRAPHIC'. Maddy: flips the board

[megaphonemonday]

Bawson request: something about them secretly dating and the team finding out

This is arguably about that. Mostly, it’s a follow up to a tus zapatos where Livan messes with Mike because who doesn’t want some more of that in their lives? 

You can mouse over my questionable Spanish for translations. Theoretically, some of it’s Cuban slang, but I don’t super believe that any of it is anything close to current. If anyone’s got a better translation/option for me, I’d be glad to hear them!

no me vayas a dichabar | ao3

To be absolutely clear, Livan hadn’t asked for any of this.

Clearly, he’d lost his mind when, in a fit of unconstrained idealism, he'd told his agent to take Arguella's offer in Amsterdam. If he hadn't, none of this would be happening. He'd be off in New York, rolling in his money from the international bonus pool and only thinking about Ginny Baker to wonder if her ass looked even better in person. It'd be so much easier.

Even if no judge would let him out of his contract just so he could go make millions with the Yankees, his reasons for defecting remained the same. Come to America, Play baseball. Make enough money to get his family out of Cuba. 

That might take longer in San Diego, but in San Diego, Livan didn’t have Gary Sanchez or Aaron Judge to contend with. Here, just his second full season in the bigs, he was already the starting catcher and go-to clean up hitter; the definition of a big fish in a small pond.

Then again, he’d put up with Sanchez and Judge if it meant he wouldn’t be roped into doing shit like this.

This being the first—of what would evidently be several—fake date with Ginny Baker while her boyfriend (and the rest of their team) watched. 

If it’d been a real date, maybe he’d take a more favorable stance on the matter—and even the audience. Given the way he’d walked in on her with her hand nearly down Lawson’s pants the other day, though, that option didn’t seem likely. And given the way Lawson's shoulders had steadily risen towards his ears over the course of the one—entirely tame—salsa he'd danced with Ginny, Livan had to guess his player liaison wouldn't look too kindly on any attempts to sway the odds in his favor.

Ay, Dios. Didn't the idiot understand this was a long game? Livan still didn't quite know where Ginny wanted this whole plan to go, just that she wanted to teach their teammates a lesson for being such busybodies. He could stand behind that, and thought Lawson could, too, but really. Would a little subtlety kill him?

Not that the rest of their teammates were being all that subtle, either. The fact that they’d piled into the salsa club only ten minutes after he and Ginny showed up spoke to that. They were too eager to see if their plan was working to worry about giving it away. The way their attention volleyed back and forth, between Ginny and Livan on the dance floor and Lawson, who was in on this plan and had no business looking so disgruntled about it already, at the bar certainly didn’t help their ruse.

Still, it wasn’t like Livan was going to argue with showing Ginny a good time. No matter the circumstances. She might be tragically set on their grouch of an ex-captain, but Livan could at least make sure she didn’t go her entire life without knowing what a good date should look like.

The start of one, anyway. It wasn’t often Livan walked into a club with a woman on his arm, knowing he wouldn’t go home with her, too. He’d accept it this once. Ginny Baker wouldn’t be getting the full Livan Duarte experience tonight—or ever, if Lawson had any say.

Ah, well. Her loss.

What? It wasn’t like Lawson could be trusted when it came to romance. The man might be a legend—deservedly or not—with the ladies of this town, but it wasn’t like he’d gotten that reputation for wining and dining.

Maybe he’d learn a thing or two tonight, though. He certainly was watching closely enough.

That knowledge in the back of his mind, Livan didn’t bother to rein in his smirk as he laid his hands on Ginny’s hips. Time to move beyond the tame. Or at least look it. While his grip had the added benefit of making Lawson seethe at the bar, it was more to guide Ginny’s tragic sense of rhythm. She was gorgeous and threw just as beautifully, but not even Ginny Baker was perfect. Her lack of rhythm was just proof of that. She thought those awful line dances that’d been so popular in Peoria were hard. It wasn’t her fault, though. Baseball came first, last, always.

Tonight, though, Livan intended to change that. He'd show her some moves. 

Or so he’d thought.

The third time she stepped on his toes because she was too busy craning around to catch a glimpse of her real boyfriend, Livan realized he’d need to actually do something to get her head in the game. Even though this was her game in the first place.

“You know, it’s not often that I get a woman in my arms, and she still has eyes for other men,” he murmured, executing a neat spin and putting a few more couples between them and Lawson, not that he expected it to do much good. Ginny seemed to have a sixth sense for the man. “If you’re not careful, you’ll make me jealous.” 

“We both know you’re not the one who will be getting jealous,” she replied, taking a break from staring moonily after Lawson to look down at her feet, like she couldn’t trust them to make the right moves unless she was looking at them. Her nose wrinkled in concentration, and if Livan hadn’t known which way the wind was blowing on Lawson and Ginny the minute he'd joined the team, he’d be in more than a little in danger of falling hard.

As it was, he simply said, “No ‘will’ about it, mami.”

Which was absolutely true. 

From the beginning, Lawson had not been as enthused with this plan as his girlfriend, had clearly only agreed to humor her. Ginny’d gotten so excited, lighting up at the prospect of pulling one over on her nosy teammates, he hadn’t been able to say no. But sitting at the bar, surrounded by his former teammates, he looked even less thrilled than he’d been in his office. 

Livan, personally, didn’t see the point of all this, either. There were too many moving parts for anyone to get the exact outcome they wanted, and Sanders was too clued in to both sides of the equation to be anything but a potential wrench in the works. Livan himself wasn't even removed enough from either plot to come out unscathed if things went sideways. All in all, he should have just said no when he had the chance. Now that he was in, though, he would take the small wins he could. So, if Livan got to fuck with Lawson, even just a little, he was more than willing to roll with Ginny’s plan.

It’d just be nice if she were, too.

Her pretty mouth was pulled down in a frown, which didn’t say good things for her commitment to the cause. It was more than enough answer to his comment, though. Well, if Livan could see how jealous Lawson already was, his girlfriend probably should, too.

“Second thoughts?”

The pause between him asking and Ginny’s answer wasn’t comforting. “No,” she said, convincing Livan only that he needed to play poker with her more often. The girl probably couldn't bluff her way out of a paper bag./p>

“This was your idea,” he reminded her, deftly stepping out of the way of an errant Nike. Only Ginny Baker could get away with wearing sneakers—even if they weren’t the bulky ones she trained in—to a salsa club.

“I know,” Ginny replied, glum. Livan tried to remember if he’d ever danced with so reluctant a woman. It didn’t seem likely, and he hoped he never had to again. “But that was before I realized what it’d take.”

Presumably, she meant Lawson’s pouting. Or maybe having to keep her hands off him for a a few nights. 

(If their poorly timed hookup in Lawson’s office was any indicator, that might be an actual challenge for them.)

Nonetheless, Livan sighed theatrically. “Ah, yes. Dancing with me is such a chore. Women always tell me so.”

“Must be why you take so many of them home,” she jabbed back, finally grinning. 

Ah, there it was. Bright as the sun, Ginny's smile could cure all kind of evils.

Livan laughed and broke his frame, stepping closer to Ginny and putting both his hands on her hips so she could get a better sense of the dance’s timing. If it also made Lawson’s knuckles go white from all the way across the dance floor, all the better. To keep up the illusion for their over-invested teammates, even if Ginny was faltering, he leaned close and murmured, “They usually change their tune once we try a little horizontal dancing.”

“Oh my God!” she sputtered, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. 

It was a miracle the glass in Lawson’s hand didn’t shatter. The peanut gallery had to be losing their minds by now, speculating wildly about when Lawson would cut in. If things went to plan, they'd be sorely disappointed. Good. They were no better than his abuela and her friends, gossiping about their neighbors and one another whenever one had their back turned. 

“Tell me,” he said, right into her ear, taking advantage of her proximity and the chance now that he had it. He could admit to more than a little curiosity on the subject. “Lawson as good a lay as they say?”

“They?” she returned, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. Still, a pretty flush stained her cheeks and chest, betraying her understanding. There was no way she meant to do it, but from a distance, this had to look pretty romantic. 

Unwilling to give Lawson more reasons to have him murdered, Livan broke the moment. He shrugged and spun her out and back in. She landed with her back against his chest, skirt tangled between their legs, baring a whole lot of thigh. 

Without looking, he knew Mike was staring them down, probably itching to intervene. But that wasn’t how this was going to work. 

So much for not pissing off Lawson any more than necessary. 

Well. De perdidos, al río.

Which was exactly why Livan leaned in again, his mouth right against the shell of Ginny’s ear. He could practically hear the excited clucking of the Padres, jostling one another and trying—subtly, like the ship on that hadn’t sailed the minute they all showed up to the club—to check Mike’s reaction. His expression didn’t change, but that wasn’t saying much. He’d looked that pissed all evening.

“Word gets around, mami. You telling me you never heard anything about his reputation?" She didn't deny it, but the way her ear heated up against his mouth, probably flushing red, too, gave Livan a pretty good idea of the truth. He went in for the kill. "C'mon. How’s it line up with reality?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ginny replied, turning back to face him and paying no mind to the beat of the music. Not that she'd given it much attention all night. Over her shoulder, it was hard to miss their teammates ogling, attention shifting between them on the dance floor and Lawson brooding at the bar, sucking down whiskey sours with an expression to match.

“There's no way you haven't heard the stories. Even I heard them, all the way in Cuba. Unless—" Livan smirked down at Ginny, thrilled that she seemed drawn in by his teasing. He gasped, and her eyes widened in question, wondering what realization he'd come to. Expression gone pitying, he clucked. "Ah, I see. He hasn’t given you anything to compare yet. Is that it, mami?” She opened her mouth to protest, which was more than enough answer for now. So, without giving her a chance to protest, he smirked, dark and inviting. “Well, you get sick of waiting around for him, you know where—”

“Baker.”

As one, Ginny and Livan turned to their player liaison. 

“You cutting in, Lawson?” Livan challenged.

This was not part of the plan. He and Baker were supposed to go on at least two more fake dates before Lawson lost his cool and declared his undying love for Ginny— threatening Livan to some kind of fist fight while he was at it—preferably in front of the rest of the team. Or something. Livan had stopped paying attention during the planning phase when Ginny started drawing circles on Lawson’s chest and Lawson’s eyes darkened meaningfully. Since he doubted they were the type to welcome an audience, he’d beat a hasty retreat. 

“You could say that,” Lawson drawled back, rolling his eyes. Then, softer and only for Ginny, “This isn’t worth it, right? You can teach the guys a lesson some way that won’t end with me decking Duarte.”

Whoa. That better not have been part of the plan. He agreed to threats, not an actual black eye.

“Puto cabrón,” he muttered under his breath, prompting an elbow to the ribs from Ginny.

She wasn’t really paying attention to him, though. 

No, every ounce of her not inconsiderable focus was centered right on Mike Lawson. Ginny smiled up at their ex-captain brighter than the grin she'd given Livan while they danced, but somehow all the more intimate. She stepped towards him, that one small movement doing more to ease the tension in Lawson's frame than any of the massages or realignments Livan had seen him go through. He smiled back at her, reaching out to finger the hem of her skirt as she closed the distance.

Which was Livan's cue to go and leave them to it. He didn’t need to play third wheel for them twice in one week.

God, he needed a drink. No, he deserved one.

Livan sidled up to Mike’s empty stool and caught the pretty bartender’s attention. Jesus, Lawson really was gone on Baker if the sight of a gorgeous woman flipping a bottle of $300 tequila through the air couldn’t cheer him up even a little. It certainly worked wonders for Livan. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite enough to ward off the annoyance that set in the second he was accosted by some less-than-innocent bystanders before he even got a chance to taste of her work.

“Dude, what happened?” demanded Voorhies, shaking Livan’s shoulder far too enthusiastically and spilling most of his drink in the process.

Scowling, he signaled for another. The bartender smirked, which didn’t soothe his ego any, but didn’t hurt much, either. It did incredible things to her mouth. To Voorhies, he said, “What’s it look like happened? Lawson made a move.”

“Uh, dude made a little more than a move,” Sonny replied. 

“They were moving pretty fast,” snickered Salvamini, nudging poor Robles, who looked like someone’d stolen his candy.

What the hell did that mean? Had they ditched all that talk of caution and care and started making out in front of everyone? Oh, that Livan had to see. If Ginny wouldn't tell him about Lawson's talents, maybe he could observe from afar.

Except, when Livan turned back to the dance floor, expecting to see some serious over-the-clothes action between pitcher and (former) catcher, he was sorely disappointed. Not only did he not see Lawson playing grab-ass with his former rookie, he didn't even see any of Lawson. Or Ginny. They were nowhere to be seen. They’d disappeared. And left him to deal with the fallout.

Were they fucking kidding? 

This was what Livan got for getting tangled up in the private lives of his teammates.

“The way he walked up to you guys, I thought he was gonna deck you!” crowed Butch, sounding far too excited by the prospect.

“It was discussed,” Livan drawled back drily. 

“What’d he say?”

“What’d she say?”

“I never thought it’d work this fast!”

“C’mon, you’ve gotta tell us!”

An expectant hush fell as Livan weighed his words. 

“You want the truth?” he asked, cutting through the din. Immediately, silence fell, followed by a round of eager nodding. God, they were easy. “All right. The truth is, after Lawson said they’d figure out another way to teach you all a lesson, I have no idea what happened because I left. The probably decided to go home together." Before any of them could start crowing in victory, Livan finished, "The way they have been for the past three months.”

Feeling as pleased with himself as the situation allowed—on the one hand, he’d been roped into this nonsense in the first place, but on the other, he’d gotten to mess with both Lawson and his meddling teammates a little—Livan turned back to the bar. He ignored the way their stunned silence turned into shocked squabbling in favor of finally taking a sip of that drink he’d earned.

What? If Baker and Lawson had wanted him to keep their business a secret, they shouldn’t have fucking left him to deal with these vultures alone. 

Well. Su maletín ahora. Livan had an evening to salvage, and the bartender, who’d delivered his new drink with a wink and a generous view down her tank top, seemed like an excellent place to start.