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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks so much for all the reviews. I didn't realize how many baseball fans there were out there!
Chapter Two
It wasn’t just any Yankees shirt; it was the dreaded ‘Got Rings?’ one. A play on the ‘Got Milk?’ ad campaign, it was simple in the front – just plain navy blue with white lettering asking the two word question above the Yankees team symbol. It was the back that was infuriating. On the right side were twenty-six rings with the dates of all the Yankees World Series wins; on the left was just six for the Red Sox. It didn’t seem to matter that the Red Sox side had the latest date on it, which was won after the biggest choke in sports history on the part of the Yanks, allowing the Sox to win four straight after being down three to none and one game away from elimination.

“Angel, why would you invite a Yankees fan to this little outing?” The other team’s name rolled off Buffy’s tongue with so much venom, you’d think she was a spitting cobra.

“Don’t ask me, he came with Xander.”

Turning her head to the accused man, she stared daggers at him, awaiting his answer.

It had better be a good one to ruin her night like this. She wasn’t going to be able to enjoy the game with someone at her table cheering for the wrong team. ‘Oh God, what if the Sox lose?’ Buffy blanched at the thought. ‘He’s going to rub it in our face the whole game.’ This was just her luck; the first guy she found attractive in a long time was undoubtedly an obnoxious jerk.

“Hey, Yankees fan, Red Sox fan.” Xander’s voice interrupted Buffy’s internal musings. “It doesn’t matter to me.” Xander shrugged in explanation, bringing his beer bottle up to his lips for another sip. “I’m an Orioles fan. I hate both of you.”

A hearty laugh rumbled from Spike’s chest at Xander’s easy sum up of the situation, but Buffy just folded her hands over her chest unsatisfied.

“He’s a good guy, Buffy, despite his lack of taste in baseball teams.” Angel tried to placate her. “He’s just here to watch his team play baseball, just like us. Give him a break.”

Buffy pursed her lips together in a sulk as Angel continued. “Besides, don’t you want to be able stick it to him when we beat the pants off the Yankees.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise as she blushed thinking back to her earlier idea of ‘sticking it’ to Spike.

Cordelia noticed Buffy’s deer in headlights look at Angel’s comment, which meant her mind was in the gutter. She saw her friend’s easy perusal of the guy in question earlier and the big flirty smile that came across her face before he took off his coat to reveal his team orientation. It was about time Buffy took notice of a guy since her breakup with Riley, and Cordelia was going to help her friend along. “Ooh, I have an idea. Let’s make a wager to make this game a little more interesting.”

“I like your thinking.” Spike tipped his beer towards the girl. “What do you have in mind?”

“Okay, if the Red Sox win, Spike takes us out to this club I know down the street. You’re buying the drinks all night and paying for the cover charge.”

“Whoa, hold on. The Whelp here just admitted he’s an Oriole’s fan and I don’t know what team Red here routes for. Why should I buy for them?”

“Fine,” Cordelia huffed, acting annoyed although he was really playing right into her hands. “Since Buffy has the biggest issue with you, you just pay for her. Plus, you need to do whatever she says, like a slave for a night – if that means get her drinks or dance with her to a song you hate, you still have to do it.”

“Or wear a Red Sox shirt for the rest of the night, you need to do that too,” Buffy interjected, knowing she had an extra one in her gym bag in Cordy’s car that would be perfect.

“Sounds fine to me.” Spike really didn’t think he would be upset if he lost. Having to be the little blond spitfire’s slave for a night sounded like something right up his alley. How he would love to get her on the dance floor with that luscious body of hers rubbing up against him; he didn’t care if he had to wear a dress while doing it, as long as it provided a possible chance to get her to come home with him that night. “What do I win if they lose?”

“Hmm, let me think.” Cordy put her brain to work to figure out a way to stick them together, but still have it be something awful for Buffy. “I know! Buffy has to go over to your house tomorrow and clean it for you.”

“In nothing but my Yankees t-shirt.” Spike added with a raised eyebrow.

“Done,” Cordy replied, putting out her hand to Spike in order to shake on it. This was even better than she thought. His addition surely meant he was interested in Buffy also.

“Cordy!” Buffy yelled at her friend. “I didn’t agree to that!” There was no way she was putting on a Yankees shirt. That would jinx the whole season. And she hated to clean. That was one of the best things about living with Cordy; they had a maid service that she didn’t have to pay for.

“What’s the matter, luv?” Spike drawled. “No confidence in your team? I mean, I know you can’t contain A-Rod, but I didn’t think you would admit to it.”

That did it! Buffy saw red. She hated A-Rod; hated him with the depths of fiery passion. He of the bush league play during the division series in 2004, slapping the ball out of the pitcher’s hand to avoid the out; he of the homeruns, with the most this year in all of baseball. He’s all the sports media had been talking about – how hot Alex Rodriguez was right now. She was sick of it!

“That little bitch slapper, Mr. April?” Buffy squinted her eyes into the most menacing facial expression she could muster. “He might be hot right now, but he can’t do shit in October when it counts.” This was true. Rodriguez always played fantastic during the regular season, but he notoriously put up paltry numbers in the post-season. “The Sox have the best pitching staff in baseball. Schilling will have no problem shutting him down. You’re on.”

Spike smirked at her bravado. Her cheeks were flushed with anger; her chest was heaving with unbridled passion for her team. Yes, he didn’t think he could lose either way.

“Now that that’s settled, will you two please shut up?” Angel interrupted their staring contest. “Schilling’s about to throw the first pitch.”





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