Page 46 of Mom Ball

I flinch, causing the bag to slide. I lean to center it on his shoulder, putting our faces even closer.

His breath is warm and slow and calculated. I count the seconds between each exhale until it all becomes too much. After a few breaths, he turns his head ever so slightly so that nothing more than Georgia’s napkin could slide between us.

I’m convinced he’s going to kiss me.

I want him to kiss me, but he can’t. Not now, not yet. There’s so much unspoken between us. So much tension hanging that I need to fill with real words, not nonverbal communication.

My lips part, but only for words. “I should go home and get Timothy ready for bed.”

He bites his bottom lip and sits up straighter on the bar stool. Then he puts his hand on the ice pack next to mine. It’s warm, and the contrast between his hand and the ice sends shivers down my spine.

I let go and take a step back. “See you later.”

“Yeah.” His voice is husky.

Maybe it’s the pain he’s in, or something more. I don’t stay to find out. I hurry toward my car without looking back. If I so much as stare at Nate one more second, I’ll close the gap on the last nine years.

Not tonight.

* * *

It’s our first game. Okay, technically practice game, but I’m still just as nervous. I pull up to the field and take a deep breath.

Morgan turns in on two wheels and comes to a screeching halt beside me. She hops out and tosses a handful of Cheetos in her mouth. I watch her jerk open the back van door and several baseballs tumble out.

All four of her kids follow, the last being Sofia. She’s the most dramatic, rolling her eyes so far that I can’t see the pupils.

“Go on, don’t get hurt,” Morgan instructs them as Timothy and I exit our car. “Boys, take this stuff to the cages.”

She opens the back of the van and a bat rolls to the ground. Ethan and Andrew unload a wagon and a bucket of balls. Then Ethan collects the balls from the ground and adds to the bucket. Morgan licks Cheetos crust from her thumb and smiles at me. “First practice game. Pretty exciting, huh?”

I shake my head.

“Yeah!” Timothy pumps his fist high.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Morgan high-fives him. “Now scoot to the cages.” She pats his behind.

“Is it normal to be this nervous?” I ball my hands in fists.

Morgan crunches more Cheetos and shrugs. “I mean, this is your kid’s first game ever. Ethan had a game last night, and my oldest two have played ball for years.” She holds up the bag and pours crumbs in her mouth. Then she stares at me while chewing the last bite. “Give it time. You won’t care after a few years.”

I raise an eyebrow. I’m not sure this is the attitude a coach needs to have. Regardless, I follow her to the batting cages. All the kids except for Tami’s daughters are there, and Ethan is helping them hit off a tee.

Morgan enters from the other side and calls Reece to her. “Come on, I need to practice pitching.” She winds up her arm and pops her neck.

I turn to Aniston and Easton standing beside me. “Maybe you should pitch to them, Easton.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid it might look like I’m casting a fishing rod.”

I sigh.

“It will be fine.” Aniston glances around at the parents and smirks. “Morgan’s got to be better than most of these dads.”

I follow her gaze to Georgia’s husband, Carlton. He’s wearing a sweater vest and organizing Herrington’s equipment in the golf bag.

“Ethan can’t pitch?”

“According to Bubba and his blasted rule book, it has to be an actual parent or guardian,” Aniston tells me.

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