Page 170 of Stolen Bases

Mark throws his head back and cackles.

Karen sniggers. “He might be a grown man, but he’s still our baby.”

“Big baby,” I tease.

We all laugh at Cam’s expense. The three of us continue chatting until the Evaders take the field for warmups.

Nico walks out in his gear, his eyes on the stands. When he sees me, he smirks and gives me a small wave. He walks over to home plate and squats. I watch him throw the ball and field a couple of plays with the guys playing infield. Nico’s always had a rocket of an arm.

I look away, searching. My eyes only want one thing—the man who makes my heart skip a beat.

“There he is,” Karen whispers, pointing at Cam as he walks into the dugout.

“Is he pitching tonight?” I ask, worrying my lips.

“Yep,” Mark responds. “I think you should walk down to the netting. Make yourself seen.”

I bite my lip. “You think? I don’t want to mess up his game.”

“Too late for that, kiddo. Now, get your ass up.” There is no prevaricating with Cam’s dad. They are cut from the same cloth.

“Mark,” Karen chides.

“Hush, woman.” He kisses her cheek, making her blush.

They are so sweet together. I hope to have a relationship like theirs. With Cam.

“Talia, Cam needs to see you before he gets up there. Seeing you will help him get his head in the game. Now, go on. Tell your brother to help you.”

Okay, I can do this.

“Okay.”

“Atta girl.” Mark smiles in approval again, and it warms my heart.

Karen squeezes my hand. “He’s going to love seeing you.”

Deep breath in, I stand and walk down the aisle towards home plate, where Nico squats. I notice a few women staring at me as I approach the protective netting separating the fans from the field. Palms sweaty, I grip the net. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to fly out of my chest.

“Nico,” I shout.

He holds up his hands to the third baseman—indicating he needs a timeout—before getting up. All swagger and cocky charm, my brother walks over to me. I’m pretty sure the women giving me daggers just swooned. Nico lifts the catcher’s mask off his face and looks at my shirt. Sticking his finger in his mouth, he pretends to gag.

I roll my eyes. The dummy knew I would wear it. He can’t help giving me a hard time.

“You’re horrible,” I admonish him.

“Yeah, yeah. Are you ready?” he asks.

“I’m ready. How do I look?” It’s California in the dead ofsummer, so I stuck with a pair of sneakers, cutoff jean shorts, a crop tank, and the jersey.

“Disgusting.”

“Thanks, jerk.”

“Don’t ask me shit like that. You’re my baby sister.”

“Fair. Now, can you hurry up and call him over here? Don’t let him see me until he’s at the net.”

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