Page 74 of You're All I Need

It’s a gorgeous night for baseball, the sun’s ready to drop below the city skyline and a light breeze’s blowing off theOhio River. Rock music is pumped through the speakers as the players finish up their pregame warm-ups.

I take a bite of my Skyline Chili Coney Dog, my eyes glued to the field. The bleachers aren’t packed, which is more comfortable for us attendees. I hate being packed in like sardines, the entire row having to move when someone needs to get up. We have some much-appreciated breathing room tonight.

A local high school girl sings the national anthem, giving me goosebumps, and the ump declares it time to play ball. The Reds take the field to a resounding thunder of applause and cheers, and before I know it, the first pitch is being thrown.

“It’s been forever since I’ve been to a game,” Caden confesses, finishing off his first hot dog and reaching for his second.

“One of the beer distributors for the bar I used to work at would give us tickets every year. They were always bleacher seats, but I didn’t care. I love the atmosphere, hanging out with other attendees here for an inexpensive seat, warm beer, and tasty hot dogs.”

He grins just as we hear the crack of a ball hitting a bat. We watch as it sails up and behind home plate, stopped by the security netting in place. “Maybe we’ll get a ball tonight,” he says between bites.

“That would be awesome, but only if it was a Reds player’s home run ball.”

“Of course,” he agrees, finishing off his second hot dog before picking up his beer and taking a drink. Caden leans back against the bleacher behind him, thanks to no one sitting there, and extends his arm. “This is pretty great. I’m glad you convinced me to do this.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for the invite.” I take a drink of my own beer, balling up my hotdog wrapper and placing it with the other trash that needs to be taken to a garbage bin.

His hand brushes across my back, sending lightning bolts of desire racing through me. “I admit, I have ulterior motives.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I chuckle and set my beer down. “I assumed so,” I tell him, knowing there would most likely be some bedroom extracurriculars throughout the weekend.

My brain does some quick math, and something hits me. I’ve been taking the last week of my birth control pills and haven’t started my period. That never happens. The placebos ensure it.

“You okay?”

I glance toward Caden, who’s watching me intently. “Yep. Great.”

He nods, but I’m not sure he believes me. I think he can sense—and perhaps feel, since his hand is brushing against my back—the tension suddenly racing through me.

We go back to watching the game, clapping at all the right times and celebrating the moment we score our first run, but in the back of my mind, I’m wondering if I somehow got it wrong. Am I really taking the last weeks’ worth of pills? I’ve had some light cramping, but that’s normal for a day or two leading up to my period.

Maybe it’s stress. Lord knows I’ve had plenty lately. Starting the second job, which is going great, mind you, has added a little extra pressure to my day. But I don’t mind, because it’s taken that stress off Jack’s and Caden’s plates. That’s what they hired me to do, and I feel like it’s working well.

That’s got to be it. The added stress and lack of sleep, thanks to Caden’s insatiable appetite, has thrown my internallady clock off-kilter. No biggie. I’m sure it’ll readjust itself with the next packet of pills.

We watch five innings of baseball, and I can honestly say, I’m content, relaxed, and happy. Sports are my passion. The competitive nature in me thrives while watching games, whether it be basketball, baseball, football, or even hockey. Hell, I’ve even found myself watching badminton and bowling when I couldn’t find anything else on TV.

At the bottom of the sixth, I stand up to stretch my back. The bleachers are all about the experience and lack severely in comfort. In fact, they suck. I reach for the night sky, reveling in the sweet muscle stretch when I hear the crack of the bat. Everyone is up, on their feet, watching as the ball sails toward the outfield. The ball gets closer and closer, heading straight for us. I react, throwing out my hand and catching that ball in the palm of my bare hand. The sting is intense, the shock of the catch reverberating through my arm.

“Holy shit!” Caden grabs my shoulders and squeezes, giving me a little shake. “I can’t believe you just caught that.”

I look at the ball and shake my head. “Me either,” I reply with a chuckle.

The crowd around me cheers and congratulates me, and my face appears on the big screen just over my shoulder at centerfield. My hand hurts, and I’m sure it will for a bit, and even though it still stings like a bitch, I can’t stop smiling.

But as happy as I am, I know what I have to do. I glance around as the crowd starts to return to their seats. I spot her down in front and to the left. She’s got to be about five or six, her blond curls wild beneath a Reds ball cap that’s way too big for her head. She’s holding up her glove, no doubt hoping to catch the next one that flies our way.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Caden and start moving before he can ask any questions.

I move down the bleachers, carefully not to obstruct anyone’s view for very long. When I reach her, she’s eagerly sitting beside her dad, bouncing up and down and enjoying the entire game experience.

“Hi,” I say, carefully squeezing onto the bench in front of her. “What’s your name?”

She looks at her dad, her green eyes wide with excitement. When her dad nods, she answers, “Isabella.”

“What a beautiful name, Isabella.” I hold out the ball I just caught. “Would you like to have this?”

Her eyes widen even more as she stares down at the ball. “Really?”

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