Page 52 of More Than Pen Pals

In my peripheral vision, I see him stiffen.

“Okay.”

“While I was with you.” I pick at invisible lint on my pants. “He left a message.”

“Okay,” he repeats.

“He said he’s sorry and wants us to get back together.”

Ash doesn’t respond, and I can’t make myself look at him as he breathes deeply.

“What doyouwant?” he finally asks.

I want Ash, but I also want Glenn to have not dumped me. How can I want both of those things at the same time?

I rub my temples. “Ash, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that. This is why we have the rules. You can’t help me deal with this.”

“No, I can’t.” His voice is strained. I still can’t look at him.

“Almost there, folks,” the driver says a few silent minutes later. Then he tells us where another car will pick us up after the game.

While we’re sitting at a stoplight a block away from the stadium, the driver cranes his neck so he can see us. “Excuse me for butting in, but I feel compelled to say this. I don’t know why you have rules or what they are or who Glenn is or what he did, but you two?” He points back and forth between us. “There’s something here. I can feel it in my bones. Don’t give up on each other.”

twenty-six

The driver hands me the tickets, tells us to enjoy the game, and leaves Leslie and me standing on the sidewalk outside Wrigley Field avoiding each other’s eyes. I can’t move. My mind is both blank and filled with more thoughts than I can handle, all at the same time.

“I don’t know where to go,” Leslie says. “I’ve never been here before. I’m sorry I dropped that bomb on you in the car, but I need you to focus and get us inside.”

And I need to get away from all these people to somewhere I can think, but that’s not an option, so I give my head a quick shake and look her in the eye. “I can do that. Stay right by my side. It’s easy to get separated here.”

I look at the tickets and note we’re in a suite. I head around the stadium toward the gate closest to where we need to be, since it’s much easier to navigate outside the ballpark than inside.

“Ash, slow down. I can’t keep up.” I turn my head to see Leslie practically jogging to match my long strides. She’s not wearing heels, but her shoes weren’t exactly made for running. I slow my pace so she can catch up with me and then ensure she’s right by my side until we get in line. We don’t speak as we shuffle toward the turnstiles.

Once we’re inside, it’s difficult for us to stay together in the throng, so I finally give in and take her hand to prevent anyone from walking between us. She doesn’t pull away, which I take as a good sign. I can think of almost nothing else but the fact that her hand is wrapped around my own, so it’s a good thing I know this stadium like the back of that very hand.

Again we’re silent as we make our way to the suite. Before we step through the door, she slips her hand out of mine, and the loss of connection is palpable. I note she also plasters on a fake smile. I don’t even attempt it.

The suite is empty except for a couple of workers. Leslie heads directly to the bar and orders a beer. I rarely wish I drank alcohol, but this is one of those times. I won’t do it, though, especially if Leslie is drinking. I don’t know who else will be in this box with us, but it’ll most likely be a bunch of men who’ll drink like fish. I need to stay completely alert in case any of them try anything with her.

I grab a hot dog, add mustard and relish to it, and then take it and a Coke to a bar height table near the outside section of the suite where I can watch Leslie through the windows. She took her beer out to the private stadium seating and is standing at the railing taking it all in.

Wrigley is an amazing experience, especially for a baseball fan like her. I wish I could stand down there with my arms around her, pointing out all the little quirks of the stadium and telling her how different it’ll be when the lights are installed later in the season and we can finally have night games.

If for no other reason, I can’t do any of those things because we’re at a work function. But I don’t know if she would want me there with her or if she wishes she was sharing this with Glenn. My heart squeezes at the thought. I want her to be happy, but I don’t want her to be happy with him. I know that’s selfish, but I can’t help it.

A man joins me at the table. “Nice view, huh?”

For a minute I think he’s talking about Leslie, but then I realize he’s referring to the excellent view of the field. At least I hope that’s what he’s talking about.

I turn to him, and he sticks a hand out. “Bobby Jacobs.”

Bobby is younger than I imagined he would be. He can’t be more than thirty-five, though from his reputation and how long he’s been around, I figured he was more like fifty.

“Ash Hamilton.” I place my hand in his, and he squeezes it a little too hard. I force myself not to flinch. He’s watching to see if I do.

“That the PR chick?” He nods toward Leslie and gives her an appreciative once over.

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