Page 71 of Tagging Bases

“Wow,it’s so different when there’s no game happening,” Harrison remarks when we step out onto Finn Field.

I nod in agreement, taking in the sight of the empty stands and outfield. It’s quiet, no screaming fans or cracking bats. Only the soft hum of traffic in the distance and the occasional chirp of a bird soaring overhead.

“I love it when it’s like this,” I say. “Don’t get me wrong, the hectic energy of a game is incredible, but there’s something special about the peaceful moments too.”

Harrison grins, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Who knew you were such a big softie underneath all that muscle?”

I toss my head back and laugh. “Don’t tell anyone. Especially not Charlie.”

We head over to the pitcher’s mound, where I set down the picnic basket I’ve been carrying. Harrison eyes it with amusement. “I still can’t believe how worried you were about those sandwiches on the way here.”

My cheeks heat up as I remember how I kept checking the basket every time we hit a pothole in the cab. And there werea lotof potholes.

“Hey, I busted my ass making them,” I defend myself. “I didn’t want them to get squished.”

Harrison’s laughter rings out across the field, and I can’t help but join in. “You’re adorable.” He pulls me in for a quick kiss. “And I appreciate the effort.”

He lays down the blanket as I unpack the food. The sandwiches are a little flatter than I’d prefer them to be, but Harrison takes a bite, regardless, letting out an appreciative moan that does things to my dick.

“Okay, I take it back,” he says around a mouthful of bread and turkey. “These are amazing.”

After we finish eating, Harrison leans back on his elbows and tilts his face up to the sun. I’ve only ever used the word “beautiful” when talking about girls I’ve dated, but right now, that’s the only word that comes to mind to describe Harrison in this moment. He’s so relaxed, his face free of worry lines. He seems at peace. Happy to be here. With me.

“You know, when you first suggested this date, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But this? This is perfect.”

My heart swells at his words, and I scoot closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. “I’m glad. I wanted to share this part of my life with you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be into it.”

Harrison turns his head and presses a gentle kiss to my temple. “I’m into anything that you’re into.”

“Even Charlie?”

He snickers. “Even Charlie.”

As much as I act like it’s not, it’s surreal to think about the bond we share with my best friend.

“How did a future Wall Street worker end up falling in love with baseball?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

I chuckle softly, my mind drifting back to childhood memories. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he says with a shrug. “I want to know everything about you, Daniel Hollingsworth.”

His genuine interest warms my heart, and I find myself opening up in a way I rarely do. “Well, it all started when I was about five years old. My uncle took me to my first Yankees game while my parents were on vacation. I still remember the awe I felt as I walked into that stadium, took in the outfield, and heard the roar of the crowd.” I close my eyes for a moment and let the vivid sensations come roaring back. “From that day on, I was hooked. I begged my parents to sign me up for Little League, and I spent every spare minute practicing my swing and perfecting my catching technique.”

Harrison listens intently, his hand finding mine and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Baseball was my escape, my joy. No matter what was going on in my life, I could always find solace on the field.”

“But your parents…” Harrison prompts gently, sensing the underlying tension in my story.

I sigh, my gaze drifting to the clear blue sky above us. “The Hollingsworth family business is an investment firm on Wall Street. There’s no baseball there, not even as a work thing like lawyers do.”

On the outside, I might act as if I have it all together. I put on a brave face and say that my family’s great expectations don’t bother me. I joke around with Charlie, hit home runs on the field, and charm everyone with my wit and humor. But deep down, I’m struggling.

I haven’t told anyone—not my parents, not Charlie—that the thought of working on Wall Street doesn’t sound as unappealing as it used to.

Sure, finance isn’t my passion the way baseball is. And spending my days in an office crunching numbers and analyzing market trends doesn’t make my heart race the way runningaround the bases does. But there’s a certain allure to the stability and security that a career on Wall Street would provide.

Professional sports are a risky gamble. One injury, one slump, and it’s game over.

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