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“Need some content, Mama?” he asks me, and nothing, I repeat, nothing has ever sounded sexier. His confidence makes me weaker by the second.
“I’m gettin’ it,” I holler, holding up my phone. “If only our third baseman would stay still and stop flirting with the pregnant lady.”
“Here,” he shouts, drawing my attention downward. August taps his perky butt and pulls out the lining of his left pocket. “Take a pic of this. It’s for good luck. Not that I need it.”
Cocky bastard.
I giggle, and it’s solely because I have no idea why a pocket lining would be good luck. Just when I thought I knew everything there was to know about the game, I learn something new from August Graves. “Sure. I’ll get right on that.”
He smiles wide, his gum now mixing in with his seeds, and it’s wildly appropriate for August. He’s unpredictable and chaotic, but somehow, I find all of these insane characteristics about him quite charming.
Comforting, even.
“Ain’t no one like me, sweet cheeks. Remember that when I get this RBI, I’m not doin’ it for me,” his raspy voice echoes from the other side of the batter’s box as he takes his position at home plate.
“Bat boys don’t hit RBIs,” I shout, doing my best to tease him.
August trains his focus on the pitcher sending him themost beautiful strike at first pitch. It’s so perfect, August wouldn’t dare let it slip past him. With muscle memory, he leans his full body into the swing and at instant contact, sends the ball straight to the home run deck, leisurely relaying himself toward first base.
There’s no need to rush. August has been playing the game long enough to not only knowwhenhe hits a home run, but hefeelsit. That’s why it causes him no setback to turn toward me before rounding to second, and sending me the slyest wink, shouting, “You’re right,” he yells smugly. “This bat boy hits homers.”
The fans go wild, screaming “Graves” at the top of their lungs as Atlanta’s not-so-playboy rounds the bases in victory.
Meanwhile, my heart screams in my chest. August Graves is many things to many people. But none of those are who he is—who he’s become to me.
Ice cream on a Tuesday—out of the ordinary and strictly forbidden before dinner. But the sweetest treat.
A cheesy grin crosses my face, and I don’t fight it. Not when August has yet to take his eyes off me. Whiskey eyes filled with palpable pride. He hit the damn homerun. I should be the one dancing and singing his praises. Internally, I am, but August has a way of making me feel like I’m the only one that matters, even in the midst ofhiswin.
“You get that, Mama?” he asks, wiping the sweat from his brow and bypassing his teammates. He’s choosing to celebrate one of his many home runs with…me.
“I…uh…yeah,” I mumble, lost for words as he leans over the dugout wall, bringing his face front and center with mine.
“Beautiful,” August shouts before placing a quick kiss on my forehead and turning to his teammates to celebrate.
Beautiful.Yeah. We could call it that.
But I’m not sure we’ll be able to look back on this moment because it’s now that I realize I forgot to take a picture, too distracted by the man who’s served as the most perfect and unexpected distraction in my life.
The man I’m about to bring a child into the world with, and for once, I feel…excited. Relieved to be experiencing it with him.
We’ve come a long way.
There are still a lot of things August and I need to talk about. Like the place I was at in my life before I got pregnant by him, and the steps I took to be a mother.
Although it doesn’t directly affect him, I think it’s important he knows.
It’s a future conversation that’s been sitting heavy on my heart.
Not to mention…what happens when the baby comes? Will he move out? Will I ask him to stay?
“August,” I call out. He doesn’t respond but turns instantly to give me his undivided attention. “Good game.” I smile.
“Good woman,” he exclaims, pointing at me with pride. “Good mama, someday soon, too.”
If I could describe the way I feel right now in one word, it would be content.
This right here is a moment in time I want to relive over and over again. August with a smile too wide for his meticulously chiseled face, but far too perfect to consider it a negative.
