Page 32 of The Beat of My Heart
“Whatever, Teddy. Can we go in? Charlie has to experience the Cask before we head over to BeerWorks,” Angel says.
“Sure thing, Babycakes. I’ll let Mikey know you’re headed his way, do you want a table at BeerWorks, or are you just getting a blueberry?” Teddy asks.
I am thoroughly confused.
Looking at me, then Teddy, Angel says, “Just blueberries, I think. Charlie will have to experience the sausage guy too.”
“Sounds good. Have fun, Babycakes. I’m heading to the park in five, so call if you need backup,” he says, laughing a full belly laugh.
Rolling her beautiful green eyes, Angel grabs my hand and drags me into the dim bar with the people behind us grumbling about waiting our turn. Once my eyes adjust to the darkened atmosphere, I have a look around and am shocked by the sheer amount of people here—every single person in head-to-toe Red Sox apparel.
Yelling so I can hear her over the crowd, I still have to bend almost in half to listen to Angel.
“You have to experience the Cask at least once when you come to Fenway. Come on, we will get a shot here then head over to BeerWorks,” she yells.
Following her through the bar, I have the opportunity to take in her appearance. Tight dark-wash skinny jeans hug her ass. She has the legs rolled up to mid-calf, showing off her delicate ankles that flow into her pink Chuck Taylor’s. I noticed earlier a worn hole just under her front pocket, and I’ve been itching to rub my thumb along the exposed skin. No matter how close she is, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Her faded, well-loved t-shirt is as soft as it looks, probably from years of being washed.
Mine said Betts on the back, and I had to Google it. At first, I thought she was playing some kind of trick on me. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Mookie Betts is an all-star right fielder. Her shirt says Varitek, and while the name is familiar, I don’t recall much about that specific player. Glancing around the bar, I notice most of the girls Angel’s age are done up to the nines. Full faces of makeup and sky-high heels showing off excessively exposed legs. My eyes trace Angels retreating form once more. Her Chuck Taylor’s are worn, her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and if she has makeup on, it’s minimal enough that I can’t tell. She is fucking gorgeous.
I watch as she leans over the bar to hug the bartender and my hands ball into fists again. This guy is young and good looking. I immediately want to rip his fucking head off.
“Two red-headed sluts, please, Jimmy,” Angel yells.
Sliding beside her at the bar, I give the death stare to the fuckwad beside me that was trying to invade Angel’s space. “Do you know everyone in this city, Angel?” I grumble.
Either missing my attitude or ignoring it, she says, “Just near Fenway. I used to work at Fenway in college. My dad got me a job with the grounds crew, it was so freaking awesome.”
Well, that explains why she knows all these guys, I guess.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me a shot.
Clinking glasses with her, I down the shot and immediately want to vomit.
“What the hell was that?” I choke out.
“Red-headed slut,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I know they’re not great, but it’s part of my pre-game ritual. Come on, I’ll show you around, then we’ll head to BeerWorks. You’d never tell from the outside, but this place is huge.”
Walking from the bar, I follow her into a room that opens up to a dance floor.
“Dance with me, Angel?” I command.
I don’t wait for an answer, I drag her to the middle of the room just asOne of Them Girlsby Lee Brice comes on. Pulling her in as close as humanly possible, I move. Every time we dance, the world fades away. I’m usually the last one on the dance floor, but I can’t help myself around her. Our bodies move in sync to the beat. As Lee sings about trading your whole life for a girl, I know I’m in trouble. I’m in a lot of fucking trouble because I know without a doubt, I would trade my entire world for more time with this girl in my arms.
The song ends, and Angel pulls away from me, grinning. “I’m not usually a dancer, you know. What are you doing to me?”
I’m trying not to fall for you.I shout in my head, but to her, I say, “Just trying to make sure you never forget me.”
Sadness washes over her face and I want to kick myself. As quickly as it came, it’s gone, and she is back to smiling, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Come on. We have just enough time for one more Fenway staple before we need to head into the park.”
“Angel,” I begin.What? What do I want to say to her?
“No worries, Charlie. We both know what this is,” she says. Turning her back, she walks towards the front of the bar. I have no choice but to follow behind.
We both know what this is,plays onrepeat in my head. I fucking hate it.
Out on the street, we say our goodbyes to yet another fan of hers. I didn’t even attempt to get this guy's name. When she finally separates, I take her hand even though I’m not sure the direction we are going. I’m feeling out of sorts.
