Page 8 of Wild Pitch
“Ok, dish some out for me. I tried to be good, but this salad is sad compared to your dinner.”
“Life is too short to regret your meal, especially when there are so many great options.”
I waved down the waiter for an extra side plate, and when he returned with one, I moved half of my pasta onto it.
“Do you want some salad?” she asked.
I shook my head, “Nah, I need to save the stomach space for the good stuff.”
As we were polishing off our plates, the waiter stopped by to offer dessert, and when Lily immediately went to shake her head, I nodded.
“Come on, Lil, Cannoli or tiramisu?”
“Oof, I guess if you’re forcing me … tiramisu?”
“One tiramisu, with two spoons,” I answered the waiter. “God, I missed the food while I lived in Washington. There is nothing better than North Boston for Italian food.”
Lily nodded and helped me polish off the entire dessert as we continued to chat. God, I had missed this.
When I arrived home for the night, it was after ten thirty. My mother was working, and my father was in bed for the night. It was strange to be back in my childhood home and have it be so damn quiet. It didn’t feel right without my sisters.
I started my nighttime skincare routine, brushed my teeth, changed into my pajamas, and checked my phone again before plugging it in to charge on my nightstand.
Unknown number: Kylie, it’s Luc from the plane. I have a strong suspicion that I might have waited too long to text you. If you’re still interested, you can call or text.
Huh. I read the text three times, surprised at first to hear from him, and then wondered if I should give him the benefit of the doubt. I had enough failed attempts at relationships these past few years to know that I didn’t want to be involved with men who were wishy-washy about dating me.
I sighed, and saved his number in my contacts.
Me: It’s only too long if the delay was because you weren’t sure you wanted to see me again.
I waited what felt like an eternity watching the text bubbles appear and disappear. Was he nervous? Shit, how could my heart beat so hard watching text bubbles on my phone screen.
Luc: There is nothing I want more than to see you again. I had planned to call, but my brother just informed me that cold calling isn’t a thing anymore.
I smiled, nope, I would have freaked the fuck out if he’d just called me.
Me: Until three minutes ago, your number would have come up as an unknown number. He’s right. I never would have answered it.
Luc: Then I’m sorry. I’m rusty, but genuine. When can I see you again?
Me: Well, since we met on the airplane, my sister and I were lucky enough to attend a Minutemen’s game as the guests of Sam Drummond. And I happened to notice that you’re a little more than support staff.
Luc: Wait, your sister is the good luck charm?
Me: Please tell me you don’t believe that nonsense?
Luc: I’ve been a coach for a long time, and before that, a player. If a player thinks something or someone is bringing them luck, it’s true. Or it’s true enough that they can perform.
Me: Well, I’m pointing it out because my sister is traveling with Sam this week. I’m assuming you’ll be gone until the weekend, too?
Luc: Yup. Back late on Friday afternoon. Would seven be too late to take you to dinner?
I had never been on an actual dinner date. In college, the most interest I’d received was through invitations to hang out or meet up with someone, either at a party or out at a bar. Formal dates never happened. Once I started my master’s program, I stopped pretending to care anymore.
Me: Not at all. Just let me know where to meet you.
Luc: I can pick you up.
