Page 60 of The Curve
I give her a look that she knows well. She chuckles.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing illegal or anything we could get in trouble for.”
I decide to trust her and put all my faith in the people who’ll be standing with her.
My eyes fill with tears of joy and the lump in my throat grows.
“I love you, honey.”
I can only give her a kiss on the cheek. I might start crying if I attempt anything more.
I hear Atticus say, “Let’s take a selfie!” It takes another ten minutes till every phone has captured a selfie of their own.
“I’ve got to go! We’ve got a game tonight.”
The faces look crushed at the news. He leans over to Mallory and gives her a peck on the head. I get a better one on the lips. The kids are watching it all.
“Bye, girls. Bye, kids.”
Nine voices send him to the door. But instead of walking out he turns and asks, “Hey, would anybody like to come to the game tonight as my guests?”
I forgot how loud eight excited teenagers can be. They all start talking at once.
“Hold it! Get your parents’ permissions first,” I add.
“Oh yeah. Good thinking. I’ll send a car for you all here at five and then we’ll deliver each of you to your homes after the game. Is that okay with you, Charlotte?”
“Perfect.”
“Why don’t you ride with the kids, and then I’ll bring you home?” he asks me.
No one else is paying attention to Atticus and me. They’re talking a mile a minute, planning what to wear and what time to meet back. Mallory is in the thick of things, putting in her voice and opinions. Paige is cracking up at whatever the girl next to her said. It’s such a happy scene.
I lock eyes with Atticus and he mouths the word, “Happy?”
* * *
Sittingwith the wives and girlfriends of the Maverick players is otherworldly. The television cameras turn to us on a regular basis, trying to catch our reactions to plays. Although I’m more knowledgeable about the sport than I was a few months ago, I’m still not fooling anyone here.
I decided to be truthful about this being the first game I’ve ever attended. That news spread down the aisle like a game of gossip.
The woman sitting next to me is friendly and warm. I’d say she’s the oldest one here, maybe forty. When she introduced herself I recognized the name. She’s the wife of the center fielder. I felt an immediate connection. I think she feels a little sorry for the fact I’m a fish out of water.
“I was new once too. It’s pretty intimidating,” she says leaning in to my ear.
“It’s just that I know so little about the game.”
“You’re gonna learn real fast. Here comes your guy. He’s up.”
Last inning was spectacular. Seeing him catch is more than I imagined. He’s so strong and confident. He was laser focused on each pitch and throw.
But as he walks to the plate, I notice him look up to where he knows I’m sitting. His eyes scan the rows till they settle on me. He smiles, gets this slightly embarrassed look, and dips his chin. Then he taps the plate and takes a few practice swings.
The sight of his muscles straining against the uniform and the swivel of his hips gets me hot. I’m both admiring and lusting after the man and tonight he’s going to be mine.
The crowd is anticipating the pitch and what he’s going to do with it. The first one fires into the opposing catcher’s glove. Strike one. He doesn’t seem fazed. Another pitch. Strike two. Oh no, one more left.
He’s waiting, and it seems like forever before the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand.
