Page 2 of The Cannon
“She hasn’t met me.”
“You’re too young. That’s another thing she doesn’t do.”
“Doesn’t look old to me. If you’re not going to introduce me, I will.”
“You do see she’s on a date, right?”
“You distract the guy and I’ll move in,” I say only half kidding.
A hand lifts to my shoulder. “Not gonna happen, brother.”
Plan B. I get up and give Brick a meaningful smile. It’s on.
His pregnant wife, January, offers a thumbs up to which her husband says, “Don’t encourage him.”
What they don’t know about me is I never rely on other people’s boosts. Early on I learned to rely on my own council.
Snaking through the tables, I formulate my plan. I got this. But before I make it to ground zero, three people reach out. For handshakes or introductions, welcoming next season’s new pitcher.
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say to the kind comment from the general manager’s wife.
But I don’t linger. I’ve got a mission to fulfill. Lucky she hasn’t noticed me yet. The element of surprise is a key part of this whole charade.
Getting within a few feet of her, I look off to the right and pretend to be interested in someone at another table. I give a friendly wave and a smile to the phantom. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bristol’s head lift in my direction. There it is.
I expertly wrap my right foot around the back of my left and trip right into her chair. Perfected by years of practice, I’m selling this better than any other pratfall I’ve done before. My arms reach out to find something to catch me, and I wear an expression of sincere shock. Not too dramatic. Subtlety is what makes this whole thing work.
Landing one hand on the table in front of her, one behind her back, I steady myself against her chair. Our lips are only inches apart. Hello, gorgeous.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say before righting myself.
Then I look at the guy and give him a nod. It’s important I’m as friendly to him as her. Southern girls are particular. They love good manners.
“Please forgive me interrupting your evening, ma’am. For a baseball player, I sure can be clutzy.” I chuckle for effect.
The man’s not sure. Pretty smart for a good-looking guy with a stick up his ass.
“You okay?” he says insincerely.
Now I look at her. “Oh yeah. I’m fine. You’re Bristol Swift, right?”
Uh oh. Don’t think she’s buying my attempt to charm. Her smirk says it all. Where did I go wrong?
“Yes. And I know who you are. Welcome to Memphis.” Then she looks at her date. “Raul, this is Sawyer Tom, apparently the Mavericks’ new phenom.”
Raul shakes my hand.
“Interesting name. Were your parents Huckleberry Finn fans with dyslexia?” He laughs at my expense.
“I’m not really sure. They weren’t in my life,” I answer.
That shuts him up.
It’s fact, but never fails to stop people in their tracks. Raul has no clue how to react, so I turn my attention back to the person I’m here for.
“I’m sitting with your brother and his wife. And your parents, too. We’re right over there,” I say pointing out our proximity just in case she wants to rethink her position.
But she doesn’t look. She’s not interested, despite my million-dollar smile and the clever meet cute.
