I was ready for him to come at me again. With words. Or fists. Whatever. I was ready for him.
He didn’t. He just shook his head. “You kids think it’s so easy. You’re fast on the field, fast with women, but nothing’s as fast as that mouth. You can talk your way out of anything.” He snorted. “Enjoy it, asshole. Because someday soon, your luck is going to run out.”
My eyes widened. I hadn’t expected to get such an old man speech out of him. Connor wasn’t that much older than me. He was hardly in the old guy category. But as much as I wanted to be pissed about what he’d said, part of me was quickly calculating probabilities. Sure, Connor was afraid for his cousin, but he’d already warned both her and me. There wasn’t much more he could do except let us go as we chose. Which meant…
This little speech was more about him than me.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why do you think your luck’s run out?”
Connor jerked in surprise, and then his eyes abruptly narrowed. Faster than I expected, his fist connected hard with my jaw. My head whipped around and I barely caught myself before I was slammed against the wall.
He had his chance then. While I was holding on to the wall for dear life, he could have followed up the first punch with any number of body blows. But he didn’t. Instead, he loomed over me.
“Keep my cousin off the fucking internet, asshole. And don’t you ever touch her again.”
I nodded, even though that was ridiculous. Ellie and I would be dating for the next few months. Of course I would touch her. But I didn’t need to say that. In fact, I figured a docile response was the best way to get out of this situation and move on to the real problem. My growing fear. What would Ellie do when she saw me today? Yeah, she’d agreed to the charade over the phone, but girls like her tended to show their true feelings no matter what they promised. One look at her face would tell the tale.
And that had me terrified. What would I see when I looked at her? Anger? Disgust? Turns out I had zero predictions in that area. Or rather a zillion, all with equal probabilities.
Fortunately, Connor stomped away and I took the time to disappear into the doc’s room. He had a cold pack for my jaw, some painkillers for my ribs, and a long, cold, uncomfortable stare. He didn’t say anything, though. And for that, I was eternally grateful.
Then it was time for batting practice before the game. I was on the disabled list until the ribs healed, so according to league rules, I couldn’t dress with the team or sit in the dugout. But Gia had arranged one of the open-air boxes for me, Ben and his family, and Ellie and hers. We’d be one big happy photogenic group waving to the cameras during the game.
That’s where I was headed with my jaw still throbbing and my heart beating in my throat. And with every step, the dread mixed with anticipation into a gut-churning disaster. What the hell was wrong with me? I hadn’t been this keyed up since my first minor league game. Even my debut in the majors hadn’t made me this nauseous. And yet every time I stopped to sign an autograph, every pause on the stairs as I waved to a group cheering my name, it felt like another acid bomb had exploded in my stomach.
Finally, I arrived. This was it.
I stepped through the back of the box into a carpeted area before the seats. Cameras flashed and applause went up. I had my press face on—bland smiling with a hand wave—as I looked for Ellie. I didn’t see her behind Ben’s family. He came running up to me, talking nonstop, while dragging his father over.
I forced my gaze down to Ben as he introduced me to his family—the whole crew. Dad had apparently hopped the first flight to Chicago after the fire. Ben’s aunt, uncle, and cousins crowded in, all longtime White Sox fans though they were sporting Bobcats jerseys today. His grandma and grandpa were tearful. They all wanted to thank me personally for saving Ben, and I took the time required to shake every hand and allow my cheek to be kissed. Camera flashes continued, and I couldn’t help wondering just how many reporters Gia had dragged in here.
Where the hell was Ellie?
Eventually, I finished meeting all of Ben’s family. The game was starting, thank God. The announcer was introducing the players, and the crowd was cheering. It was a welcome distraction. So as Ben’s family turned to look down at the field, I finally got a chance to see the other people in the box.
The McDonalds were there, smiling warmly at me, but only one face stood out to me.
Ellie.
Freckles. Dimples. Soft cherry lips. Pert nose. And smoky brown eyes perfect for a movie set.
Wait. What?
Rachel must have done Ellie’s makeup. She didn’t look bad, but she wasn’t the Ellie I wanted to see. I was looking for the hometown girl with clear eyes and a smile just for me.
Except she wasn’t smiling. She was biting her lower lip in nervousness and twisting her fingers around the charm bracelet I’d given her. I stepped forward, but hesitated two steps later. She didn’t look glad to see me. She looked terrified.
Oh shit. What had I done?
Then Rachel bumped her from behind in a not-so-subtle push. Ellie lurched forward awkwardly, and I closed the distance between us because I didn’t want her to stumble. She didn’t. She stopped a couple inches from me. And then I was looking down at her, studying every nuance in her expression, trying to guess what they meant.
“Ellie,” I said. “I’m so sorry ab—”
She stopped me with a kiss. Pushing up on her toes, she slammed her mouth against mine. The kiss was awkward and abrupt, but hell, I didn’t mind. I caught her around the waist and pulled her tight.
She settled, her mouth softening, her body easing. I teased the seam of her mouth, and soon her lips relaxed and separated. I angled my head as she tilted just right. Then I slipped between her teeth. A stroke. A tease. And suddenly, she was dueling with me, tongue to tongue, while I deepened the kiss.
She didn’t hate me. She wasn’t angry. She was soft and sweet in my arms. And her kiss was making me think of a dozen different places we could go in the stadium to be alone.
