“I missed you too,” he tells me before picking up his fork and sharing the food from his plate while we wait.
A few quiet minutes later, Poppy crashes through my door in a flurry of anger and sadness. “Your friend is an asshole,” she rants the second she walks in the door. When she kicks off her shoes and pauses for a second, her eyes focus on how we are sitting at the table, sharing one seat and one plate, her eyes soften.
“Fuck . . . guys, I’m sorry. You two are supposed to be”—she flaps hers around gesturing towards us—“hanging out tonight. I ruined—”
Cruz stands, holding me by the hips, so I don’t topple over. “It’s okay. I’d wait forever for this one. ” His thick arms band around me, hugging me to his chest as he kisses me on the top of my head—making me dizzy with the swell of emotions I feel over the sentiment
Poppy steps into the kitchen, heading for the living room. “Call me later?” I say to Cruz as he steps away to slip his shoes on. I want to pull him back to me, ask him to stay, figure out what this is between us but my friend needs me.
“I will.” Then he slips through the door with a glance over his shoulder.
I join Poppy on the couch, handing her my untouched glass of wine as I drink from Cruz’s. She twists her red hair around her finger as tears well in the corner of her eyes.“ I’m going to have to kick his ass, aren’t I?” I threaten, looping my arm around her shoulders.
“I’d do it, you know, march over there and . . . and kick him right in the shins. With pointy shoes.”
“The shins?”
My head bobs up and down and I try my best to come up with a plan to inflict maximum pain, but it’s not my forte. “I’m going to kick him square in the shins. Hard enough to really bruise so that every time he has to run the bases or jump for a ball, the impact hurts.”
Her laugh comes out more of a snort because she’s still fighting tears. “That’s an innovative punishment. But you don’t even know what he did.”
“Doesn’t matter, you’re my girl, and anyone who makes you this upset deserves a beat down.” I stand from the couch, but she tugs my arm, pulling me back down.
“I appreciate that more than you know, but he’s not worth it.” She lays her head in my lap and my fingers sift through her soft hair, massaging her scalp.
“If Hendrix thinks I’m going to make him coffee, he will be sorely disappointed. Maybe I’ll even print a sign that says, ‘I reserve the right not to serve twat-waffles, aka Hendrix James.’”
“Now that’s the kind of karma he deserves. Deprive him of the best coffee in Denver.” She lifts her head and looks up at me from where she’s snuggled in. “I’m sorry I interrupted your night. You guys had a lot to talk about.”
“I blame Hendrix.”
Poppy sighs, dropping her head to my shoulders. “Still, you two looked pretty cozy when I walked in. Did you get anywhere?” I guess we are using my problems as a distraction from her own.
“No, we were just chatting when you called. He hadn’t been here for long and we never got to talk about what happened at movie night.” I remember the package he found when he arrived and add, “I’m not sure if I should thank you for the gift or slap you upside the head. Cruz found it.”
“He did not,” she says, picking her head up and biting her cheek. “Well, did you like it?”
“I haven’t opened it, I tossed it in the coat closet to hide it from him the moment I realized what it was.” Standing from my spot I retrieve the box from where it landed on top of my winter boots, carry it back to the couch, and open it.
“Woody will be very pleased to join his friend in the toy box.” I suction the curved white and black dildo to the table and give him a flick testing the grip. “Impressive.”
“He’s a beaut. Do you know how hard it was to find a cow print dildo with any kind of length and girth to it? And he vibrates. You hardly even need a man.”
That’s doubtful. I don’t think anything could erase my need for Cruz after today. There’s too much history there and now, with him invading every part of my life in a new way, it feels like it’s only a matter of time before the sexy baseball player becomes so much more than he already is.
Chapter 13
You’ve got Game
Flashback - Two Years Earlier
The perfectly trimmed grass is spongy under my cleats as I step over the crisply painted foul line and jog to my spot on the field. When I look around the stadium it’s not the crowd noise or the bright lights that have my attention. Instead, my eyes immediately weave up and down the rows of fans, decked out in their black and teal. Scanning the crowd for the head of blonde hair, all piled up on top of Delilah’s head. When I find the seats I set aside for her, disappointment settles over me.
She didn’t come.
I remind myself not to take it personally, but that’s easier said than done. It’s been a long time since anyone has shown up at a game for me. Even before Jarrett died, my parents didn’t travel to games often. My dad still works twelve-hour days, and now that they don’t have kids at home, my mom has taken to mothering the staff at the screen-printing business they own in San Antonio—where I grew up. Both of them are first-generation Americans and the ultimate example of what hustling looks like. My mother’s family moved from Mexico and my father’s from Venezuela. The two of them were inseparable from the moment they met in elementary school, forging their way together as they adapted to life in a new country.
After seeing their parents struggle, they felt strongly about blazing their own trail. Watching them raise a family with two active boys, while running a thriving business, taught my brother and I how to apply that same dedication to the game. My dad felt so strongly about ensuring that we found similar success, that one of the conditions behind his support of our baseball careers was that we had still had to finish college before going into the draft. I’m not sure I would have been successful in achieving my dreams of making it to the MLB without their example. The last time I had someone show up for a game to watch me was the week before Jarrett’s accident. He had a rare day off that coincided with my home game and could come watch.
