Page 70 of Nailed

It was a classic ‘47 brand clean-up cap in Cubs royal blue with the iconic red “C” stamped on the front. It was his only concession to fanaticism, but even in a small dose like this, seeing him actually wearing something like that was both amusing and endlessly endearing.

I reached up and gently thumped the visor. “I mean this. Who would’ve thought Brock Lawson was a fanboy?”

He grunted. “I’m not a fanboy. I just have loyalty to my team.”

“So a fanboy.”

“Drop the ‘boy’.”

“Still a fan,” I teased, standing up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

He cleared his throat and gave me a tight nod, suddenly almost coy. Or no, that wasn’t it. Knowing Brock, I guessed he just wanted to make sure this went well, being the first official date and all. It didn’t matter that we’d already slept together or had that moment around my kitchen counter.

Of course he would still want this to go well.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” I answered. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

We walked together to his 70s-something Chevy, and even though I knew very little about the details when it came to makes and models of cars, I could tell when one was really well taken care of.

“Put this together yourself?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat while he held the door open.

“Not from scratch, no,” he answered. “I just rebuilt the engine.”

“Of course you did,” I said. “It must be a head-turner on Lake Shore Drive.”

“She is,” he admitted, then shut the door and walked around to the driver’s seat.

“Alright, so, I should probably get all my questions out now so that I don’t bother you with them during the game,” I said decisively.

“It wouldn’t be a bother,” Brock said. “But go ahead.”

“Why the Cubs?” I asked.

Now he did look like he was struggling to hide his smile. “How much time do you have?”

“The entire ride to Wrigley,” I said.

“I won’t torture you like that,” he replied, then raised a single shoulder. “They were my father’s team.”

“Of course they were.” I said.

“Meaning?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Meaning that you’re a legacy man. I figured as much. What I want to know is where it all started? What was the ancient agreement between the cubs and the Lawson family that led to you sitting with that hat today?” I asked.

Brock let out a real laugh this time, the type that crinkled his eyes at the corners.

“Okay, if I’m gonna explain that then you really are going to have to be patient,” he said.

“Hey, I asked. If I regret it that would be on me,” I promised.

He started to explain in that easy but precise way of his and I actually paid attention to every word. Baseball wasn’t my favorite sport but it was important to him and this little window shared more of who he was with me.

We continued to make conversation that drifted in and out of various changing topics until we finally reached Wrigley Field. He opened the door for me again and I hopped out of the truck. It was a great day for a baseball game, with a stretch of clear blue sky above and a warm but not hot sun.

Also perfect weather for the summer dress I was wearing without getting clammy. I noticed Brock’s eyes drift down to rake over my body every now and again. I didn’t hate it.