Page 113 of Promise

Doesn’t matter tonight, though, as my girls are here for me.

I lead Trinity toward the edge of the ball field. The public park doesn’t have a formal bleacher stand, just a collection of fans in camp chairs and blankets along the baselines. Trinity parks the stroller and stands while I need to return to the bench. I’m up soon.

“Hey, Forever. Check me out in these baseball pants.” I wiggle my hips, emphasizing my ass in the new baseball pants I bought myself.

We’ve been reading more snippets from her romance novels, and she especially liked an excerpt involving a silver fox coach in snug baseball pants.

Her laughter follows me as I grab my bat, feeling a few more eyes on me than just my wife’s. My friends are staring, and not just because I’m up at bat. At the games, we don’t chat much about our personal lives. That shit happens once we reach a bar afterward, but I keep most things to myself.

Tate still isn’t talking to me. Hutch listens, though.

While I wait until I’m up, I take a couple practice swings. My concentration is a little whacked, knowing Trinity is watching me, but when I’m at bat, I connect with the ball, sending a line drive down the third base line, and I hustle to first.

Tate follows me in the batting order, and something in the set of his jaw shows he’s determined to smack the shit out of the ball. He doesn’t disappoint, sending it sailing right into the glove of an outfielder.

With Marshall up next, I lead off first base until his hit allows me to steal second. I might be showing off a bit when I run like I’m being chased and slide into the base.

“Out,” the umpire calls, swinging her arm in a sharp, chopping motion.

“What?” I snap at the same time Tate booms, “Bullshit.”

Tate’s been wound tight tonight, and something says he’s suddenly spun even tighter. He’s storming the field, approaching the volunteer umpire with fists at his side. “That is BS.”

I intercept him, setting my hand on his chest to hold him back. “It’s fine.” I can be as competitive as the next guy, but I remind myself that this is a public league, not professional-level baseball.

He swings his head in my direction. “It’s not fine. You were safe as the nose on my face.” He turns toward the umpire and waves in front of his face. “Safe.”

“Out.” The ump glares back at him.

“Do you even know the rules of baseball?” he mocks the slim blonde staring back at him. With her hair in a ponytail and the baseball cap shielding her eyes, I hadn’t recognized her as the same woman who occasionally waitresses at The Ferryman’s Rest.

“I know enough that if I feel harassed, I can kick your ass out of this game.”

A couple oohs and laughter come from both benches. Tate turns the deepest shade of red I’ve ever seen.

“You watch yourself, Gallagher.”

“You watch yourself, Haven,” she snaps back, fisting her hands at her sides.

Wait. What? Is this girl related to Pete Gallagher? Tate’s college friend?

I don’t have time to connect all the dots as I shove Tate. “Step back.”

Tate continues to glare at her, nostrils flaring. Like he can’t decide if he should charge her or kiss her.

Somehow, I think kissing tops the list. Although, he also looks like that might be the last thing he wants to happen.

With my hand on his shoulder again, he finally turns toward our bench, shrugging me off.

“Sorry about that, blue,” I address her as the umpire.

Her shoulders sag. “I’m good. And you’re still out.”

I salute her and jog after Tate, his shoulders high and tight, steam practically coming off him.

“What was that?” Trinity teases when I near her.

“Who is that?” I ask. “He called her Gallagher.”