Page 17 of The Broken Hearts Club

He replied, “Do you work with my love muffin?”

“No. Hasn’t Miller mentioned me?”

“Sorry, no, Brice.” I had to fight back a laugh at the intentional misnaming. “Should he have?”

The last thing I heard before I was out of earshot was Bruce muttering, “I guess not.”

I spent the entire game doing three things—ignoring Bruce, being thoroughly entertained by Collie, and taking great pleasure in humiliating Bruce’s beefy boyfriend every time he was up to bat.

Okay, maybe that last part was a bit petty, but it was deeply satisfying to strike him out again and again. At least I was mature enough not to scare him with a foul ball or two, even though it was tempting. I wouldn’t have actually hit him, but it would have been fun to get close enough to make him twitchy.

During the game, Collie had two modes. When I wasn’t on the field, he sat there looking utterly bored with his huge sunglasses and what could only be described as a parasol, not an umbrella. A couple of my coworkers tried to tease me about dating Wednesday Addams, but all I said to that was, “I think he’s amazing.”

Collie’s other mode was rabid superfan. Every time I struck someone out or took a turn at bat, he was on his feet, yelling and clapping. I thought it was pretty funny when he whooped and pumped his fist, in what had to be an imitation of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

I ended up pitching a no-hitter, and when I jogged over to him after the game, he yelled, “Six to nothing, all because of you! Way to go, Miller!” He smiled at me and added, “I’d kiss you, but I don’t think Bruce is watching. Last I saw, he was in the parking lot, taking a call. I can only assume it’s some kind of butt lift emergency.”

“Thanks for cheering me on. I know you were only putting on a show for my ex, but it felt good.”

“That wasn’t for Bruce. I was cheering because you were awesome out there, Miller.” He gingerly touched my pitching arm and asked, “How do you feel after all of that?”

“My shoulder is throbbing. I went a lot harder this game than I usually do.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” I said, as I scooped up my backpack and stuck the mitt and water bottle inside it. “Let’s get going. Daria is waiting to give us a ride to the pub.”

The sports bar was a five-minute drive from the playing field. As soon as we arrived, Collie hurried to the restroom, and Daria grabbed my arm and said, “Tell me everything! How long have you and Collie been going out?”

“We’re not. I met him yesterday.” I gave her a quick rundown of how we met, ending with, “So, obviously, I had to let him spend the night, since I’m holding his home hostage in my garage.”

“Did anything happen between you two last night?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“We agreed that we were just going to be friends.”

“You do know that there’s such a thing as friends with benefits, right?” When I didn’t reply, she said, “I’ve been worried about you, Miller. You got dumped almost a year ago, and since then you’ve been as celibate as a monk. That’s not how you move on from a broken heart.”

“I don’t want things to get complicated between Collie and me,” I said, “and I really don’t want to lead him on.”

“He’s a full-grown adult, Miller. If you tell him up front that it’s just casual sex, he’ll understand.”

“That’s the other thing, he’s only twenty-seven. He’s too young for me.”

Daria rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just making excuses. My last girlfriend was ten years older than me, and you didn’t bat an eye when I told you that. So, who cares if he’s twenty-seven and you’re thirty-six? It’s not like he’s nineteen!”

“Come on, let’s find our team. I’m thirsty.” She sighed at the way I changed the subject, but she let it drop and followed me through the crowd.

The bar was even louder and busier than usual. The Giants were playing an away game, which was being shown on eight TVs around the bar. Luckily, my coworkers had managed to find two tables, which they’d slid together.

When they saw me, they all cheered. I squeezed in on the end, just as a waiter arrived with three pitchers of beer. Someone poured me a glass and stuck it in my hand as Daria shouted, “To Miller, our secret weapon!” Everyone raised a toast, and then an animated debate broke out about how many orders of super nachos we should all get to share.

A few minutes later, Collie appeared at my side. I yelled over the noise, “Everyone, this is Collie,” and they shouted a chorus of hellos. I didn’t bother trying to introduce all of them in turn, because it would have required entirely too much yelling.

Collie was holding a baggie full of ice, and he handed me a glass of water as he said, “I have Advil in my bag. Would you like some?” I nodded, and he handed me the baggie. “The bartender was nice enough to give me this. I thought it might help to ice your shoulder.”