Page 85 of Wild Abandon

“I’ve never been to a Giants game.” He doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to back out, but he definitely has a tone of hesitation in his voice.

“I didn’t realize you were saving the experience. We don’t have to go—”

“No.” He holds the shirt up to his chest, resting it against his heart. “I want to go with you.”

Chills. Up the spine and around my chest. That’s what I feel.

I turn around to allow Nate to pull on some pants and his new shirt, and together, we head to our first Giants game.

When we step out of the cab, Nate is nervous and excited, like a ten-year-old kid. But he doesn’t show it like a child would. I can see it in the widening of his eyes at the sight of the stadium, the rise of his mouth at the statue of Willie Howard Mays Jr. in front of the gates, the way he clutches his ticket and almost doesn’t hand it over to the ticket counter, and how his face positively lights up when he sees the field, his favorite team warming up for the game.

We walk around, taking in the whole park. He is mesmerized by every facet and steel beam. Me? I’m fascinated by the many food stands—Crazy Crab’z, Orlando’s Caribbean BBQ, pizza, cheesesteaks, and a nacho cart. There are so many awesome food stands, all decorated with characters and themes. I grab his hand and rush him over to grab some grub, and he willingly obliges.

We are in our seats, a few rows behind the Giants’ dugout. The tickets cost me a lot of money, but I don’t care. Just seeing the look on Nate’s face makes it all worth it. When the national anthem is played, we take our hats off and sing. When the first pitch is thrown, we cheer. And when the game starts, we watch.

I have no idea what is going on, so he tells me. He’s informative and entertaining, not condescending or annoyed. He has his eyes on the game and me in equal parts.

My favorite part of the experience is yelling, “Charge!” and, “Let’s go, Giants!” and, of course, doing the wave. Because, hey, it’s the wave.

We eat some more and walk around a second time. He waits in line and makes us take a picture with the World Series trophy on display. He buys himself a matching foam finger and joins me in being silly throughout the game.

When the seventh inning stretch comes, I stand on my chair and sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” as loud as I can. When I look down, he is just beaming.

And when the eighth inning is over, “Lights” by Journey is played, and I positively melt. The sun is setting, and the air is chilly. The melody pouring over the stadium is absolutely beautiful as the crowd of thousands sings a song about a love for their city. A song about two lonely people and a city on the bay. A song about finding your home.

I’m singing, smiling, and oohing along with Steve Perry. I look over at Nate, and he’s not singing. He’s not oohing. And he’s certainly not smiling.

He’s staring.

At me.

And not in a way he’s stared before.

His eyes are stunned and startled. They’re looking at me like I’m a revelation, a discovery, and he is just now realizing it all for the very first time.

His gaze is intense and smoldering, and those green eyes are so dark and full of something so powerful that I can’t help but fall right into them.

And then he whispers, “Olive juice.”

Two words.

Two words that make my knees go weak and the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight from the sheer electricity those two words elicit.

“Olive juice,” he repeats the words again as he snakes his hand around the side of my face, his thumb grazing my mouth, pulling my lower lip out.

He takes my lip in his mouth and holds on to it tightly. I moan when his teeth graze the flesh.

His other hand rises to the other side of my face, and he kisses me. His lips part, and mine open without having to be coaxed or softened. The desire I’ve been harboring for weeks comes to the surface. When his tongue glides against mine, I do everything to keep from falling apart. I grab on to him and pull him in.

The smell of him, the feel of his hands in my hair, the taste of Nate are intoxicating me in so many ways that I forget where we are, who we are, what we are.

“Down in front,” a loud voice bellows from behind us.

We startle, staring at each other, wide-eyed and in shock of our public display of affection.

My heart drops to my stomach. Nate is going to freak out. He doesn’t lose control, and when he does, he panics. I brace myself for the rejection. Taking a deep breath, I wait for him to say the words.

Instead, he leans forward and kisses me again, and with a grin to match all grins, he says, “How fast can you run?”