Page 17 of Saving The Shortstop

HAVEN

On the way home from practice, my ring tone blares through the speakers of my Jeep. The word DAD flashes across the screen, and I fight back an eye roll, assuming he’s calling me to see if Dallas talked to me about tutoring him.

“Hey, Dad,” I say into my empty car. “What’s up?”

“Hey, sweetie. Not much, just headed to campus,” his deep voice drawls through the speakers. “How was practice?”

“Early,” I deadpan with a yawn. “Really, really early.”

“Oh, quit your whinin’,” he teases. “You know you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I ponder that for a second or two before answering.

“Wrong. I would have eight or nine a.m. practices and not five a.m. practices,” I say honestly. “You know I’m not a morning person.”

“Yeah, you get that from your mama.” I can practically hear the grin in his voice, just talking about my mom. He’s grossly in love with her, and she’s oddly obsessed with him. But it’s cute. And sort of annoying.

“I don’t know how anyone could ever love waking up at the ass-crack of dawn.” I yawn so aggressively, my eyes water. “Seriously. Now I have to go shower and be to class in an hour.” I yawn again. “And find time to chug at least two coffees between now and then.”

“All part of it, Have,” he says, no pity at all. “This is your third year of it, you know.”

I’m one of those people who understands I’m blessed and truly am so happy with my life right now, but sometimes a girl’s just got to bitch.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” I mutter, knowing that he’s not going to baby me on this. And deep down, I’m kind of glad for that.

Sort of.

“Have you, uh …” he starts before taking a short pause, and I already know what’s coming next. “Have you talked to Dallas at all?”

Part of me wants to play dumb and make him admit that he volunteered me to tutor someone without even checking with me first. It’s annoying, but I’m also flattered that my dad has so much faith in me to help.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I have,” is all I give him, forcing him to show me his hand here. At least, that’s my hope.

“And how did that go?” he mutters, clearly uneasy.

“How do you think it went?” I say, keeping my tone even.

“Well, uh …” He’s stammering now. “Did he—did he, uh, ask you anything?”

My dad is not the type of man to just let things play out and leave them alone. So of course, here he is, in the middle of it even after he told Dallas to ask me for help himself. Dad just can’t help himself.

“He asked me to marry him, and I said yes because I assumed he checked with you first,” I say in my most serious voice. “Are you as excited as I am? I am just … so happy.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” he blurts out after a short pause. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“How does a big ol’ wedding in June sound to you?” I ask, turning on the most marshmallow-like tone I’m capable of. “I think I’ll have the bridesmaids wear pink.”

“And now I know you’re fucking with me,” he grumbles. “You hate pink.” He stops. “And you hate big weddings. You hate all weddings.”

He speaks the truth. I have always hated big, showboat weddings. Smaller ones aren’t my cup of tea either. I have to be seriously invested in a couple to sit at their ceremony and truly believe in what they are vowing to each other.

“Yeah, well, you deserved that after sending someone to me for tutoring when you know damn well I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Haven,” my dad’s voice is sharp. “It’s Dallas. Not just a random person. Dallas Rivers. He’s family.”

Family you fantasize about naked …

An image of Dallas in the outside shower of his family beach house flashes through my brain from last summer. I watched him from a window of my house. He thought he was blocked from all views when he peeled off his swim trunks.