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“No thank you. When I stop playing for the Thunder, it’ll be because my arm is busted or I’m too old. Then it’ll be armchair baseball only.”

“Armchair baseball?” I ask.

Denver grins. “Yep. Where I sit in an armchair and yell at the TV, like our neighbour Harold does. Oh man, you’ll have to meet Harold soon, he’ll love you.”

I remember him mentioning the older man before. “He’s got the cat you help out with, right?”

Denver nods. “Yeah, Sweet Pea. She likes me more than him.”

“Of course, she does.” I laugh.

On the field, the opposing team’s pitcher is walking up to the mound. Denver curses when he sees who it is, shaking his head. “We’re fucked. I forgot this guy was on this team.”

“Why?” I ask, staring at the pitcher. Then I gasp as he lowers his upper body down and to the side, almost like he’s going to skip rocks instead of throw a baseball. The ball releases at an angle even I can tell is lower than what you’d see from most pitchers.

“Why does he pitch like that?” I ask. “That’s wild!”

“That’s the point,” Denver says. “We call that a submarine arm. It’s fucking devious because as a batter, you just don’t see the ball coming in a direction you’re expecting. It’s incredibly hard to hit.”

“It looks incredibly hard to throw.”

“It is. Not a lot of guys can do it, but he’s one of the best.” Denver nods at the field. “I’ll bet you anything he gets three out in a row. Which is not good for us.” He grimaces and settles back in his seat.

I should’ve taken the bet. Because Denver would’ve lost, in the most spectacular way.

Griffin comes up to the plate and points his bat at me before planting his feet. I clutch Denver’s hand tightly, my gaze locked in on the man at home plate.

The first pitch is a strike. The second is a ball to the outside.

The third… The sound of Griffin’s bat connecting with the third pitch reverberates through the stadium. The crowd leaps to their feet, me and Denver included, as he takes off running.

“Oh my god!” I shriek as the ball sails over the heads of the players in the field. “Oh my god!”

“Yes, Griffy boy!” Denver shouts just as loudly beside me. “Come on, keep going… Yes! He did it! Holy fuck!”

The stadium erupts as Griffin’s ball lands somewhere in the stands behind right field.

“That’s a home run! He hit a home run off the impossible pitcher!” I’m bouncing up and down, and next to me, Denver is grinning as we watch Griffin jog the bases, pumping his arm in the air. I bring my hands to cover my mouth, emotions brimming over in me.

He jumps on home plate, then, instead of heading to the dugout, he turns and jogs over toward us. I push past Denver and run down the stairs to meet him as he kisses me through the netting.

“Did you see that, baby?” he yells.

“It was amazing. You are amazing!” I kiss him again. “But I think they want you off the field.”

Sure enough, an umpire is heading our way, and the opposing pitcher is standing on the mound with his arms crossed.

“Don’t care.” Griffin grins. “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” I yell after him as he jogs over to his dugout.

I turn and make my way back up to my row, where I kiss Denver soundly as well.

“Uh, Pix, not that I don’t love your kisses, but you realize everyone’s watching, right?” he mumbles against my lips.

Stealing Griffin’s line, I smile back. “Don’t care. Love you.”

“That’s good, because we’re on the big screen.”