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She doesn’t just love the game. She gets it.
She understands the plays, the calls, and she’s not invested because she’s hoping to land a player. You can see it in her eyes. She truly loves the sport. Luck was on my side today when I was seated next to her. I make a mental note to thank the front office for the connection. Not the seat, but my seatmate.
“Time for some nachos,” Willow announces as she stands and stretches. She’s cute, but she’s not Paisley. “Anyone want anything?”
“I’m good. Thanks, though,” I tell her.
“P?” she asks.
“Popcorn,” she says, reaching into her purse for money.
“You got the last round.”
“Actually, it was Cameron.”
Willow grins. “Interesting.” She smiles at her friend before turning her gaze on me. “Thank you, Cameron. Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
Your friend’s number? “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
“You two kids behave.” Willow points at each of us with a sassy grin before rushing up the steps.
“Damn,” Paisley mutters as Marty Harris gets struck out. “We needed that hit,” she mumbles.
I missed it because I was looking at her. How can I not? Her hair is pulled up in some kind of knot sticking out the back of her Blaze hat. She has on short cutoffs and a Blaze tank top. Her feet are in flip-flops, and her toes are painted a bright pink. She’s understatedly sexy, and I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything but her.
I love baseball. I have since I was a toddler. I live for the game. No woman has ever been able to pull my attention from the game, well, unless you count my mom. I’m man enough to admit I’m a momma’s boy. I have a soft spot where she’s concerned. But she’s the only one.
Until today.
Until Paisley.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” she comments, never taking her eyes off the field. That’s fine because that allows me to not take mine off her.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve watched a game from the stands.”
She slowly turns her head to look at me. Her eyes are now covered with sunglasses, but that’s okay. I already have their dark brown color memorized. The color reminds me of my old baseball glove. “It’s been a while for me too,” she admits.
I want to ask her why, but Willow appears next to her friend, handing over her popcorn. “Thanks, Wil,” Paisley says, taking the offered snack.
That’s something else. She’s not one of those women who are afraid to eat in front of the opposite sex. She’s enjoying her snacks, and I never realized how much of a turn-on that could be. A woman who is unapologetically who she wants to be. It’s endearing and sexy as fuck.
Glancing at the scoreboard, I see we’re already in the sixth inning, and I will time to slow down. Not just because of my love of the game, it’s the company as well. I haven’t had the chance to find out all I need to know about her. Where is she from? What does she do? Does she have a boyfriend? There’s no ring on her finger, and I’d like to think any man with a brain who would be lucky enough to call this woman his would be right here by her side. I know I would be.
“So, Cameron, do you have any cute friends?” Willow asks before shoving a chip into her mouth.
“I feel like this is a trick question.” I laugh.
“Nope. I’m just not looking forward to being the third wheel.”
“Willow!” Paisley hisses.
Willow shrugs. “I’m just saying, P.” She’s not the least bit sorry for her words.
“I have lots of friends.” I’m already mentally scrolling through which of the guys I could set up with Willow. Talk about putting the cart before the horse.
She points at the field. “Do they look like that in baseball pants?” She wags her eyebrows.
“I don’t really make it a habit to check out my friends’ asses.”
