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“Sure” from a woman means the exact opposite. “Paisley?” I wait for her to look at me, but she never does. Something that feels a lot like panic rises in my chest. The last thing I want is for her to be pissed at me. She kissed me back. We were both willing participants.
“Oh, look at that replay.” Willow points at the screen once again.
I can’t resist as I turn my head and watch as my lips mold with hers. She pulls on my shirt, something I missed during the actual event. Reaching over, I lace her fingers with mine, giving them a gentle squeeze as I keep my eyes focused on the screen. The person running the camera nailed it. They caught the most passionate kiss of my life. I give myself a mental pat on the back that I am recording the game at home. This way, I can watch it over and over and over again. Not that I won’t be able to remember it vividly. A kiss like that, with the buzz around the stadium, I’m sure we’ll make the blogs and even YouTube before we make it out of the parking lot.
For the remainder of the game, the three of us are quiet. Unless it’s to yell about a play or cheer on the Blaze, none of us says a word. She lets me hold her hand the entire time. I can only imagine what my mom is thinking. I know she’s at home watching. She wanted to see if they would show me on camera in the stands. She’s going to see the kiss and me holding this beautiful woman’s hand and think that I’ve been hiding her away.
The truth is, if Paisley were mine, I’d never hide her away. I’d scream it from the fucking rooftops that she was my girl. That’s saying something because I haven’t had a girlfriend since high school. Not once I figured out every girl I dated was using me as a ticket out of our small-town Georgia life. College was the same, but I was smarter about it. I didn’t date, and I still don’t. You know, keeping your eye on the prize and all that. The prize being my career.
At the bottom of the ninth, the Blaze are up by two, and the bases are loaded. Paisley squeezes my hand, and the Tomahawks hitter steps up to the plate for his final hit. One more strike, and he’s out, leaving the Blaze the victors. The pitch is thrown, and the umpire calls out strike again. Paisley jumps from her seat, as does Willow, and they dance around. I watch in fascination as she high-fives everyone around us again. I stand to join them in their celebration, and I’m not disappointed when she turns to face me and launches herself into my arms for a hug.
“We did it!” she cheers. All too quickly, she’s leaving my embrace, but that’s okay. I got to hold her for just the smallest amount of time, which was more than I needed to know that I need to see her again. I open my mouth to tell her that exact thing when an older gentleman sitting behind us commands her attention. I step up close, and it takes everything I have in the way of willpower not to place my hands on her hips and pull her close.
Finally, they end their conversation, and she and Willow both begin to gather their trash. “Thank you for the snacks and the company,” Paisley says politely.
“And the kiss,” Willow adds, with a wicked grin.
“That too.” Paisley nods.
“I’ll walk you out,” I tell them.
“No. That’s okay. It was nice meeting you, Cameron.”
“Hey.” I reach out and grab her arm gently. “Can I see you again?” I sound desperate even to my own ears, and maybe I am.
“Do you believe in fate, Cameron?”
“Never really thought about it,” I admit.
“Not many do.”
“Do you believe in fate, Paisley?” I shoot her question back to her.
“Not so much, but Willow here, she’s a firm believer that everything happens for a reason.”
“Okay?” I’m not really sure what she’s getting at here.
“If we meet again, it was meant to be.” She shocks the hell out of me when she goes up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks again,” she says before rushing up the steps.
Like the fool that I am, I stand here and watch her go. By the time I realize I’m letting her just walk away from me without a last name or even her phone number, I jump into action and sprint up the steps, stepping around everyone who happens to be in my way. I reach the top, and my eyes skim everywhere, but there is no sign of her.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath.
“You never should have let her walk away,” a gravelly voice says from behind me. It’s the old man she was talking to.
“Do you know her last name?” I ask.
“I do.”
“What do I need to do to get that information from you?”
“Nothing. I’m not giving it to you. If she wanted you to have it, she would have told you.”
“Come on. I’m one of the good guys, I promise.” I say the words and realize I sound like a creeper.
The old man chuckles and runs his hands over his graying beard. “I’m sure you are, but I’ve watched that girl grow up. She’s no relation, but she feels like family. So, I’m sorry to say I can’t help you. I heard her mention something about fate. All you can do, son, is hope and pray that fate is on your side and you see her again.”
With that sage advice, he walks away. I’m left standing here like a fool as I mentally kick my own ass for letting her go—the best kiss of my entire life. The best day I’ve had with a woman to date, and I just let her go. What if she was my future wife? Pissed at myself, I make my way out to the parking lot. Every woman I pass with a ball cap and Blaze tank gets an extra careful look as I hope to find her in the sea of people.
