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?You two look super pathetic right now,” she says, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“Excuse me, did you just call your future husband pathetic?” I ask, my lips loose. “It’s your fault I’m this drunk!” She cracks up and makes her way over to me as Fred bat makes a resounding crack as it hits the ball, sending it sailing over the fence. Homerun.
“Honey,” she says, dropping to her haunches in front of me and placing her hands on my knees. Fuck, I want her like this later at home, her on her knees. Me, fucking her mouth. As if she can read my thoughts, her cheeks turn pink. “Honey, it’s not my fault that this is your first SFHM tournament and you thought that you could hang.” She pops up and drops a kiss on my mouth before sashaying her ass to home base since it’s her turn to bat. I clutch my chest and elbow Jax.
“I’m gonna marry the shit out of that woman.”
He gasps dramatically. “Can I be the flower girl?”
We’re both clearly drunk because we start howling with laughter. I can’t drag my eyes away from the beautiful woman up to hit. She points the bat at me.
“This one’s for you, future husband,” she hollers, blowing a kiss at me and everyone around us catcalls. She takes her position. Jensen is the only one semi-sober enough to be pitching, if that’s saying anything, because his first pitch is wide and it nails Fred, who’s standing in the dugout, right in the arm.
“Ouch, you son of a bitch!” Fred hollers and Jensen drops his glove, bending over to pick it up and falling in the process.
“Gen! We need a stand in pitcher!” Avery hollers at her little sister, who is sitting in the stands with her friends. She begrudgingly makes her way down the bleachers, grabbing the glove and ball from a still sprawled out Jensen, nudging him out of the way so she can actually stand on the mound.
“Happens every year,” Jax says, “Genevieve has to tag along because we know that no one will be able to pitch by the last inning.” He grins at her like a proud dad.
She winds up, pitches the ball, and…
“Strike!” The ump calls. Whitley huffs out a sigh, knocking her bat against the plate and taking her stance again. Gen winds up again, the whole crowd silent. We’re down by one point and if Whit hits a homerun then it’s game over. She releases the ball, and it sails towards home plate and crack! Whit makes contact and the ball is up and over the fence and everyone’s on their feet screaming. We Are the Champions plays over the loudspeaker as she rounds third base and heads home. I’m up and lifting her on to my shoulders as she clears home plate.
I know I said it once but damn, it is good to be home.
***
The wind whips through the truck as we fly down this old back road, one hand on the wheel, other hand out the window. This is what life is about. I glance over at Whitley, dark hair loose, blowing in the wind. She’s got her hand out the window, the Alabama humidity making her hair do that halfway frizzy thing that it always does.
It’s dark out, just after ten on a Friday night. I may be eighteen with no curfew, but she’s two years younger and her daddy likes her home by midnight on weekends, so we’ve only got a couple hours left. I turn off the back road, bumping along down an old dirt road. She lets out a squeal because she knows what’s next. I park and cut the truck out as she leaps out, flip flops long forgotten and left in the truck, just the way she likes it. I grin and shake my head, following her to the bed, where she’s already pulling blankets and pillows out of my toolbox.
I climb up after her and snag her by the waist, spinning around with her in my arms, and she squeals.
“Dean, put me down!” She hollers, kickin’ her feet a little, but she isn’t fooling me any. She loves me.
“Sure, you just have to pay the tax,” she shakes her head but obliges, pressing a kiss to my lips before dropping down onto the makeshift bed.
“You’re such a dork.”
“Yeah, but you love this dork.” She hums in agreement and we both lay down on the blankets she laid out, eyes pointed at the sky.
The night is black, no clouds. Perfect night for stargazing, which just happens to be Whitley’s favorite pastime. She sighs, reaching for my hand and sliding her fingers through mine.
“Thank you,” she says, and I roll my head towards her.
“Whitley Jean, I don’t care what we’re doing, so long as I’m doing it with you.” She rolls to her side and smiles at me.
“Do you…. Do you ever want more than Monroeville?” She asks and I think for a second, before shrugging my shoulders.
“I mean, I guess so, yeah. But I don’t want more than you. And you’re in Monroeville, soo….” I trail off. I may graduate this year, but she’s still got two years left, and all my plans include her. I’d wait forever if I had to.
“What if we just, took off when I graduate? I mean, I’ve got some savings from workin’ at the diner and you’ve been putting money back from the grocery store.” She says, hope written all over her face.
“Baby, anywhere you are is where I want to be. So, if that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do.” Her face lights up and she squeals, sitting up and pressing a kiss to my lips. We both lay back down, taking in the night. Staring at the stars, talking about anything and everything. I could talk to this girl forever and never get tired. My watch chirps, letting me know we’ve got twenty minutes to get her home before curfew.
We quietly pack the bedding back inside the toolbox and when we’re done, I help her out of the bed, walking her back to the passenger side of the truck. I round the front and jump in, firing the truck up and Whitley slides to the middle of the bench seat, settling herself under my outstretched arm.
