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“Huh?”
Maggie grabbed Raven’s forearm and placed the bottle of ranch dressing in her hand. “Do me a favor,” she whispered, “and switch your thinking from undressing Ridge to dressing this salad, there’s a good girl.” She grinned at her friend and sidled through to the living room. Maggie was extremely proud of her slender, tanned legs, which today were wonderfully shown off by the tiniest jean shorts she dared to wear.
Raven focused and got the appetizers ready, bringing everything through and taking a seat in their little living room. The TV was a second-hand 36-inch, which was flanked by an armchair on each side and a big three-seater sofa in the middle; they had found it almost for free right after they moved in and considered it their luckiest find. Wes took his customary seat on the right of the TV while Maggie very deliberately took the left, leaving Mitch and Ridge to figure out who might sit next to Raven on the couch. The taller, incredibly more muscular man seemed to win the ensuing silent argument in about a second.
The game had not started well. Oakland’s at-bat had already produced a base hit and a walk, each roundly criticized by Wes and Mitch. Ridge remained unmoved, reminding them, “It’s a long way to the bottom of the ninth,” a sentiment which fell on almost completely deaf ears. Then someone powered a hit way long, left of center field, and the three men watched despairingly as it careened over the boundary for a two-run homer.
“Son of abitch!” yelled Wes.
“God damn it all tohell!” spat Mitch.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” said Ridge mildly. Maggie turned to see Raven gazing, half-melted, at the even-tempered man next to her on the couch. “Pitcher needs to mix it up more,” he diagnosed, taking a small sip of beer. Raven noticed that he drank not the cans of Bud Light his friends were plowing through, but a bottle of IPA from a local brewery.
“You don’t like Bud?” Maggie asked, certain that Raven was, as yet, too shy to ask.
“Well,” Ridge said thoughtfully, glancing at the label, “I only ever have one or two, so I like to try something different.”
“Driving, are you?” Maggie inquired.
“By default, I guess,” he replied as they watched Mitch pop his third Bud, “but I never was much of a drinker. The docs say I should take it easy, and I’ve learned that if I do what they say, things work out better.”
With two walks, the Athletics’ pitcher had started badly. Wes hollered at an RBI, and again a minute later as the Rangers scored again, prompting a general high-five and a more confident vibe to the room. Mitch loved to applaud each good play, his resonating claps providing a rhythm to the game, a counterpoint to the regular calls for more beer.
“Do you play sports much?” It took Raven a second to realize that this question was for her.
“Er, well...”Get it together, girl, said Maggie’s imploring facial expression. “I played volleyball in high school, and I like to run.”
“That’s good,” said Ridge. Norris stole second, to the loud consternation of the others. Ridge added quietly, “You do look to be in good shape.” He then joined in the applause as the pitcher wrapped up the inning without the Athletics extending their 3-2 lead.
Raven’s whole body was quivering slightly.Did he just say that?Did he really? Maggie’s open-mouthed shock confirmed it: this extraordinarily sexy man hadpraisedRaven’s figure, right there to her face. She wouldn’t have believed it possible, but apparently Raven could become instantly tingly — and she could feel a little moistness between her legs — simply from something Ridgesaid.
Be cool,said Maggie’s imploring face. “Thanks,” Raven said. “I don’t know how often you’re in the gym, but it seems to be doing you some good.” Waiting until the men were engrossed in the next play, Maggie mimed generous applause to her friend, silently mouthing, ‘You go, girl!’Raven felt a growing sense of confidence, either from spending more time with this personable, easygoing guy, or from the two beers she’d fairly swiftly dispatched.
“Hey, how’s about we eat during the seventh inning stretch?” suggested Wes, always the one to combine sporting enthusiasm with thoughtful party planning. “You’ll have to holler the play-by-play through the window.”
“I’ll get it, Wes, don’t worry,” said Ridge, rising to his feet.
“You sure?” Wes asked, more than prepared to take his usual role as grill-meister.
“I know one end of a barbeque from another,” Ridge assured him.
Mitch chimed in, “Dude, the man can handle anti-tank missiles and scuba gear,” he announced, rather artlessly. “I don’t think grilling will stretch his capabilities.”
Ridge gave his old friend a stern look but decided — guest in a new friend’s home as he was — to let it go. “I’ll help,” said Raven with a measured enthusiasm she hoped wouldn’t betray just how critically urgent it was that she hang out with Ridge. “Want another of those funny bottles?” she asked cheekily.
“Not just now.” He chuckled as she followed him out to the grill. “Do you cook much?”
They found the grill nicely hot and began planning the little feast. “I actually work at Cheryl’s as a part-time baker,” Raven told him.
“No way! I love that place. Best coffee and cake in the state. I stop in there sometimes after the gym, even if it means driving ten miles out of my way.”
Ridge brandished tongs and got the steaks sizzling promisingly on the grill. “So how do you know these two?” he asked, thumb pointing back at the house, from which a noisy complaint greeted a home run.
Raven unpacked the franks and laid them out, ready for grilling. “Maggie and I were at Girl Scouts camp together when we were thirteen,” she recalled. “It turned out we were actually at the same high school. We were inseparable for years.”
“Important to have friends like that,” Ridge said. “I’ve known Mitch in there,” he thumbed back at the living room once more, “and my buddy Flynn for twenty years, nearly.” He paused. “Wow, that made me feelold!”
“You don’t look a day over twenty-six,” Raven said, not stretching the truth at all but bringing a hearty laugh from the grill chef. “What? I’m serious!”
