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“I’ve never really played,” I reply, glancing to where Max stands, eagerly waiting for the ball.
“Really?” he bemuses, tossing it back to his son.
“Really. I hated sports growing up. The only ball I’ve thrown was in PE, and even then, everyone knew I couldn’t play, so they never gave me the ball.”
When the ball returns to Jensen, he pops off his glove and hands it to me. “Here, put this on.”
I’m hesitant at first, not really wanting to embarrass myself by trying to play catch, but eventually slide the glove on my hand. He holds out the ball, which I take in my right hand, and then stands there watching.
“Well, go ahead and throw it.”
“But…what if I hurt him?”
“Max? Are you going to intentionally throw the baseball to hurt him?” he asks, his voice gentle and calm.
“What? No!” I gasp, my eyes wide as I gaze at him.
“Of course you’re not. Accidents sometimes happen, Kate, I’ll be honest, but Max is a pretty good player. You throw it, he’ll catch it.”
“But…”
“No buts, Butterfly. Don’t think. Just lock your eyes on Max and throw him the ball.”
I exhale deeply, the weight of the ball in my hand feeling like a piece of lead. When I open my eyes, they lock on the little boy standing about twenty feet across from me. He gives me a wide toothy grin, his glove ready to catch whatever I throw his way. I take a step forward, raise my hand, and release the ball without giving it another thought. The ball goes sailing through the air, wide and to the right, but the little boy eagerly runs a few steps and catches it. The sound of the ball hitting the glove practically echoes through the yard like a cannon.
“I did it,” I whisper, the smile on my face instantaneous.
“You did,” he says, an encouraging, proud smile on his face. “Good job.”
“What now?”
“Now you stand there and wait for him to throw it back.”
“Throw it back? As in…catch it?” I ask, the panic starting to bubble to the surface.
“Yep, just catch it, Kate. You got this,” he says, turning his attention to his son. There’s a slight shadow across his jaw from today’s hair growth and I can’t help but think about how that very jaw felt Saturday night rubbing against my sensitive thigh. “Kate?” he asks, my eyes moving upward until they clash with his.
“Yeah?”
The slightest smirk spreads on his lips. “You better keep your eye on the ball, Butterfly.”
“Oh!” I yell, turning away from the handsome man beside me and facing the four-year-old ready to hurl a hard baseball at my head.
Max is all business as he waits for me to get ready. I’m not sure how you get ready to catch a baseball, but I think I’m prepared as best as I can. I mean, I’ve got the glove up by my face to protect against any vital face injury. That’s important, right? No one wants to take a ball to the nose like Marcia Brady.
Max starts to giggle as Jensen reaches over and gently pulls the glove from obstructing my view. “Just hold it right here. He won’t throw it very hard, so your reflexes will have time to catch it.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to get hit in the face,” I say, doubting I should even be standing on this side of the game of catch. I mean, throwing the ball is one thing, but catching it in the glove (not with my face) is another.
“You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Trust me. Trust Max.”
Exhaling deeply once more, I hold the glove where he instructs and wait for the ball to come flying at my face. I watch as Max brings up his arm and asks, “Ready?”
I nod frantically and wait. The ball is tossed in my direction, not nearly as fast as I was expecting. I easily move the glove to the side to catch it. Unfortunately, the ball hits the tip of the glove and bounces off. “Damn it,” I mumble, bending down and picking up the ball.
“It’s okay. You did good,” Jensen says in a total dad tone, like he’s speaking to a child.
“No, I didn’t. I missed it.” I tell him, taking my stance again and getting ready to throw the ball back to Max. “Again,” I tell him, anxious to catch it this time around.
