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Then the batter pops up for the first out of the inning and there. He. Is. I don’t know how the man got better looking in the ten months since I last saw him, but he did. His shoulders are wider and his thighs thicker as he steps to home plate. And when the camera moves in tight, and the muscle in his cheek leaps, and his dark brows lower over those golden-brown eyes, I wonder how I ever walked away from him at the airport that day. How did I let him slip through my fingers after he sent that last text?
With my nerves somersaulting, I smile and cry when his tongue’s tip peeks out the corner of his mouth, and he lifts the bat to his shoulder.
“Oh my…” Slapping my hand over my mouth, I gasp and lean toward the screen when black ink on his left forearm flashes. “Is that…?”
His arm is a blur as he swings for strike one. I fall back, then rock forward while he moves through the motions of preparing for his second pitch. The commentators drone on in the background, but I’ve heard nothing they’ve said about the man I’m watching. My ears are filled with the hummingbird beats of my heart, and my eyes won’t stop leaking long enough for me to get a clear view of Devin’s arm before ball one is called and he steps out of the batter’s box.
That’s when I see his pre-batting routine. The way he adjusts his gloves and stomps his cleats, and uses his right palm to tap and swirl his hand over the ink marking the back of his forearm twice before he eases up to the plate. And finally, the camera holds the close-up shot long enough and at the right angle that I can discern what’s on his arm just before his swing connects with the ball.
“Run!” I shout, my body taking over for my mind, my limbs flailing as Devin rounds first and hustles to second base. “Score, score!” I shout at the runner I’d completely forgotten about as he rounds third and heads for home.
Ignoring the runner in position to score, the Mets’ outfielder throws the ball toward second, and Devin throws his body to the ground, sliding.Safe!
“Oh, my gosh, Dev. You got an RBI.” My feet smack the floor as I dance in place, clapping like a madwoman. He got a double and scored a run in his major league debut. He…
I bury my face in my hands, the tears coming. How I have enough liquid left for more tears is beyond me, but they fall relentlessly. My throat burns and my nose runs, and my soul aches for the man I just witnessed have his greatest professional achievement to date, with my sketched face tattooed on his arm for the world to see.
twenty-eight | nova
“Your face is markedon that fine man’s arm permanently. Stop saying there’s nothing between you two, and tell me the truth.”
“Mari…” Looking at my puffy eyes in the bathroom mirror, I grab the washcloth I dug out of my boxes last night and run it under cool water. Leo can’t see me this way. “Leonardo’s going to knock on the door any minute to help me unload.”
She huffs. “My brother can wait.”
“You know what happened. I told you everything last winter.” I press the cool cloth to my face.
“And in the time between you leaving him at the airport and last night, he tattooed a doodle you drew on a napkin during your road trip on his body.”
“A random abstract self-portrait of me. Yes.” What possessed him, I have no idea. I can’t decide if I’m furious, flattered, or falling in love.Damn you, Devin Hawthorne.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to the man in over seven months, and the last time he texted me I never responded.”
“What did he say?”
Flustered with emotion, I blink away the oncoming tears. “That he hated how much he missed me, and how he worried he’d always want me.”
“And you never responded?” Mari huffs an exasperated sigh. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Everything.” A humorless laugh falls from my lips. “What was I supposed to say? We’d made a pact to cut ties unless we managed to cross paths again. Dragging out emotional texts was only going to hurt us more. And I was still reeling from leaving Anders.”
“Screw Anders.”
Ha. Yes, screw Anders.
“Nova, you’re in the same city with Devin.Finally. Even if it’s temporary, that’s gotta mean something. Call him. Or better yet, surprise him. I bet you could get his address from Leopold and show up on his doorstep.”
I chuckle. “You’re crazy, Mari.”
“He has your face tattooed on hisarm. I don’t think surprising the man in love with you would bother him. Maybe this is your chance.”
While her words have a drum corps marching through my chest, I can’t help rolling my eyes. “You don’t know that he’s in love with me. Our time spent together was meaningful in a lot of different ways.” Healing for him and for me. Heartbreaking, too, but impactful for the better. “The tattoo could mean so many different things.”
“Have you gone on any dates since Anders?”
“No, why would I?”
