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Annie, on the other hand, is wearing glittery green tights and legwarmers that give off bizarre, retro-aerobics vibes. And she’s paired these with a t-shirt I’d recognize anywhere. Because it’s MY t-shirt.
Or what used to be my t-shirt…
She’s given her keepsake from the hotel a new look. In bold, sharpie-printed letters, my formerly pristine, white, organic cotton shirt now reads: “I played softball for the Donovan brothers and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”
I should be pissed. First, she stole my shirt. Then, she vandalized it.
The cheek of the entire thing!
But honestly, I couldn’t care less. For the first time in forever, a woman caught me so off guard, I couldn’t help but smile.
Couldn’t help but fall a little more.
Plus, she looked so hilarious during our first game, prancing around in the outfield and missing any ball that came her way by a mile. I could barely keep my head in the game because all I wanted to do was watch her instead.
I find I’m often watching her, like there’s a magnetic pull directing my attention in her direction. I suppose when it comes to magnets, opposites always attract, and Annie and I? We couldn’t be more different. I’m a carefully drawn, ruler-straight grid. She’s a Jackson Pollock painting. A colorful ray of sunshine. And when that ray shines on you, there’s no hiding in the dark.
I watch her now as the SITL crew sit in a circle of camp chairs between games. Luke has a portable barbecue going, and Annie’s eating a hot dog while talking to Mindy and Legs, who’s now graduated to sitting in Annie’s lap.
She’s taken to Annie like a duck to water. It’s a good omen; Legs is a good judge of character.
I get another Coke from the cooler, then stand off to the side, taking a few cool, sweet, fizzy sips as I look over the scene.
I’m grateful for my employees, but I’m not one for socializing outside work. I always believed that work and personal life should be kept separate. But as I survey so many important people in my life laughing and eating and joking together, my insides feel warm.
It’s… nice.
“Hey.”
Annie’s voice is close—so close, a shock runs down my spine. She’s rummaging in the cooler.
“Hello,” I say, wishing it didn’t sound so stiff and formal. Well, more stiff and formal than usual.
She finds a can of lemon Lipton iced tea and straightens. Chews on her lower lip as she stands next to me, surveying the field. “You’re really good at softball.”
“I used to play baseball.” I keep my eyes on the field, trying to focus on anything but the fact that she’s close enough to touch.
Instead, I think about how nice the sun feels on my face. How the smells of freshly-cut grass and hot dogs are like a precursor to summer. But whatever I do, I won’t think about how Annie’s grasshopper spandex tights are very… uh… let’s just sayasset hugging. To the point of distracting. Must not think about that.
Can’t not think about that.
Okay, fine. No point in denying a fact: she has a nice butt.
Now, can my brain please go back to regular-scheduled programming?
“Oh yeah, Legs said that.” Annie cracks open her iced tea but doesn’t drink any. “Was it in high school?”
“College, too.”
“When did you stop?”
“I dropped out junior year.”
She doesn’t ask any further questions, just tilts her head up, bathing her skin in a golden glow of sunlight. “My old company had a beer league softball team. It’s pretty popular among tech start-ups, I guess.”
My eyebrows fly up in surprise. Not at the fact that her company had a team—she’s right, it is common—but at the fact that she’s played this sport before and still remains so unbelievably bad at it.
I’m not exaggerating. I watched her wind up, swing for a pitch, and let go of the bat. It almost nailed the third basewoman in the face.
