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She chuckles when she sees my expression. “I was the water girl, I didn’t play. My job was refreshments.”
She’s smiling, as usual. But her eyes are a little tighter than usual around the corners, like she’s straining to keep that sunshine in her voice.
“Why?” I ask.
“Uh, I guess you could say I didn’t help the team’s points average. They were able to win more games without me playing.”
“But it’sbeer league softball.”
Annie shrugs. “My ex was very competitive.”
That douche.
I try to think of something positive to say. Something helpful and encouraging. Something that’ll make her feel better.
“You know you’re holding the bat wrong, right?”
Oh for saint’s sake, Liam, you went withthat? Real smooth.
“I’m pretty sure I’m doing everything wrong.” Annie smiles self-deprecatingly. “Sports ain’t my forte.”
I check my watch. We have fifteen minutes before our next game. I survey the bleachers until my eyes land on Legs. She’s sitting with Luke, munching on dill pickle chips and studiously ignoring Vanessa, who’s trying and failing to win her over.
I can, and I will do something.
“Come with me,” I say brusquely.
“Where?”
“Just come with me, Annie.”
“Okay.” She pauses. “What are we doing?”
I reach for a spare bat. Give it a spin. Then I take a step towards her.
“I’m going to show you how this is done.”
26
ANNIE
I’m going to show you how this is done.
Sounds like an innocent sentence, right? It could apply to anything from filing your taxes, to applying a perfect cat-eye liquid liner, to making French onion soup.
But when that sentence comes out of the mouth of a tall, tanned brick wall of a man, who’s looking at you with intense smoldering eyes and wielding a baseball bat like he could do some serious damage, well… let’s just say I’m practically a wobbling heap of Jell-O.
In fact, it is with severe effort that I trot next to Liam on my jelly legs as he leads me across the field to a row of batting cages.
“Umm… why are we here?” I finally ask.
Liam points at the first cage. “You’re going to learn how to swing a bat.”
Oh. Well, this isn’t going to go well.
I follow him into the cage, watch wearily as he adjusts the machine that’s going to start spitting balls.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea…” I trail off hesitantly.
