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Penny gives me a high-five. “Look at you. Mastering commitment.”
“Mastering something,” I say, an edge to my voice. “Annoyance, maybe.”
“Let’s go,” Penny says. “We should get popcorn. Or caramel corn? We need to soak up the booze.”
“He’s a Callahan, by the way,” I call as we leave the bathroom. “Not kind of. Idiots.”
We’re barely around the corner when someone says, “You’re Sebastian’s girlfriend?”
A woman, maybe in her early thirties, with dark blonde hair and smooth red lipstick, holds out her hand. She’s wearing a navy pantsuit with a silk top, and a truly atrocious necklace hangs around her neck. “Zoe Anders,The Sportsman.”
“Oh,” I say, taking her hand reluctantly. I hope I don’t smell like tequila. Was she lurking outside the bathroom waiting for me? “You’re the reporter Sebastian spoke with yesterday.”
“Yes,” she says. “And you’re Mia di Angelo? His girlfriend?”
“She is,” Penny says warily. “What are you doing here?”
“I can’t write an article about the future of baseball without seeing him play some games, right?” she says. “Who are you, a friend of Mia’s?”
“My best friend Penny,” I say. “Um—it was nice to meet you. I hope you’re enjoying the game.”
“I was wondering if I could get your thoughts on Sebastian,” she says before we can escape. “And I’d love to have a picture of you for the article. You mean a lot to him, you know. He was singing your praises yesterday.”
“I don’t…”
“It’ll just take a few minutes and it’ll be a big help. You want to help him, don’t you? This article will solidify his draft capital no matter how McKee’s season ends.”
I glance at Penny, who is worrying her lip. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. Send a search-and-rescue if I’m not back by the seventh inning stretch.” I smile, hoping I sound casual, but Penny frowns before she heads back to the seats.
“You’re a doll,” Zoe says. “Wearing his jersey and everything, it’s adorable. I dated a baseball player in college.”
“Are you still with him?”
“Nope,” she says breezily. She pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Let me just text my photographer, one second.”
46
MIA
By the timeI finally manage to extricate myself from Zoe, it’s the sixth inning. On the way back to the seats, I realize that Sebastian’s about to come up to bat, so I pause where I am, behind the rows in front of home plate, to watch him step into the batter’s box.
Like most baseball players, he takes a moment to settle into his stance. He widens his feet, rotates his waist a few times, and taps the bat on the toes of his cleats before settling it in place over his shoulder. He takes the first pitch, an outside ball, and readjusts for the next one. Another ball.
“Throw a strike!” a guy wearing a Binghamton shirt yells at the pitcher.
I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Go Seb!”
He gets another ball. The pitcher isn’t giving him anything to hit. There’s already a runner on second base, so maybe he’s being cautious, trying to get past Sebastian to an easier batter later in the lineup.
The guy looks back at me. I shrug. “Girlfriend duties.”
“Your boyfriend sucks,” he says.
I give him my best bitch look. “You want to go there?”
