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Peyton looked down at Kendall’s hand and winced when she saw the deep crescents in her friend’s hand from Peyton’s nails. “Sorry.”
Kendall flexed her hand. “It’s all good.” Picking up her beer, Kendall took a sip. “My nerves are shot.”
Peyton eyed the scoreboard. Top of the ninth. The Hawks were up by one. One away. Two more outs and they were done. She couldn’t believe Ryan was still pitching. He’d been on fire tonight and as a result, he was still in the game. The closer hadn’t been brought in. She prayed the team pulled out the win. If they didn’t, Ryan would blame himself despite how phenomenally he’d pitched all game.
“I will be so glad when this series is done,” Kendall said. “If Pete’s lucky underwear has to go one more game, his bag isn’t coming inside.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Peyton shifted in her seat to look at her Ryan’s sister.
“They’re his lucky underwear. Don’t want to wash the luck out. It’s ridiculous.” Kendall rolled her eyes.
“I’m sorry, are you saying Pete wears the same underwear every game?” Peyton giggled, then mentally ran through the number of games in the series. “Ew, he hasn’t washed his underwear forfive games.”
“Oh no, these are playoff underwear. He hasn’t washed these bad boys since they played Philadelphia.”
“Ew, gross. That’s disgusting. Why?” Peyton cringed as a shudder ran through her body.
“Stupid baseball superstitions. My brother isn’t any better.”
“Yeah, but Ryan just won’t touch his facial hair. It’s a scraggly beard, but it’s clean.”
“Ew, nope, nope, nope.” Kendall shook her finger in front of Peyton’s face. “Wipe that look off your face, gross, I don’t want to know and if you keep smiling like that, it’ll make me picture things and no, ew.” She pointed her finger sternly. “So stop.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Peyton snickered.
The sound of the bat cracking against a ball pierced the air and the crowd was on their feet. Smitty backed up and caught the ball at the top of the fence, stealing a home run from Rodriguez. The crowd roared.
Ryan lifted his hat and held it against his chest as he saluted Smitty, who did the same thing back.
“Holy fuck, that was close,” Kendall said.
Peyton snorted. “You swear like your brother.”
“I know, it’s awful. Pete isn’t any better.” Kendall rubbed her palms nervously against her thigh like her palms were sweating. “I’m surprised it hasn’t rubbed off on you.”
“Honestly, me too.” Peyton bounced in her seat as the next batter walked up to the plate. “Of course it has to be Simpson,” she muttered as she looked at his .354 batting average as it flashed up on the screen.
Two down, one to go. She stared down at Ryan, sending all her positive vibes his way. “You got this, baby,” she murmured.
And as if he heard her. Ryan turned and looked into the stands. A slow smile spread across his face that she could see from her seat. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn the cocky bastard winked at her too. Whether or not she imagined it, a calm slipped over her. They were going to win. Ryan had this in the bag.
Strike one.
The crowd roared and began chanting.
Strike two.
The crowd erupted to their feet. Peyton and Kendall stood. Their hands clasped together as they waited for the next pitch.
One more. Just one more.
Ryan shook off the first call from Patel, shook off the second before finally seeing what he wanted in the third. Peyton held her breath as Ryan wound up and launched a missile of a pitch. At the last second, the ball dipped, leaving the batter holding his bat in his hands as he watched strike three sail cleanly over the plate. He’d thrown a freakin’ curve.
Peyton screamed. Holy crap, they’d won the world series.
She threw her arms around Kendall and the two women jumped up and down. After several moments, Kendall grabbed her arm and pulled her into the aisle and down the remaining few stairs to the railing. Security held up his hand to stop Kendall from trying to climb over.
“We’re with players,” Kendall told him.
