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But now that she was standing just feet from me, those blue eyes mesmerizing me, those lips calling my name once more, in the flesh, I couldn’t just leave it to dreams. I needed it for real. I needed to be around her and inhale her presence, drink her in and let that familiar sensation roll through my body and lay waste to the memory of any other girl who had ever crossed my path.
“Where exactly do you live?” I asked.
“I live in Brooklyn, not too far,” she said.
“Well, what are you doing for the rest of the night?”
“Nothing particular,” I said. “Tamara only had this planned and then she was probably going to want to go bar hopping again, but I don’t know if I was going to join her for that. We did enough of that last night.”
“Does that mean you’re free tonight to see me again?” I asked. My heart was thumping hard in my chest.
“Sure,” she said. “I can do that.”
“Great,” I said. “What’s your number?”
She grinned and pulled a napkin toward her, writing it down. It was old school. Once I had the number in my phone, I had every intention of putting that napkin somewhere very safe. It felt too sacred and special to toss.
“Awesome,” I said. “I’ll either call or text in a little while. Don’t go too far, okay?”
“I won’t,” she said. “See you soon.”
“Very soon,” I said, heading to the door but not turning my back on her. “Very soon.”
I backed through the door and out into the hall where security was waiting. I was going to need an escort back to the locker room. Too many fans were out there, and there was a secret way back to the field and then into the dugout that only security and the players knew about. I followed him up the hall, out the main door and then dipped into another door before anyone saw me and was able to say anything.
I made it back to the field and waved at some of the fans out there, including the people Mallory had been sitting with.
Going down the steps into the dugout, I could see Coach waiting on me. He held his arms out and mouthedWhat the hell?as I passed him. I held up one hand and nodded.
“I know, Coach. I know,” I said.
Getting into the clubhouse, I saw the team gathered together in the back. Reporters were being pushed out, and as they saw me, they surged forward again. I knew my teammates were going to give me hell for making everything late. They wanted to do our team ritual and get back to their hotels.
“Miller!” a familiar voice shouted over the din. “You shut New York out for the second time this season, now combining sixteen innings with zero runs. With free agency coming at the end of the year, are you looking to sign with a team that needs a Yankee-killer or with New York themselves?”
It was Jerome Williams, one of the top reporters and personalities for baseball on television. He was also known for stirring the pot, which was exactly what this question was designed to do. I smiled innocently and pointed to him.
“Jerome, great question,” I said, quieting the entire group. “I was thinking about maybe signing with someone completely different. I heard the WWE is hiring. You saw me swing the bat out there. Maybe I’d do just as well with a chair.”
With that, I waved and left the group, much to their frustration as security pushed them out of the door. Rejoining my teammates in the circle they had created, I looked around apologetically.
“My bad, guys,” I said.
“Hey man, I’m just surprised you came back already,” Ronnie Morton, our second baseman, said. “If I was you, I’d be with that girl all night long.”
A roar of laughter and high-fives rolled through the group, and I smiled, nodding.
“You wouldn’t last five minutes with a girl a third as hot, Ronnie,” I said. “She’s a friend of mine from high school. We’re just catching up.”
“She’d be catching more than up if I had my way,” Ricky said.
There was a sudden silence as everyone looked at him.
“What the hell does that mean?” Ronnie said.
“Yeah,” Devon Hughes, our left fielder, said. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I just…” he began and then shook his head. “She’s hot, yo.”
