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“It’s your fault for being so eager,” she replied. “You’ve got to play hard to get with this one.”
Under the table, Abe bumped his leg against mine. Just that innocent contact sent my nervous system into a tailspin.
“Noted for future reference,” Russ replied.
“Ditto,” Abe quipped.
Across the table, Alyssa fought back a grin as she volleyed her gaze between us. My ex-wife knew how much I loved Abe—wasin lovewith him—just as she knew the reason I guarded my heart. Our marriage might not have worked out the way we’d planned when we exchanged vows, but we had an amazing friendship and co-parented the world’s greatest kid. Besides Abe, no one on this planet, including blood relatives, knew me better than Alyssa.
“Do you want to hear this or not?” I asked Russ. “I’m trying to give you some background information so you’ll have the full picture.”
“No, wait,” Abe said. “If you really want to paint the picture, you’ll need to start in 1992.”
I nodded sagely. “You’re right. Thanks.”
Abe winked at me. “Anytime, pal.”
Russ took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll bite. What happened in 1992?”
“These two idiots met,” Alyssa said before I could respond. “It was at a similar tournament to the one Alex just played in. Multiple rounds to get to the championship game, which is where they met.”
“Yep,” I agreed. “It was hate at first sight.”
Abe scoffed. “Speak for yourself. You didn’t even register as a blip on my radar.”
“Until I hit a grand slam off you in the bottom of the last inning to win the game,” I countered.
“Yeah, that left an impression.”
I nudged him with my arm and returned my attention to Russ. “Our teams dueled it out during the annual classic for two more years.”
“Here?” Russ asked.
“Nah,” Alex said. “Abe is from Alamo.”
“The armpit of Georgia,” I supplied.
Abe snorted. “That’s rich coming from someone born in a town named after an onion. Bet you smelled like an armpit.”
Alex rolled his eyes at both of us. “And Dad is from Vidalia.”
“Got it,” Russ said. “You were rivals who hated each other, and we’re up to 1994 now.”
“Yep,” I agreed. “It’s a rematch of the 1992 tournament, and instead of throwing honest pitches or intentionally walking me, Big Abe here hit me with a pitch on purpose.”
“In the arm,” Abe said.
“That pitch came at me faster than most people drive their cars,” I countered.
Abe grinned proudly because humility was a stranger to him. I’d once asked how a person who’d come from such humble beginnings could have so much swagger. He’d told me it was because he’d clawed his way out of hell with nothing but determination and his bare hands. I couldn’t argue with his assessment. It was too bad Abe’s faith in himself didn’t extend to his romantic relationships because that’s where the cocky train derailed. “I had a wicked arm back in the day,” he said.
I raised my glass of soda, tipping it toward him. “Yes, you did.”
Russ’s gaze bounced between us for a few seconds before his patience wore out. “I take it Lio didn’t jog out to the mound to hug you.”
Abe snorted, I laughed, and then we shared a look that lingered longer than two friends would allow. I could get lost in his baby blues, and I probably did more than was healthy. In their depths, I saw decades of memories as we went from heated rivals to best friends with myriad labels and pit stops along the journey. I was the one who broke eye contact first, and I grinned over at Russ.
“If by a hug, you mean I charged the mound and tackled his big ass to the ground, then yes.” I glanced at Abe again and caught his crooked grin before he replaced it with a mock scowl.
