18. Pantsuit Rebellion
EIGHTEEN
PANTSUIT REBELLION
ISABELLA
Okay, so baseball isn’t my sport.
Not that I thought it would be.
Sports and I don’t mix.
I think I got maybe like five solid hits on a ball after I don’t even know how many pitches. And only two of them actually went back toward Ryan.
But I had fun.
God, I had so much fun.
He would taunt me, I would heckle him right back. But we laughed so much.
I don’t think I’ve had that much fun on a date in a long time. Maybe even ever.
We just finished gathering the pile of balls from behind the plate, and I’m watching as he puts everything back in their respective places.
“This was a lot of fun,” I admit.
He looks over at me as he comes out of the supply closet. “I’m glad you had a good time. I was hoping you would. But you realize we’re not done yet, right?”
“There’s more?”
“Of course there’s more,” he says, stepping up to my side and grasping my hand.
A move I’m realizing he’s going to keep using all day while he has the freedom and permission to do so.
He pulls me with him, back in the direction of the locker room.
“You didn’t expect me to have you exert yourself like that and not feed you, did you? ”
“I, well, I don’t know what to expect. All my expectations for tonight flew out the window when you pulled up to the stadium. Are we going out somewhere?” I ask cautiously.
“Of course not. I brought dinner to us.” Walking into the locker room, Ryan pulls me with him to grab the smaller bag he brought in with us earlier. “Can you hold this for a moment?” he asks, holding it out to me.
“Sure,” I say, taking it from him.
Still holding my hand, he digs through his bat bag until he pulls out a rolled-up blanket. He tucks it under his arm before reclaiming the bag from my grip.
We head back out through the clubhouse until we’re walking into the home team dugout and onto the field.
“Are we allowed to be out here?” I ask.
“Don’t worry, we’re fine.” I eye him warily, but his confidence melts my concerns away. We carry on until we’re well into the outfield where he drops the bag and reluctantly releases my hand.
“Have I told you that I really enjoy seeing you in that dress?” he asks me as he begins to unfold and shake out the blanket for us to sit on.
“I don’t mean that in like a sleazy I’m checking you out kind of way.
It’s refreshing to see you in something different than your usual work attire.
Not that there’s anything wrong with your work clothes, I love your pantsuits.
They’re so fun, all the different colors.
” He’s rambling and I chuckle to myself as he talks.
I think his nerves around tonight are finally showing which is hilarious to me since my nerves have all melted away after making a fool out of myself in the batting cage.
I settle onto the blanket once he has it laid out. “I understand what you mean. I appreciate the not sleazy compliment,” I say with a laugh that trails off as I weigh giving him a truth.
“Is everything okay?” he asks me as he lowers himself next to me on the blanket, clearly sensing the way I’m lost in my thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I love dresses and skirts. They make me feel feminine and powerful in my own way, but I would never wear them to work.”
“Why not?” he asks with a curious tilt to his head.
“I don’t even know. I think it’s a me thing.
I’ve kind of internalized that I’m not allowed to dress like a woman in my line of work.
I won’t be taken seriously if I show up dressed too much like a girl, you know?
You saw how that guy treated me at the St. Louis game.
Imagine I had been wearing a dress? It would’ve been so much worse.
But the pantsuits are like my own little act of rebellion.
The pastels and the colors instead of a plain boring black or gray.
It’s my own way to let my personality show without leaning too hard into the feminine end of the scale. ”
A crease forms in his forehead as his brows draw together.
“That’s not alright though, Isa.” He reaches out and places his hand on top of where mine is planted behind me.
“You shouldn’t have to change yourself to try and fit in.
I’ll admit I haven’t seen you in action all the time, but from what I have seen, you’re good enough at your job that your clothes shouldn’t have any impact.
Your work should speak for itself. And I love that I get to see this side of you, finally. It shows me more of your personality.”
“Yeah.” I let out a deep breath. “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me.
I know it’s irrational, but it’s something I’ve always done, and I don’t think I can change it that easily.
It’s the mindset I have toward it all now,” I say with a shrug.
“The few times I’ve worn a dress into the office, not even on set, I felt so uncomfortable like I was trying to claw out of my skin.
” I take a quick centering breath and cut in before he can speak again.
“Wow, this conversation really took a depressing turn.”
He watches me for a few beats but thankfully senses my need to change the subject. “Well, I know what we can speak about instead,” he says, pulling away from me to begin unpacking the food that was momentarily forgotten.
“And what’s that?” I ask.
He looks at me with a smirk. “We still have a game of twenty questions to finish.” He winks, returning to pull Tupperware containers from the bag.
I groan. “Oh, come on. I thought we threw that out the window when I finally caved to being your friend.”
“Excuse you. I have a list of questions I still need to ask.”
“You do not,” I argue as he takes the lids off the containers and pulls out a few final things from what I’m now realizing is one of those lunch box cooler bags.
“Do too. I put them in the Notes app on my phone.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I would never kid about my Notes app,” he replies with mock horror, his hand planted over his heart.
I laugh at his theatrics. “Fine, fine. Hit me with the first question on your list,” I say as I let my eyes finally take in everything he’s unpacked.
Diced up steak that is somehow still giving off steam. I’m impressed he was able to keep it warm.
Chopped onion and cilantro.
Guacamole.
Tortilla chips.
A variety of salsas and hot sauces.
Tortillas.
Tacos.
He fucking packed a taco picnic because I told him they were the one food I could eat for the rest of my life.
The realization causes warmth to bloom in my chest.
He’s looking at his phone, and I see his eyes snag on something before they move further down the screen. “Okay, I’ve got it. If you came across my profile on Tinder, would you swipe right or left?”
“No way that’s your question,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’m not answering that.”
“Oh, come on, Isa. I thought it would be an easy one!” He gives me a knowing smile.
“I feel like you’re fishing for a compliment here.” I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrow.
“Am I?” he asks with a lift of his chin and that smile only growing wider. “For all I know you’d swipe left. We’ve never had this conversation before, so how do I really know your answer?”
Forget that warmth I just felt. I hate him.
This is his idea of torture. Must be. I let out a sigh but grumble my answer.
“Right. I’d swipe right.” The beaming smile he shoots me only makes me roll my eyes.
“Anyone in their right mind would.” His chest puffs at the compliment, and I point an accusing finger at him.
“Don’t let that go to your head though.”
“I would never.” He winks before leaning in close, invading my senses with his cologne once again, and dropping his voice lower. “I’d swipe right on you too, clearly.”
I roll my eyes, trying to pretend the low timbre of his voice doesn’t completely set my body alight. I buy myself time to think of a question by plating up a taco and some chips.
“What’s your favorite type of music?” I ask, popping a chip into my mouth. “Your walk-up songs have been all over the place that I can’t actually figure it out.”
“I expected better of you.” He shakes his head.
“What do you mean?” I ask around a bite.
“That’s such a softball of a question. I wanted something harder hitting from you at this point in the game, but that’s fine. I’ll let you ease in and answer your lame question anyway.”
“Lame?” I scoff. “It’s not lame. It’s an important part of being friends, knowing the kind of music the other person listens to.”
“Mhmm, I still think it’s lame, but whatever you say.
” He takes a bite of his own meal while thinking on his answer.
“I would say my typical music taste is more like alternative or alt-rock, I guess? I don’t really know actually.
I tend to listen to so many different things, but I prefer something that has a good beat and helps keep me motivated.
I only ever really listen to music when I’m in the gym anyway. ”
I nod along while I nibble another chip. “That makes a lot of sense. And I could see it.”
“What about you?”
“Personally, I enjoy Paramore and similar vibes. Things that are angsty and rage-y.”
He laughs. “Got a lot of anger you need to channel through music?”
“Honestly, kind of,” I say with a chuckle.
“I typically listen to music while I’m working on my admin tasks, so it captures the whole vibe of me not wanting to deal with people’s bullshit.
” I shrug. Lifting my drink to my lips, I pause when Ryan grabs his bottle of water and taps it to mine in a cheers.
“Here’s to not taking anyone’s bullshit.” He smirks as he takes a sip, before recapping the bottle and setting it down.
“So, what’s your next one then?” I ask, taking another bite.
“Have you ever been in love?”
His question shocks me to the point where I nearly choke on my food. I’m almost certain he’s joking, but his face looks entirely serious, if not even a little nervous to have asked.
“That doesn’t seem like a very friendly question,” I hedge.