24. ISABELLA
twenty-four
Mateo’s been playing like he’s about to rip someone’s head off.
For the first inning, I think it’s all in my head, but then I hear the crowd around me commenting on it too.
I try to engage Anna in conversation when their voices get a little too rowdy, not wanting her little ears to hear something she shouldn’t about her father. But it doesn’t take long before she takes notice of his change in demeanor.
“Wow, Papi looks mad. Do you think someone said something mean to him? Or is this a World Series game?”
I warm at her innocence. “No, sweetie. This is a regular season game. And I’m not sure what’s gotten into your dad. I’m sure he’s just very focused on the game,” I say, more to placate myself than her, I think.
“Do you… do you think it’s something I did? Did he not actually like the rhinestones on my jersey?” she asks worriedly.
“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. He absolutely loved it, I promise. But there’s nothing we can do to change his attitude right now, because he’s in the zone. I’m sure he’ll lighten up at some point.”
She takes a bite of her stadium hot dog. I’m pretty sure it was longer than her arm when she started to tackle it. I ordered one as well, because when in Rome and all.
“I wish there were something I could do to cheer him up. His face looks super grumpy, and he’s never like that,” she pouts.
You’re killing me here, kid.
I’ve been trying very hard to convince myself that Mateo’s pitching mood has nothing to do with me or the fact that I’m wearing his best friend’s jersey.
Because that would be beyond silly.
Like seriously, Mateo is an actual grown-up. With his life put together, a child, and a retirement plan of some sort, I assume.
He wouldn’t be hung up on something as trivial as a dumb jersey.
The crowd around us starts to cheer in waves. Nothing has happened on the field, so I’m confused by the sudden commotion.
“There she is. She’s in the stands!” someone yells behind me.
I crane my neck to see if there’s a celebrity making their way to their seat, and for a millisecond, throw up a prayer that it’s Beyoncé.
That’s when a force of nature turns and starts to make her way down the front row.
No way.
That’s Luisa álvarez.
She’s like the reigning queen of sports and is currently on the cover of three magazines for earning the spot of general manager for the New York Monarchs.
It probably doesn’t hurt that she’s drop-dead gorgeous and could probably double as a lingerie model with her height and curves. Her perfectly clear dark skin could easily snag a brand deal with a skin care line. Hell, she could create her own with how perfectly it glows. If I didn’t already know that she was Dominican, her big brown eyes would be a dead giveaway. They always seem to twinkle with determination and mischief. And in the sky-high heels she’s usually sporting, she could probably tower over most of the men in the stands.
But right now, she’s all business, and somehow, deep in my gut, I know she’s heading my way.
My excitement and fears are confirmed when she stops in front of me and nods my way. “You Isabella?”
My eyes widen and my jaw drops when I realize that not only is she talking to me, but she knows my name. “Yes, this is Isa,” Anna chirps helpfully while I try to recover my ability to speak.
“Special delivery.” She pulls an oversized jersey from under her arm and rips off the tag with her perfectly straight teeth. “Fresh out the gift shop.” She tosses the three-sizes-too-big material on my lap.
Confused, I lift it up slightly as I smile. “Um, thank you?”
She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “It’s not from me, sweetheart. It’s from number thirty-five. And I have special instructions to make sure you swap it out with the jersey you’re wearing before I go. So…” She waves at the jersey in my hand, seemingly exhausted by the task she’s been given.
No fucking way.
He did not—
I look around her, and sure enough, Mateo is standing off the side of the dugout, watching our whole interaction go down, with a satisfied look on his face.
I give my attention back to Luisa as I plaster on a fake smile, trying my best not to give any of the attitude that I will keep locked and loaded for when Martinez gets off the field. “Hi, I’m sorry he put you up to this. But as you can see, I’m currently wearing a perfectly good jersey. So you can tell him thanks, but no thanks.” I ball up his jersey aggressively, making sure to make eye contact with Mateo, and shove it into my small tote bag.
I can tell he’s chuckling by the way his chest moves.
Luisa pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “As if I didn’t have enough to deal with working with Mr. Fucking Stonehaven.”
When she looks down at me, I give her a curious stare, letting her know I heard that juicy piece of chisme. She puts her hands together in a prayer pose as she gives it to me straight. “Listen, I’ve got work to do, and playing telephone between you and my star pitcher isn’t it. So this is how it’s going to go. You put on that jersey, he loses the bad temper, and we all get to go home after the game being happy campers. Capisce?”
Anna tugs on my arm before I’m able to give my defiant rebuttal. “Isa, this is a way we can help dad look less grumpy.” She worries her bottom lip. “You’ll do it, right?” She puts the full power of her puppy dog eyes on me, and before I know it, I’m folding like a cheap lawn chair.
“Okay, fine. But only because you asked so nicely. All right?” I huff as I pull the crumpled jersey out of my bag and stand.
I place it on Anna’s lap as I take off my own jersey. I ignore a random whistle and catcalls, since this little display has garnered some attention from the people seated around us. I hand my jersey to Anna as she gives me the new one. I know what the back must say, but I check, to confirm the lunacy of the situation.
In big bold lettering, the name Martinez and the number 35 stare back at me. I fix my stare on Mateo as I roughly slip my arms through the oversized jersey. Then I give a tight, closed- mouth smile and two thumbs-up, hoping he knows I really wish they were my middle fingers.
He must, when he uncrosses his arms and laughs.
But then he lifts a single finger and spins it in a circle.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kid—”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. The man wants a twirl,” Luisa says absentmindedly as she types something ferociously into her phone.
I whip my stare back to Mateo as I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. No way, pal.”
He taps at his imaginary watch as he mouths, “Ticktock.”
That motherfucker.
The teams are switching positions, the Monarchs heading to the bases and outfield. If I take any longer, the crowd and cameraman are going to wonder why the pitcher hasn’t made his way to the mound.
It’s as if I’m in some fucked-up game of chicken, except he knows exactly who’s going to lose. Me.
I’ll get him back for this.
I take a deep breath as I tuck my defiance in my back pocket and give a half-assed twirl. And I end it with a curtsy, just for shits and giggles.
The smile on Mateo’s face could light up the stadium brighter than all the lights here combined.
And for a moment, I forget that he’s public enemy number one once we get home.
Well, actually his home. Where I also happen to live, for the time being.
“Huh. Interesting,” Luisa muses beside me.
I break our eye contact and hope Mateo takes that as his cue to get his ass back to work. “What is?”
Luisa looks me over, a look of respect taking over her features. “It’s almost as if you just slayed the dragon with your mere presence. That guy had a real attitude problem down in the dugout. But one jersey swap and twirl later, and poof . All gone.” She smiles warmly for the first time now, her mask of authority taking a breather. “It takes a good woman to deal with a powerful man like Mateo. I’m happy you guys found each other.” She lowers her voice for my ears only. “Although, if you guys could keep me out of your foreplay in the future, that would be greatly appreciated.” She squeezes my arm tenderly.
“No, we’re not—I’m not—” I stammer.
“Sure, sure. This was fun and all, but I have my own dragon to slay upstairs, so I’ll leave you guys to it. Hope to see you around more often. Enjoy the game.” She goes to move away, but I reach out and softly grab her forearm.
I don’t know what it is about her, but Luisa álvarez is a powerhouse that I instantly admire. She’s a woman taking charge in a male-dominated sport, and she does so with bigger cojones than anyone I’ve ever met.
So without much thought, I blurt out a question. It’s as if I’m trying to collect new girlfriends like infinity stones today. “How do you feel about girls’ night out and group chats?”