25. ISABELLA
twenty-five
The Monarchs won, five to zero.
A shutout. Not a single home run was made by the other team due to Mateo’s relentless pitching.
As if it were even humanly possible, Mateo played even better after I put on his stupid jersey, except this time, he played with a smug look on his face.
I swear they’re going to make a million posters of his facial expressions tonight and plaster them all over the city.
The man even smized throughout an entire inning.
Since tonight was such a standout game for him, he texted us to go home with Hank and Charlie.
Mateo:
Hey, I’ll have to stay back and handle media for a while, so you guys go ahead and head home. I might not make it before Anna’s bedtime because I need my strength and conditioning team to help work out my arms before I call it a night. Please text me before she tells bedtime story number three so I can catch her before she passes out and wish her good night.
Me:
K.
Mateo:
Excuse me?
Me:
Oh I’m sorry. Maybe you are older than I realized, although your behavior tonight says otherwise. But “k” means OKAY.
Mateo:
I know what K means, Isa.
Mateo:
I’m only 8 years older than you, in case you were wondering.
Me:
Cool *thumbs-up emoji*
Mateo:
Brat.
Me:
Takes one to know one.
Mateo:
I think I liked it better when you were afraid of getting a strike. Might not be too late to give you one, now that I think about it…
Me:
Cute. You think you have any threatening power? After that very public stunt you just pulled?
Mateo:
You think I’m cute, Morales? You sure know how to make a man feel special. Especially while wearing my jersey *wink emoji*
Me:
You’re insufferable today. Now I know never to feed the gremlin pizza and wine. Or maybe it was the gelato that made you this way. Noted!
Mateo:
Friday night pizza, wine, and gelato. It’ll be our thing.
Me:
Our thingggg, is me currently trying not to end up in Rikers for fantasizing about ways to put my hands around your neck.
Mateo:
…
Mateo:
Jeez, Isa. Take a man out to dinner and movie first. But go on…
What the fuck?
Is he… are we? I stuff my phone into my bag, even though I can hear it vibrating with more messages.
I was pretty sure I was trying to put the fear of God in him with whatever intimidation I may hold as an unhinged single woman with nothing left to lose.
But Mateo? Mateo was fucking flirting with me. Or was he only teasing? The man does have a sense of humor once he’s not hell bent on giving me a hard time. But we’ve never texted like this before. It’s usually only about Anna, and we keep it very PG. Or at least we used to.
“Is the vehicle too warm, Isabella? I can make it cooler in here if you like,” Hank says from the driver’s seat.
“Huh? Um, no, it’s fine. Thanks.”
“You sure? You coming down with something, then? Because your cheeks are rosy. I can see it all the way from here.”
I die a little inside. Not even the evening glow of the stoplights can hide how Mateo affects me.
“Nope. All good. Still flying high from that win,” I lie.
Hank nods enthusiastically as he pulls us into the building garage. “It was quite the game, wasn’t it? Make sure to tell the boss he looked great out there tonight. Even when it seemed like he wanted to tear into the other team.” He chuckles good-naturedly. “I swear, he keeps getting better and better.”
“Yeah, he’s a real peach,” I mutter to myself as I get out of the vehicle and start heading toward the elevator with Anna in tow.
“Thanks for putting on the jersey. Papi looked much happier when you had it on,” Anna says to me, followed by a big yawn.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s bath time, then bedtime for you, little lady. We’ve had an exciting and long day, so I think it’s time for us to call it a night. What do you say?”
She releases another big yawn, this one triggering one of my own. “Yeah, I think I only have one good story in me tonight, Isa. Sorry to disappoint.”
I burst into laughter as we enter the elevator and make our way upstairs. “In that case, I’ll go ahead and let your dad know we’re calling it an early night so he can call you before you pass out.”
I dig my phone out of my bag to see four messages from Mateo waiting for me.
Mateo:
Sorry. That was a joke.
Mateo:
Shit. I took it too far, didn’t I?
Mateo:
I’m heading into a postgame interview now. Might take about half an hour or so. Please text me regardless once you see this. I’ll keep my phone on me. Again, I’m sorry.
Mateo:
We should talk when I get home tonight.
The first two messages make me chuckle, knowing that Mateo is squirming in his seat just as badly as I have been this whole day. The third one makes me feel a little guilty, because I can see he’s genuinely panicking now.
But the last message? Yeah, that one woke me right the fuck up.
There’s no chance in hell I’ll be able to go to sleep after he drops a “we should talk” text on me.
Is this it? The dreaded moment I get my third and final strike?
He wouldn’t really fire me for not responding to his texts immediately.
Would he?
Because I would’ve never pegged him as someone who demanded I have a wardrobe change in the middle of his game either, so who knows where his head is at.
All I know is that it looks like I’ll be waiting up for Mateo tonight.