Chapter 15
Grabbing my bat, I step out of the dugout and roll my shoulders back.
See ball. Hit ball.
That's all you've got to do.
Tate's at bat, staring down Seattle's pitcher as Dalton waits on deck. I'm right behind him, and with my bat now resting on my shoulders, I stretch my back. A move that I know is probably terrorizing Whit.
After two balls, Tate manages to hit a double, hyping up the crowd.
I just hope I don't ruin it for them.
When Dalton heads to the plate, I move onto the field and glance over the dugout to the spot where Whit's sitting, and smile.
Wearing a catfish ball cap and my jersey, she is the literal manifestation of my dreams. Well, if it were my dream, the jersey would be open and she wouldn't have a bra on, but that's just semantics.
She gives me a small smile as I rest my bat against my thigh and pull my batting gloves out from my back pocket.
As I put them on, I notice they feel a little different, maybe a little stiffer than usual, but I’m not sure.
I flex my hands back and forth, trying to get them to loosen. Then I take my bat and pull it up into swinging position, practicing my swing.
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
Whit?
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.
My head snaps up to the stands, and Whit's watching me with the smallest smile on her face.
Did she?
No.
There's no way she did.
I set myself back up and smell her again.
It's my hand. It smells like her, but I washed it. Hold up. I look at my gloves and then I look back at Whit.
Her smile grows.
Fuck me.
She did!
When? Where? How?!
All the questions run through my mind, but I have no time to answer them.
Dalton hits a single.
Two on base, and I'm up next.
Taking a breath, I make my way to the plate. I don't know how to explain it, but the second I step into the box, everything is silent. Penguins’ knees don't bother me, I'm optimistic about rats and their companions... the only thing I'm truly focused on is the bat in my hand.
I dig in.
The pitcher comes set.
The first pitch is a fastball. The same pitch I've been fouling straight into the dirt for a month and a half.
I don't think about it.
I just swing.
Thunk!
That sound. The feel of the ball making contact.
I know before it's even left my bat that I got all of it.
The entire stadium gasps, and we all watch the ball climb and climb against the lights until it clears the left-field wall by a mile.
Three run homer.
The fans are cheering, and my feet start to round the bases before I've really registered what happened.
I'm not watching where I'm going. I'm too busy looking up into the stands and pointing at Whit the entire jog around the bases.
You. That was you. All of it.
I cross the plate. Dalton's there with his hand up for our usual high-five celebration after a homer, but I stop myself.
I yank my hands back against my chest.
“Can't,” I tell him. “Gloves. Don't touch the gloves.”
He stares at me with confusion. “What?”
I lift my elbow instead and give him an arm-five, forearm to forearm, because there is no universe in which I'm smearing her off these gloves before the night's over.
Tate jogs in behind me, takes one look, and shakes his head. “Only you would be this weird, Callahan.”
“You have no idea,” I tell him, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
I should go sit in the dugout and calm the fuck down, but the adrenaline coursing through my body is making rational thought impossible right now.
My eyes connect with hers instead.
Fuck it.
Just like that, instead of going down the dugout steps, I pull myself up and over the roof.
My manager's yelling at me to get back on the field, but my teammates are cheering me on. I know I’m in trouble when I’m down there, but right now, I don't give a fuck.
When my feet land on the concrete floor of the stands, the fans start losing their minds and reach for me. Normally, I'd speak to every single one of them, but right now, they don't matter.
Frankly, I don't see any of them. I see exactly one person, standing now with her eyes wide, mouthing what the fuck are you doing with her hands already coming up as though that's going to stop me.
“Excuse me,” I say politely to the fans who are getting in the way.
My name is being called in every direction, there's a camera crew following me now, and even though the security guards are coming down to no doubt collect me, I get to her before they can. “JB. What the hell—”
I take her face in both hands and kiss her like the whole stadium isn't watching.
The crowd cheers as her hat falls to the floor, and she kisses me back. There's no way she's not feeling as high on this hit as I am.
“Are you getting this?” Sienna asks the cameraman, who I can feel right behind me.
“JB. What the fuck are you doing?” My manager's voice is closer now.
I pull back just enough to see her face, because I know this moment is going to end any second.
“You did it,” I say. “You made me lucky again.”
“I don't believe in luck, JB. I believe in you. That's the difference.” She looks dazed and undone, but somehow she manages to speak the truth. “Now go, you're going to get fined.”
“Worth it.” I press one more kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You're a legend. You know that? An absolute legend.”
“Go, JB.”
Before I can start making my way back to the dugout, a security guard has my arm and is dragging me away through the crowd.
“You're an idiot,” my manager says when I'm close enough to hear him.
“An idiot in love,” I retort.
By the time I'm escorted back down to the dugout, I have to stop myself from skipping, since I know I'm in big trouble for this. I don't care, though.
My teammates mutter their appreciation under their breath, none of them wanting to get in trouble too.
I sit down and look at my gloves, grinning like a fool.
“Callahan,” the umpire calls me over, and I make sure to hide any emotion on my face, almost certain they're going to kick me out of the game. Grayson will be so angry if they replace me with Kyle, but he'll get over it one day when he realizes how being in love feels.
I don't care how much trouble I'd get in. I do it again, and again, if it means I get to kiss her.
Best at-bat of my life, and it has nothing to do with my hands.
“I’m sorry you got kicked out of the game,” Whit says. Her head is on my shoulder, and her hand is in my lap as we sit in the empty stands, watching the groundskeepers working on the stadium’s grass.
“Eh, it’s not that bad,” I say as I drag my thumb across her palm, feeling her soft skin. “Angel, the umpire is a romantic, so he gave me the bare minimum punishment. I could’ve been suspended or fined too.”
“I don’t think he had a choice. The fans would’ve rioted if you received a worse sentence.”
I snort, leaning my cheek against her hair. She’s not wrong. The fans were so pissed when they announced I was leaving the game, that they drowned out every call with boos after that. It didn’t matter if it was in our favor, or Seattle’s. They were pissed, and they sure let everyone know.
They were angrier than me.
No regrets.
Especially because it gave me the chance to sneak out here and watch the rest of the game with Whit.
Did I have to wear a Seattle hat and a fake moustache?
Yeah, but it was still better than Max’s first suggestion: the new Catfish mascot costume.
Not only would that have been ridiculous, but the thing hasn’t even been debuted yet.
The attention it would’ve attracted would’ve made it impossible to sit with my girl for as long as I have.
Long enough that we watched the Catfish win even though Grayson had to pitch to Kyle, and for Whit to devour three hot dogs during the seventh inning stretch.
Now it’s just us, the groundskeepers and the hiss of the hose as they water the grass.
Her hand is in mine, and neither one of us has made any attempt to move, because that would mean the night is ending.
“Ninety-five days,” she says quietly.
“What?”
“Before you got kicked out of the game, I counted.” She tilts her face up so she can look at me. “Ninety-five days until our schedules line up and I can stop doing this through a phone.”
“Ninety-five days.” I test the words. It sounds like nothing but feels like forever. Not that I’d tell her that.
“We can do ninety-five days.” I start to think it though. “We’ve done six weeks already, and if the end goal if you in my apartment, filling my kitchen with hot dogs, then it’ll be worth it.”
She laughs, swatting my in the lightly. The hit must do something to my brain because I suddenly blurt, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Whit.”
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
I’ve been thinking it for weeks. Every time I missed her on the road, it felt like someone had ripped my heart out, let it dry out in the sun and then gave it back to me.
She hasn’t said anything yet. In fact, she goes still by my side.
I can’t let it fester.
“And — okay. That might be too much. That's probably too much, too soon. We've spent approximately a combined six days in the same room. I'm not trying to freak you out, I just—”
“JB.” Her hand lands on my thigh, but it doesn’t stop the need to get this out.
“—the words were right there, and I have famously poor impulse control, you watched me climb a wall tonight—”
“JB.” She lifts her head and moves her hand to my cheek now. I finally look at her. “I think it was probably too much, too soon, when you asked me to move in with you this morning, and showed me the space you made for me in your closet.”
My stomach drops.
I fucked it all up.
The only woman I’ve ever wanted in my space for longer than a night is looking at me like I have penguin knees.
“But I like your enthusiasm,” she says.
Oh.
Oh.
“I don’t use a glove to get off for just anyone, you know.”
My brows furrow as she goes on. “I also don’t date. Haven’t for a really long time. In fact you’re the only person who I’ve deemed worth it.”
She raises her shoulder and the corner of her mouth lifts. “Which is my way of saying, I think I’m falling for you too, JB.”
I blink a few times, taking her in.
Did she? Did she just say that?
I don’t think. I kiss her, and everything else disappears.
It’s just me falling in love with her and her right along with me.
Her hand is still on my cheek as she pulls back and smiles.
I’m grinning too. I can’t help it. After everything this weekend, I only want more.
“Callahan.”
One of the clubhouse guys, Rafa, calls as he makes his way up the steps with a large bag over his shoulder.
“Equipment manager told me you wanted these before you headed out?”
“Hell yes.” For the first time tonight, I move out of Whit’s hold and quickly take the bag from him. There’s no way I want to lose these babies. “Thank you, man,” I say, clapping his shoulder and pulling him in for a bro hug.
“No problem. They’re locking up soon, though, so you’re gonna have to head out.”
“Sure.”
He heads back down toward the dugout as I offer my hand out to her.
“Can I take you home for one last night?”
She doesn’t take my hand. Instead she eyes the bag suspiciously. Then she looks up at me.
The second I unzip it, and she sees the white fabric poking through, she gasps.
“You can't be serious.”
“What?”
She stands, swatting my hand away and crossing her arms in front.
“JB. Are those — are those all your gloves?”
“And a few of the guys' spares. They donated to the cause.” I pat the bag. “All brand new, of course. But there’s enough for every game I have between now and November.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“There's no guarantee I see you for ninety-five days, Whit. Gotta make tonight count.” I hold the bag tighter.
“JB, no.” She's laughing, but she's arguing too, which is the most Whit thing in the world. “I did the one glove to get you out of your own slump. That's all it was. Your hit had nothing to do with me. It was you. All you. You stopped overthinking and you hit the ball. That's the whole thing.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Not maybe. Definitely. I am a rational person telling you a rational truth.”
“Maybe,” I say again, hoisting the bag higher, “but I'm not the rational one in this relationship, and I'm not taking any chances.”
She stares at me. I stare back, holding a duffel full of gloves I fully intend to use on her before her flight.
She closes her eyes. Shakes her head, and smiles.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
“Wait, seriously?”
She rolls her eyes as she takes my hand and guides me down the steps. “If we’re soaking ninety day’s worth of gloves, we’ve gotta get started.”
“You got it, Coach.” I laugh, letting her take me wherever she wants to go.