Chapter 28
“So, Rhys Casey is the starting pitcher today because Finn played two games ago. He’s good, but Finn’s the team’s ace. His stats are the best, and usually, Rome will go to the bullpen fewer times when he plays because he can go more innings than the other starters can,” Brielle explains beside me.
I nod, still staring at the hot dog on my lap.
It’s overflowing with ketchup, mustard, onions, cheese, and who knows what else.
Apparently, this is the only way to eat a stadium dog.
My initial decision to only have ketchup was quickly brushed off when Brielle took over dressing it up.
Now the thing looks terrifying and completely inedible.
“Beck’s in the bullpen right now along with the other relievers that are feeling rested enough to play today.
He’s only played once in the series, so if the team has a close lead, he’ll most likely come out to finish the game.
If they’re winning or losing by a lot, Roman won’t bother wasting his arm. ”
“That’s my dad!” squeals the little girl between Brielle and Evie, Roman’s niece.
The information overload I’ve had today is making me a bit slow to reply to people. I stare at where the tiny pointer finger is waving at the field. The guy holding the bat in front of the other team’s catcher is Jett Ellington. His name is on the screen across the stadium.
Sara, his daughter, is only eight, yet she knows more about baseball than I do.
When Brielle isn’t listing off rules or explanations for calls and plays, the little girl fills in the blanks with a mouth full of either cotton candy or popcorn.
Her tongue is bright blue from the drink she finished by the end of the first inning.
I can still smell the blue raspberry syrup lingering in her empty cup.
“You can tell Elle to stop talking if you need a minute,” Aubrey says quietly, leaning into my shoulder.
I wince. “It’s that obvious?”
“No, I just know her. She grew up around baseball, so it’s natural for her to want to explain everything to you. Roman’s only made her love for it grow.”
“I get it.”
“Still, it can be overwhelming.”
I chew on the inside of my lip for a beat. “You don’t think I should know more by now? I feel like I should have done my research and bought a rule book or something before coming here.”
“God, no. Why would you torture yourself with that?” she guffaws, shuddering.
My cheeks heat a bit. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“If you’re thinking about Beck, trust me when I say that he doesn’t care in the slightest how much you know about baseball. And we surely don’t. I’ve been Finn’s best friend since we were kids, and I still don’t know everything. Trust me, it’s for the best.”
She sounds completely genuine. I wait until she’s straightened in her seat and turned her focus back to the field before risking a look in her direction.
There isn’t a sliver of annoyance or doubt in her expression.
Her sharp blue eyes are staring straight ahead, and she’s running the same chunk of midnight-black hair through her fingertips, completely at ease.
I relax into my seat and try not to stare into the bullpen again.
It’s been the one and only place I’ve wanted to look all game, and after the last time Beck caught me and winked, I refused to do it again.
He’s so annoyingly good-looking, and seeing him in those tight baseball pants in person was not something I was prepared for.
He’s got the perfect ass, and the tight pants he’s wearing only emphasize that. I don’t know how anyone can come to a baseball game and not ogle all the butts. It’s like every single player goes to the gym and works out with the sole purpose of building a perky, peachy backside.
And here I go again.
Beck absolutely got us these seats on purpose. Brielle was surprised to find that we were sitting behind the bullpen today because apparently, they usually sit near the dugout.
“Oh! I was hoping to ask you something today, Quinn,” Brielle says, patting my knee and almost jostling my hot dog container.
I grab the end of it before it can fall. “Ask away.”
Brielle’s probably the one woman here with me today I feel the most comfortable seeing.
We’ve spoken quite a few times at Blank Page, although I haven’t exactly sat down with her and tried to get to know her.
It’s been pretty casual conversation up till now.
She hasn’t been around much lately, which, from what I’ve gathered today, is because she’s busy being in love with Roman Shore.
“Do you take custom orders? Like, if I wanted to put in a request to have you make all of the desserts at my engagement party, is that something you do?”
I pause. “What were you thinking of having?”
“Just little things like cake pops, chocolate-covered pretzels, that sort of vibe. I have a theme and everything. Let me pull some pictures up.”
She grabs her hot pink, baseball-shaped purse and quickly unzips it.
Her phone has a case in the same colour, which is the least surprising thing about today.
Brielle Hayes is the colour pink in person form.
I’ve known that from the very first time she came into Blank Page and claimed the best table in the entire café as hers.
When she pushes her phone into my hands, I barely have time to glance at the first picture before she’s swiping to another. The theme is very her, and I make a mental note of all the gold and sparkles.
“Are you sure you want me to make these? Are you sure you don’t want someone, I don’t know, more experienced with that kind of thing? We usually only do small events, like cookies for a birthday party or the occasional cake.”
“There’s no changing her mind. Trust me. I’ve been hearing about Blank Page and your pastries for days now,” Evie pipes up from Brielle’s other side.
Brielle tucks her phone away. “She’s right. I don’t want anyone else to do them. Your Danishes are literally my guilty pleasure. Rome has started keeping a box of them in the pantry at all times.”
“That’s all Ruthie. She’s my baker. I’m really not that great. But if you’re sure, I can run the idea by her tonight.”
Yeah, I’ll do that after I bring Beck to the bingo hall for an evening of mortification.
The same bingo hall that I haven’t even had the guts to mention to him.
According to the text I got before the game, he already has plans that include me with my legs on his shoulders.
I didn’t have the courage to reply and disrupt that fantasy right before he was set to play.
It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that I’d prefer his plan over mine.
I’ve been a total coward since yesterday. I lost track of the number of times I avoided him after I all but kicked him out of my room. Having him so close to me after he gave me the best orgasm of my entire life wasn’t a good idea. So, I pulled away and have since done my best to hide from him.
Yet here I am at Summit Field, watching his team play a sport I don’t even understand while I chat with his closest girlfriends. Saying my signals are mixed would be an understatement.
At least tonight would be fake. I could take comfort in the fact that nothing that happens will mean anything. We can go back to the way things were weeks ago, when all I cared about was work and making Beck drink terrible blends of coffee.
Every look and touch will be for Ruthie’s benefit, not mine, and that’s a line I need drawn between us more than anything. It’s the only way I’ll be able to keep my head on straight around him when he’s been spinning it in circles for days now.
Brielle takes my hand in hers and squeezes. “Thank you! I appreciate it so much. I’ll text you all the details later?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll let you know what Ruthie says.”
“Let her eat her hot dog, Elle,” Aubrey says, eyeing the way I’ve begun warping the cardboard container.
Brielle gasps. “Yes! Right. Come on, it’ll change your life.”
“You’re overselling it a bit,” Evie says with a soft laugh. Her eyes find mine when she leans forward past Brielle. “They’re good, but not that good.”
“Just try it,” Aubrey sighs.
I pinch the giant thing between my fingers and hold it up in front of my face.
A thick gob of yellow-tainted ketchup drips off the front and plops into the cardboard container.
With a cringe, I take a small bite. The immediate taste is fine.
It’s a hot dog, not an eighty-dollar, medium-rare steak with a perfect sear.
After chewing a few times, I try not to hack as the cheese mixes with the onions.
My smile is forced as I swallow, but apparently believable enough that Brielle claps, finding success in her task.
“I told you. A stadium hot dog is the superior hot dog.”
“I prefer poutine,” Aubrey says, a hint of a laugh in her voice.
Whipping my head to the side, I flash her a betrayed frown. “I didn’t know that was an option.”
If I’d seen her grab one today, I would have found any way to get out of trying this experimental dog.
“Next time, we’ll leave those two to get their hot dogs, and we can get the good shit. The best place to get it is on the second level,” she whispers.
Sara kicks her legs beneath her seat and touches Aubrey’s thigh. “By the cotton candy stand?”
“Yeah, honey. The one and only.”
“You two are conspiring behind my back, aren’t you?” Brielle asks, tsking.
Aubrey points somewhere on the field and snaps her fingers. “Oh, look—you can see Roman, Elle.”
The speed with which she turns and looks for him is almost as alarming as it is impressive. I don’t realize that it was a farce until Aubrey lightly digs her elbow into my arm and smirks.
So, fine. Maybe today hasn’t been so bad. And maybe . . . I’ll want to do this again.
It’s intimidating as all hell being here.