Cinderella Steals Home (11 page)

And
that
is something I know I don't like.
 

I bring my car to a stop in the parking lot and hop out, already dressed in my uniform for the game. I'm late, no surprise, and it looks like everyone else is already here, gathered on the field warming up.

I grab my baseball bag and make my way over to the dugout, where Dad's standing alone.
 

"Holly!" The relief on his face is almost palpable when he catches sight of me. "You made it!"
 

I give him a funny look. "Of course I did."
 

"I, uh -- I wasn't sure you were going to show up," he says, his cheeks coloring.

"I gave you my word I'd play, right?"
 

He nods, looking much more comfortable and relaxed. "Go get out on the field with the rest of the team."

I leave my bag in the dugout after pulling out my glove, and I trot onto the outfield grass.

Doan and my brother are throwing a ball back and forth when I approach, and both stop and look at me.

"Heads up," Justin says, tossing the ball my way.
 

I reach up with my glove and snag it out of the air, then toss it to Doan without really glancing his way.
 

"Nice throw, Holls," he says as the ball lands in the leather mitt of his glove. "Remember your stance today, right?"
 

I force myself to look at him and he's smiling kindly back at me, a tentative, unsure smile that I try to tell myself I don't find endearing at all.
 

But I do.

Dammit.

I nod at him. "I got it down. I even practiced it last night."
 

He grins. "Really?"
 

"Yep. In front of the mirror. Better work or I'm gonna be looking for a new coach," I say, hoping to ease some of the awkwardness that I feel by making a joke.
 

It seems to work because Doan's shoulders relax as he tosses the ball to Justin, who slings it at me. The three of us laugh as we discuss the upcoming season opener against a similar collegiate league team from northern Arizona.
 

It's all normal and great and going fine until Dad blows his whistle and it's time for the game to start. My stomach twists, and I'm suddenly afraid I'm going to throw up.

It's time to return to baseball.

The lineup card hanging in the dugout has me batting sixth, right after Justin and just before Doan, who's on the pitcher's mound tonight.
 

We take the field as the visiting team -- the Flagstaff Flyers -- is up to bat first.
 

I'm playing third base, as I've always done since I was a kid. It's strange to take my place on the diamond; it's been so long since it's happened for real that I'm afraid it's not going to feel right, and while it doesn't exactly seem completely natural right now, it isn't wrong, either.
 

I'm okay with it.

And I know it'll work out.

I watch Doan toss his warm-up pitches to the catcher, taking in everything from the way he bites his lower lip just before each throw to the flex of his thighs as he releases the ball, and I try to tear my eyes off of him, but it's not working so great.
 

This, I know, is a dangerous, dangerous path I'm starting to wander down. I don't trust Doan. I'm not sure what happened to harden him, but I can't just ignore that there's something about him -- something crucial -- that I don't know. I can't ignore how I met him, how angry he made me, how stupid he was, how arrogant and cocky he acted toward me.

And, despite all of that, I also can't ignore how he made my stomach flip and palms sweat when he rolled down the tinted window of his pick-up truck and I saw him for the first time. I can't ignore how he made me feel talking to him during mini golf the other night.

And I definitely can't ignore the way I can't help but bite my lip and stare every time I see him without his shirt on.

Dangerous.

I snap out of my trance as the game begins. The first batter for the Flyers steps up to the plate and Doan stares in as the catcher signals the pitch. I force myself to pay attention to the game and not just watch him.

Doan deals the pitch, high and wide, and the batter lets it sail past him for ball one. The batter resets, Doan and the catcher agree on what to throw, and he tries again.
 

This time, the batter swings at it and sends it flying toward the shortstop. I panic momentarily, forgetting what I'm supposed to do in this situation. Is it my ball to play? No, no. John's got it. Relax, Holly.
 

John scoops up the bouncing ball and fires it to the first basemen, who easily steps on the bag ahead of the runner and makes the first out of the game. I let out a sigh of relief, glad I hadn't had to do anything to make the play.
 

The second batter pops out to center field, and the third strikes out.
 

I breathe in and out as I jog back to the dugout to watch our first three hitters take a stab at the Flyers pitcher.
 

I don't like how unsettled I felt out there. It seems so abnormal right now, being back on the field like this. I'm struggling with returning to the game, maybe more than I thought I would.

I'm not up to bat right away so I watch as our first three hitters go down in order.
 

And just like that, it's time for me to go back out onto the field, and I can't ignore the growing pit in my stomach.
 

Something's definitely off here.
 

It doesn't get any better even when the ball bounces my way and I make an easy throw to first base for the final out of the inning.
 

Doan wanders over to me in the dugout. "Everything going okay out there?" he asks.
 

I smile tightly and nod, trying to paint a calm look on my face. "It's dandy," I say, then immediately cringe.
 

To his credit, Doan looks at me skeptically. "Dandy, huh?" he says. "You sure you want to stick with that story?"
 

I can't help but let out a small, nervous chuckle. "It's not that easy going back out there."
 

He nods. "I get it. You'll settle in, though. I was the same way when I first started playing in Tucson."
 

"Yeah? Even in college?"
 

"Oh, definitely in college," he says. "That was the worst of it. It really counts, then, you know? Pressure's on. But here? Relax. Have fun with it. That's all it's about."
 

I smile at him, and I mean it this time. "Thanks," I say. "Really. That helps."
 

He grins and winks at me before tapping the brim of my baseball hat. "Anytime," he says, then walks away to talk to my brother.
 

I smile and drop down onto the bench, feeling better now than I have all day.
 

***
 

My positive mood is all but gone after the game.
 

Let's just say, it ended right after my final appearance at the plate, and let's also just say, it ended with the umpire yelling 'Steeeee-rike three!' right in my ear.
 

Because let me tell you, it's every girl's dream to lose a baseball game for her team by striking out looking.
 

But no one seems particularly bothered by it in the dugout except for me. Most of the guys are talking, laughing, whistling. Dad and Justin are grinning in the corner, but I'm just sitting on the bench, kicking at the floor with the toe of my shoe.
 

"Quit pouting." Doan drops down onto the seat next to me. "It's one game."
 

"I'm not pouting," I say, folding my arms across my chest, and he laughs.
 

"Oh, no?" he says. "That's not what this is?"
 

I shake my head and puff out my bottom lip for dramatic effect. "I'd never do that."

"'Course not," he says. "Come on, let's go grab some ice cream."
 

"Ice cream?" I repeat.
 

"Yeah." He hesitates. "Unless you don't want to be seen in public with me. I totally understand."
 

I laugh and swat at his arm. "Oh, stop. I think I can handle it."
 

He smiles at me, and it's a genuine smile that sends a ripple straight down to my belly.

"There's a place on Indian Bend and 55
th
," he tells me. "I'll meet you there."
 

I hop into my Honda and pull out of the parking lot before he does. I don't want it to seem like I'm following his car or anything.
 

The ice cream parlor is just a few minutes away and he pulls in right behind me.

"After you," he says, holding open the door to the building for me, and I step inside.
 

"What can I get you?" the girl behind the counter asks immediately. I look over at Doan but he's still deciding and indicates that I should go ahead and order.
 

"Can I just get a small cup of soft vanilla with rainbow sprinkles, please?" I ask.
 

The girl nods, and I turn around to find Doan staring at me.
 

"What?" I say.

"That's it? Vanilla ice cream and rainbow sprinkles?"
 

I nod. "That's what I like."
 

"Even when you could have peanut butter cup and fudge and caramel and that hard chocolate stuff that freezes on top?"
 

"Even then," I tell him, and he shakes his head but smiles.
 

"You're a strange one, you know that?" he says.
 

"Never claimed otherwise," I tell him as I take the cup from the girl.
 

Doan orders a double scoop of banana ice cream with caramel and walnuts and whipped cream. I move down to the cash register to pay for them when he immediately swats me away.

    "Stop that," he says. "I got it."

    I'm pleased he takes the bait. "If you insist. Thanks."

    It's almost dark out now so the temperature's fallen to a comfortable 80 degrees with a nice, light breeze, and we decide to take our ice cream to a bench outside.

    We eat in easy, comfortable silence until Doan turns to me.

    "So," he says. "I know you like baseball and all. But what's up with this now? Why'd you agree to play for your dad? Thought you didn't want to do that."

    I know he's thinking back to our conversation outside my bedroom last week when he warned me that Dad was going to invite me to play for the team.

    I'd been so against it then, and now here I am.

    It's a fair question, even if it does sort of feel like I never get to ask him any of my own.

    "It's actually really simple," I say after thinking about it for a second. "I was going to say no. I had no intentions of playing again. But then he asked me and yes was the only word I could get out."

    Doan smiles before looking down at his ice cream. "Really?"

    I nod. "Yeah. Believe me, I didn't expect that."

    "Me, neither," he replies. "Not after the look on your face when I told you what I'd heard."

    "Like I said, it was just really not something I was thinking about. It caught me off guard."

    "Are you glad you're doing it?"

    I smile. "So far. I wish today would've gone better, though."

    He waves his spoon in the air. "Can't worry about that. If I wrote down a list of all the games I want back in my career, we'd sit out here until next season."

    "I guess."

    "Trust me on that." He looks over at me and sees the empty ice cream cup in my hand. "Done with that?"

    I hand it to him. "Thanks," I say as he walks a few feet away to the trash can. He comes back, stops in front of me and digs something out of the pocket of his jeans.

    A pack of cigarettes.

    He lights one, brings it to his lips and inhales. Then he looks at me.

    "What?" Doan asks. "Not going to say anything about this?"

    
"About what?" I reply, raising my eyebrows.

     
He looks surprised. "I'm used to the lectures when someone finds out I'm a smoker."

      
I shrug. "Your choice. It's not like I'm going to come up with some new info you don't have about why it's stupid."    

    He looks at me and laughs. "That's why I like you," he says, and I swallow hard when I feel my heart start to beat a little faster. "You've got a way with words, Holls. I don't know what it is."

    I shrug. "I like writing. I better be good at it."

    "I don't know if that's it," he says. "But I like that I can look at you and know exactly what you're thinking."

    I grimace, and he laughs, and I'm horrified.

    I'm pretty sure Doan thinking he can read my mind or something is definitely not going to end well for me at all.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"What are you doing tonight?"
 

I'm perched on the bar stool in the kitchen early the next morning with a bowl of cereal and a mug of hot coffee when Justin pops in and wanders over to the fridge. His hair is still disheveled and he hasn't changed out of his pajamas.

I shrug. "Haven't thought about it."
 

"Seriously? Do you even know what day it is?" he asks. "How could you not have plans?"
 

"No," I say, thinking it over in my head. "What day is it?"
 

He turns around and stares at me. "It's the fourth of July, Holls." He pulls the orange juice out of the fridge and closes the door. "That settles it. You're coming out with us."
 

"Fourth of July?" I repeat. "I've been here for more than a month already?"
 

He looks at me and grins. "That so hard to believe? Not as bad as you thought it would be, right?"

I stare at him, mouth hanging open slightly. I had no idea it was already July 4
th
. I mean, sure, I know it's July and all, but it just never really felt like the holiday was approaching.