Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1) (11 page)

D
espite my stellar batting performance we only won by one run. That win puts us at thirteen and ten – not anywhere near where I thought we’d be this early in the season. Athletes go into their new season with expectations. GM Stone made some solid off-season trades and drafted well. On paper, we should be number one. However, the standings do not show that. I can’t let the rankings get to me though. I have a job to do.

Tonight, Daisy is meeting me in front of the fan store across the street from the stadium. It’s a good thing she texted that suggestion to me because I forgot to send an usher to get her. That’s probably why she’s across the street – all because I forgot. This time when I go to meet her, my hair is dry and I’m dressed for the weather, although it’s fairly calm out. My jeans hang off my waist and my crisp black button down sits perfectly. I left my jacket in my car, not that I need it right now. I’m hoping for a walk along the harbor where she’ll need me to keep her warm.

As I step out of the stadium, a few fans approach me and ask for my autograph. I sign their memorabilia and pose for a quick picture before I excuse myself. The store is busy and mostly everyone is dressed the same. Being tall has its advantages, and this is one of them...I’m able to scan the crowd for the one person I want to see. I weave throughout the crowd, waving when my name is called and smiling when I’m patted on the back and told ‘good job’. I’m starting to panic when I don’t find her and head back to the entrance so I can go outside and call her.

That’s when I see her. Right inside the entrance, off to the left, is one of our old seats. It’s there for display and clearly says
No Sitting
, but Daisy seems to be hell bent on breaking that rule. As soon as we make eye contact everything around me freezes. The boisterous laughter that follows a win is silenced. It’s just the two of us in this store. No one else exists as I walk toward her. I have a feeling she’s been watching me since I stepped into the store. “Hey,” I say, as she stands to meet me. My hand is instantly on her hip, sliding underneath her jersey which bears my name. The feel of her bare skin against mine stirs a plethora of feelings inside me. It’s intense. If she doesn’t feel the connection like I do, then I’m screwed. I thought I was in love with Sarah, but what I’m feeling for Daisy right now is so much more. I never felt like this with Sarah.

With Daisy, my heart races just from being near her, or just with the knowledge that I’m going to see her. My palms sweat and the anticipation of knowing I’ll be gazing into her eyes has me on edge. It’s a good edge, one that I want to be on.

“I’m sorry I forgot to send an usher for you. Tomorrow, you won’t have to worry. I’ll make sure you have a pass to get into the wives’ lounge.” The fact that I just said ‘wives’ lounge’ doesn’t even faze me. I want her there when I come up. I want to see her waiting for me.

“It’s okay,” she says, as her hand finds mine. I want nothing more than to kiss her right now, but this isn’t the place. Us being here, touching like this isn’t good for her. Fans can be relentless with taunting and I’m only setting her up by acting like a fool in lust… love… in public with her.

“Let’s go.” There’s more to talk about, but not here. In the privacy of my car, or her place, or mine - any other location is better as long as we don’t have an audience.

I pull her behind me through the parking lot. Her smaller strides make it seem like she’s running. I
really
need to slow down for her. When we reach my SUV, I’m pulling us both in between my car and the one next to mine. There’s slightly more privacy here, but not much. Video cameras overhead capture everything. With her back pressed against my car, my arms lock her in.

“I like you, Daisy.”

“I can tell.”

Not the response I was hoping for, but I’ll go with it.

“I want to kiss you. Would that be okay?”

Her eyes travel to my lips and back to my eyes. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. These simple gestures from her have me getting hard just thinking about what I want to do to her.

“Yes,” she whispers huskily. She wants this as bad as I do, but not here. Not when people are watching.

“Later,” I say with a satisfied smirk, kissing her forehead. It actually physically pains me to have to put this off, but she’s going to have to trust that I’m doing this for her and not because I’m a giant piece of shit. I open the car door and help her get in before running around to the other side. Once I’m in, I reach for her hand and as much as I want to put her hand in my lap, the space in my car is too great, leaving our hands in the middle on the console.

“That was mean,” she says as we pull out onto the streets.

“What was?”

“That almost kiss you gave me. Teasing isn’t nice.”

Teasing isn’t nice? Is she serious? Doesn’t she realize that each day I see her she’s teasing the shit out of me with the way she walks, smells, and bats her damn eyes? When she smiles, the sight of her dimple hits me right in the groin.

When we get to a stoplight, I turn and look at her. “I thought you’d much prefer our first kiss to be a bit more private. I know I would because I don’t plan to just kiss you, Daisy.” I bring her hand to my mouth and press my lips to her skin, never taking my eyes off of her.

“Oh,” she says, as her breathing catches. Unfortunately for me, the light turns green and I’m forced to drive. I take us to a little restaurant on the outskirts of the city. I have a table reserved in the back which will allow us some privacy from the rest of the restaurant. Tonight, I plan to get to know Daisy more and if a good night kiss is in order, it shall be had.

With my hand on her back, I guide her into the restaurant. The hostess greets us with a smile and says she has our table ready after I give her my name. The ambience is subdued with low lighting. Even though the restaurant is busy, the noise level is kept low. It’s almost like one of the Italian places in a mobster movie where everyone is just waiting to get blown up.

Our booth is in the back corner and although I said I would sit next to her given the opportunity, it’s not wise. I won’t be able to keep my hands off of her and I’m not looking to embarrass her.

“I don’t think I should be here.” Daisy leans across the table and whispers to me. I look around, confused.

“Why do you say that?”

“Look at how I’m dressed.” She speaks through gritted teeth, clearly angry with me.

“This is a casual place. The lady behind you looks like she’s wearing slippers.” Daisy looks over her shoulder and stifles a laugh. “Seriously, I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable or embarrass you.”

She looks at me questioningly.

I shrug. “Unless you’re at a game, then all bets are off.”

“What’s good here?” she asks as she picks up the menu. I rattle off a few of my favorites, which ends up being half the menu. When the waiter appears, I order a rib eye and she orders a small salad with a French dip.

“I have something important to ask you.”

“What is it?” she asks.

My hand starts to twitch at just the thought of saying the words that are about to come out of my mouth. Right now, I’d like to cut the stupid thing off, but I’m sure my right hand would take up the slack from missing the left. I place my left under my leg and prepare for her answer.

“What are you doing on your birthday?”

She tries to mask a pained look before she forces a smile. “Nothing. I don’t have any plans,” she says, shocking me. How can she not have any plans for her twenty-first birthday? She should be out celebrating and having dinner and cake with her family and friends.

“Your family doesn’t expect you anywhere?”

“My family is dead, Ethan.” I sit back, shocked by what she just said and wishing she could take it back.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her earnestly.

Daisy looks away, unable to maintain eye contact with me. I get up and move to her side, sliding in next to her. Something tells me I need to give her a hug, so I do. She only lets me hold her for a few seconds before she’s pulling away.

“You don’t need to be sorry. This week is a rough one for me and I didn’t expect you to ask about my birthday. I’m usually at a game. It’s just dumb luck that it’s an off day this year.”

“Its fate or kismet, or some of that other Shakespearean bullshit we learned about in school, because I wanted to ask if you’d go to a charity event with me.” I push her hair off her shoulder and leave my hand on her neck, letting my fingers play in her hair.

“I’ll go, but I’ll have to meet you there.”

“Why can’t I pick you up?”

Daisy shakes her head and I’m starting to put the pieces together.

“Hey,” I say, pulling her chin up. “I don’t care where you live. Material things don’t matter to me at all. I want to pick you up. Hell, I want to drive you home tonight and have been thinking about ways to find out where you live since we met.”

She doesn’t say anything, but rests her head on my shoulder. It’s an avoidance tactic, but she’s touching me so I’m happy.

“My parents died when I was three,” she mumbles. “It was a freak accident. The ice shanty they were in collapsed and as they were trying to get out, my mom slipped into the fishing hole. My dad thought he could save her. They both drowned. I’ve lived with my grandparents ever since, but my grandma died two years ago and my grandfather and I moved into a low income apartment.”

“Excuse me for being stupid, but how do you have season tickets to the Renegades?”

Daisy sits up and pushes her hair out of her face. “My grandfather gave up a luxury to have those.”

“A luxury?”

She nods, taking a sip of water. “Uh…” she shakes her head. “He’s in a wheelchair and we live on the third floor of an apartment building with an elevator that only works occasionally. After my grandma died, he sold his van to pay for the tickets. Said he refused to give up the seats his father worked so hard for.”

“He’s never at the games though.”

Daisy shakes her head. “We don’t have a car and I’m not strong enough to help him walk down the stairs. The Visiting Nurses come to the apartment to check on him and they’ll take him out occasionally, but it’s not like I can ask them to drive us to the game. They’ll take the cost of the tickets and count it as income. We won’t be able to afford them.”

Her words hit home. I’ve never been in a situation where my parents couldn’t afford anything. My sister and I always had everything we asked for. Call us spoiled, but my parents worked hard to provide us a good life. And here sits the girl I’m interested in, spilling her guts on how she doesn’t have any money because I asked about her birthday. If I didn’t know any better, and she was the one pursuing me, I’d say she’s a gold-digger. I know once people find out about her and dig into who she is, they’re going to say shit like that and it’s going to piss me off.

When our meal arrives, I stay where I’m seated. It feels wrong to move back to where I was. Besides, I rather like feeling the body heat radiate off of her. After a few bites, I’m putting my fork down to talk to her.

“About your birthday, do you
want
to go with me? I understand if you want to stay home with your grandfather.” In my head, I’m silently begging her to say she wants to go.

“Do I have to wear a dress?”

I nod as fear sets in that she’s a strict tomboy. She doesn’t seem like the type, but you never know.

“Is it a date?”

Her question catches me off guard. Have I not given her enough indication that I want to be with her? I lean in and graze her cheek with my lips until I’m at her ear. “Every time we’re together, you should consider it a date. In fact, you should consider us dating.” She leans her head into my lips, trying to hold me there. Another time, another place and I wouldn’t move, but right now, my body temperature is rising and I know I need to pull away from her and try to adjust myself as discreetly as possible.

“You know,” she says, abruptly changing the subject, “that blog is going to mention how many times you adjusted yourself during the game today.”

I roll my eyes and stab at my food. “Well, if someone hadn’t worn my shirt to the game, I probably wouldn’t have had the urgent need to adjust my cup so many times during the game.”

“Is that so?” she asks with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Yes, it is,” I say quietly as I lean in. “You see, I have fantasies of you in my clothes, in my bed and under me… any bad press I get for that kind of stuff is because you.”

I leave her with those thoughts as I try to finish my dinner. I watch her out of the corner of my eye and try not to laugh. She’s stunned and I love it.