Page 188 of Fourth and Falling

Thank Christ.

Taking a step toward the dugout I turn and look toward first base. I don’t mean to. I know I shouldn’t, but I do it anyway.

“That a boy, Hansey.” A few sections up from first base, she’s leaning forward in her seat like she’s been watching me the whole time. My breath catches in my throat as I take her in.

Well holy shit, it’s the red-haired girl.

Her locks cascade over her shoulders in waves that catch the sunlight like copper fire. She’s wearing a simple white tank top under a Lagers jersey and part of me desperately wants to know whose name is written across the back. A little smug and a lot amused, her lips curve into a knowing smile when she realizes I see her, like she’s aware of exactly what she’s done to me from fifty feet away and she’s entirely too satisfied with herself.

She lifts her brows almost Like, she’s saying, “You’re welcome,” and I find myself appreciating her spitfire-like attitude. She’d probably be a fun fuck if given the chance.

Maybe I can repay her someday.

I shake my head more to myself than to her and then I turn away, heading for the dugout before I do something stupid like acknowledge any further that she just helped me get out of that inning…that she calmed my anxiety before I got myself removed from the game.

Not that I will ever admit it.

Bishop falls into step beside me, his catcher’s mask now dangling from his hand.

“That’s more like it.” He nods toward the stands where the redhead is still watching us. “Who the hell is that? One of your recent bedmates?”

“No idea,” I mutter, but I can’t help stealing another glance her way. She’s leaning back now, her lips around the straw of her cup, looking happy as hell as she laughs with the woman sitting next to her.

“Well, whoever she is, she just saved your ass.” Bishop bumps my shoulder with his. “You were about to spiral.”

“Fuck off,” I lie, even though we both know he’s right. The familiar tightness that had been building in my chest is gone now, replaced by something lighter.

Probably relief.

“Yeah, okay.” Bishop rolls his eyes. “Just don’t get distracted. We’ve got five more innings.”

“Five more innings,” I repeat, more to myself than to him.

When we reach the dugout, Coach Martinez gives me a curt nod. “Nice save, Haynes. Keep it up.”

I grab my water bottle and take a long swig, letting the cold liquid wash away the last of my tension.

“You gonna look for her after the game?” Bishop asks, leaning against the dugout railing next to me.

I shoot him a look. “For what?”

“You know exactly for what,” he laughs. “You owe her.”

“Bullshit. I owe that woman absolutely nothing.”

Though if she were to be hanging around later I may be willing to play a round or two tonight if she asks nicely.

“Not to mention she’s probably married or spoken for or whatever weird shit girls are committed to these days. Now leave me alone,” I say taking the iPad from Callan so I can look over my past pitches. “I need to focus.”

“Sure, you do.” Bishop’s chuckle and accompanying smirk tells me he doesn’t believe a word out of my mouth. “Just don’t let her get in your head again.” He shrugs. “Or…you know, fuck it, let her do all she wants with your head. It works for you.”

“She wasn’t in my head,” I lie, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re bullshit. That redhead had cut through my anxiety like it was nothing, her voice somehow cutting through the noise of my own thoughts. And now as I sit here watching

Brock Adams take his place at bat I wonder if the red-headed mystery girl will stay for the whole game.