Page 122 of The Score We Never Settled

I’d give her four just because she’s so respectful of my time, but I nod when the cameraman signals we’re on.

It’s the same shit, like I said.

“What were you thinking when you got up to the plate with two men on?”

“Did you know off the hit, it was going to go out where it needed?”

And, of course, “Are you going to watch Salt Lake tonight? They’re in the bottom of the sixth.”

My answers:

“Just concentrated on what I needed to do.”

“I didn’t.” I did.

“Absolutely, we need to keep eyes on the competition.” I’m not.

I know most of the guys on the team will stay in the locker room and sitting areas to watch what goes down but they’re only working themselves up.

We have another game tomorrow with the team we just won against, and I want to get to my phone.

When I do, after a few stops from fans and members of the staff, I power on my cell and see two text messages.

From her.

LAYLA JEAN: Damn, boy. You really wanted to diminish their spirits.

LAYLA JEAN: Do it again tomorrow.

BRIGGS: You know I will. That was for you, Short Stop.

LAYLA JEAN: Keep me humble. No extra things.

BRIGGS: I’m always extra when it comes to you.

BRIGGS: And I know how to keep you grounded. Not worried about that.

LAYLA JEAN: Then I shouldn’t tell you about the bourbon cherry pie I made that sold out by the end of the day.

LAYLA JEAN: Man, did I feel like a complete badass.

BRIGGS: You are a badass.

BRIGGS: And you should’ve brought me a piece.

LAYLA JEAN: Pies don’t sell themselves, Briggs Kerrigan. My pretty face does.

BRIGGS: Oh, is that how you’re so successful? You bat your eyelashes at every middle-aged man in town?

LAYLA JEAN: And woman.

BRIGGS: Of course.

BRIGGS: And your uncle says I’m the dangerous one.

LAYLA JEAN: Keep my secret or else.

BRIGGS: Or else what?