Page 24 of Fair Ball

“Your game?”

“Is there another professional baseball player you’re working for who’s invited you to his games?”

“No, but… You want me there?”

“Like you said, you don’t have anything else to do today.”

“Besides buying Harold walnuts.”

“Of course. His fucking nuts.”

His eyes flare at my laughter, and my amusement dies at the tension filling my belly. A foreign knot of excitement. Like champagne bubbles. As if drunk, I answer without thinking. “Sure. I’d love to go to your game.”

He nods once and retrieves his phone from his pocket, typing for a minute. “I sent you the name of the player relations coordinator. She’ll be the one you want to talk to from now on whenever you want to come to a game. But she said she’ll make sure to get you a seat.” Then he picks up his bag, smoothie, and coffee before heading to the door. When I don’t follow, he glances back at me. “Coming?”

“Right.” I jump to it, tossing my purse over my shoulder, accidentally elbowing him on the way as I dig for my keys. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t react at all, only locks up and follows me out of the building to my car. But his grumbling about how there is no parking in the city immediately stops when I unlock the doors. “What the hell is this, Millie?”

“My car…?”

He slowly circles it, continuously rubbing at his beard, shaking his head every once in a while. “How old is it?”

“Uh, about twenty years or so.”

“It’s a piece of shit.”

I shrug. “Buying a new car isn’t at the top of my to-do list right now.”

“It should be. How can you drive it? The wheel wells are almost completely rusted, and it looks like you have a leak.” He points to a very small puddle under my Toyota Corolla that I only bought after I gave birth to Noah. I couldn’t rely on public transportation, and I bought it off one of my uncles with the little money I had saved up.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I say, opening the driver’s side door. “It does that sometimes.”

He glares at me through the window, refusing to join me, so I turn on the car and roll down the window, which thankfully works today. “Come on, boss. Don’t want to be late.”

He purses his lips like he wants to argue but refrains and eventually drops into the seat. Unfortunately, the seat adjusters don’t work, and his knees are practically in his chest as I drive. But I keep on smiling like everything is fine as he breathes out fire next to me.

“Nice day today, isn’t it?”

He turns to look out the window. Yesterday, it was raining, and they had a delay in their game, so I’m glad they won’t have to go through that today.

Over the rumbling chug of my car’s engine, like it’s on its last breath, I ask, “You ready to pitch?”

He mumbles an affirmative, and I’m about to ask him if he has any specific pregame rituals, but the car directly in front of me slams on their brakes, so I slam on mine. “Come on, you stupid motherfucker! Learn how to drive!”

Once we’re going again, I notice Austin’s attention on me, and I glance his way. “Okay?”

“Sunshine Millie has road rage?”

“No. I don’t have any kind of rage.” I beep at the car taking forever to make a left on green. “Don’t have all day!”

Next to me, Austin grunts. Happily, I think. “Millie fucking Sheehan. Road rage queen.”

I refuse to give in to a smile or acknowledge the flutter of butterflies taking off beneath my ribs and instead turn up the radio, dancing in my seat to “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” from Footloose. It’s one of my favorite movies.

Willard and I are kindred spirits since neither one of us can dance.

I sense Austin’s focus on me the whole time, and when I chance a glance his way, he has his hand covering his mouth. But from the angle of his eyes, I think he might be smiling.