Page 110 of Renegade Rift
Basically. I was worried for absolutely nothing.
And the suite?
Let’s just say I don’t think I’ll ever go back to watching a game in the cheap seats again.
There’s an entire lounge inside complete with couches, a television that has the broadcast of the game, two coolers filled with every drink imaginable and an entire wall of appetizers—including plenty of gluten-free options—and a call button to have pretty much any food in the stadium delivered.
It’s incredible.
A huge glass wall divides the lounge from a small deck that has three bar height tables before four rows of stadium seats that overlook home plate.
It’s over the top in the best way. And makes my heart break.
The suite reminds me of everything I could have had.
Friendships. Comradery. Sisterhood.
These women have done nothing but lift me up since I entered their space. And I’m not even one of them. I imagine what could have been if Tyler had allowed me to be a part of this. I wouldn't have felt so alone. And if I wasn’t isolated, maybe Tyler would have been different. Maybe he wouldn’t have cheated. And maybe he wouldn’t have racked up all that debt.
And…it hits me.
Why am I thinking of Tyler and all the should’ves, could’ves, and would’ves when there’s a man whodidgive me all of this on that field right now, playing his heart out for the chance to let me make him come?
And damn, do I want to make him come.
I might not have a clue what is happening between us, but I do know there’s something when it comes to Ford McCoy. Even if it ends up being nothing more than a learning experience, with a side of spicy nights, it’s the kind of story I won’t regret telling my grandkids when I’m old and gray and no longer have any cares to give.
I glance around and spot Paige on the far side of the deck with Jo, leaning in close and whispering what I have no doubt is a maniacal plan.
Mark my words, those two together are going to be trouble.
Not wanting to interrupt, I make my way down to a seat so I can watch the rest of the game. It’s the top of the seventh, and the Renegades are winning and have two outs. My eyes immediately track to number seventeen, standing at third base. He’s looking far too good in his black and gray uniform, but it’s the orange belt that makes my cheeks heat. I wonder if it’s the same one he had tangled around his wrists last night.
He shakes out his shoulders and gets set for the next batter.
Carson’s on the mound. He winds up and releases a pitch that, from this angle, looks beautiful.
Of course, what do I know? The umpire called it a ball.
Ford hits his glove with his fist and says something to Carson. Knowing Ford, I imagine it’s some kind of encouragement. He then moves over to the foul line and toes at the dirt.
Wait.
Is that?—
It’s my word.
Written in the dirt.
Well, not exactly mine, but it’s four letters I’ve only ever heard Ford use in reference to me.
L-O-V-E
Emotion swells in my throat. How did I not notice it? I’ve been watching the game in between talking with the ladies in the suite, my eyes always coming back to him, but I swear those letters weren’t there before.
“Is this seat taken?”
I blink away the sudden tears that rim my eyes and look up to find a gorgeous blonde with soft curls dressed in denim shorts, a Renegades T-shirt, and Chuck Taylors.
