Page 92 of The Art of Catching Feelings
“I would’ve really wanted to kiss you, though.”
She raised her eyebrows again at that. “But you wouldn’t have?”
He tilted his head, like he was really thinking about that one. “If the moment was right,” he said. “I like to think I would’ve gone for it. But I was trying to be so careful.”
“This was back when you weren’t stealing any bases.”
He smiled at that. “Definitely not,” he said. “But I was trying to be so careful withyou. You said your divorce had done a number on you, that you weren’t sure if you were ready for a relationship. I wanted to respect that, but I also couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Well, who’s to say I wouldn’t have made the first move?”
“Would you have?” He had that expression on his face again, the one she’d seen before. The one that still seemed a little surprised and flattered—touchedalmost—when she expressed how much she wanted him. Sometimes he treated her like she was so far out of his league, and even though she knew she wasn’t, knew that she didn’twantto be, knew that the idea of leagues at all was silly and borderline offensive…she still liked it when he looked at her like that.
“You probably would’ve been walking me around the field,” she said. “Saying something about baseball that I wastryingto pay attention to, but I would’ve been too focused on your mouth the whole time.”
His hands tightened at her waist. “I see no issue with that.”
“Tell me something,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Talk baseball to me.”
He squinted up at the sky, clearly trying to come up with something. “Uh,” he said. “Every infield is the same. The pitcher’s mound is sixty feet, six inches away from home plate, for example, in every single ballpark. But the outfield dimensions canbe different, and that’s one thing that makes baseball so special, because each stadium—”
She pulled him down toward her by the back of his neck, pressing her lips against his in what was an emphatic, if not particularly elegant, kiss. It was how their first kiss probably would’ve gone if she’d been in charge of it—all wanting and yearning and raw emotion without any finesse.
“Something like that,” she said. “But, you know. Better.”
“It was perfect,” he said. “I’m already looking forward to the second one.”
“Oh,” she said. “In that case…”
She stood up on her tiptoes, her body pressed against his as she brought him down for another kiss. This time she slanted her mouth against his, shivering a little when his tongue stroked her lower lip, invaded the warm invitation of her mouth. His hands were firm at the small of her back, drawing her even closer before they slid down to cup her ass. Daphne moaned—she couldn’t help it. Everything disappeared except for the crackling nerve endings wherever her body touched his.
That was when a loudwhoopwent up from the stands, followed by a smattering of applause. She broke away to see that there were still a few workers cleaning up trash around the seats, and they’d stopped to watch her and Chris down on the field. They were grinning and clapping, and Daphne could only give a sheepish wave.
“I guess the secret is out, huh?”
He smiled down at her. “Let’s give ’em a show,” he said. He took her hands in his, starting to move more to the music, swinging her arms out and then back in as he brought her closer to him and then away. For all that he talked about never dancing, he wasn’t bad at it, even though they were just goofing around. He twirled her once, then spun her into his arms, swaying a little withher until spinning her again. She was laughing and half off-balance when he picked her up by the waist, lifting her as she instinctively wrapped her legs around him.
She enjoyed this rare perspective of being taller, where she could hold his face in her hands and kiss him like she was the one sheltering him instead of the other way around. He shifted her weight to get a better grip, but didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go.
She realized that the same song had been playing on a loop at least a few times now. “I’m glad I didn’t ruin this song for you,” she whispered.
“Daphne, yougaveit to me,” he said. “You were right. If you love something, there’s no reason to deprive yourself of it. Love’s not a superstition. It’s not a game of failure. It’s…”
He swallowed, his gaze searching her face like he wanted her to understand what he was trying to say. And she did. Love wasthis. It was him, and it was her, and it was the future stretching out ahead of them in a million different possibilities.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked. “Go back to my place? I normally wouldn’t do that on a first date, but…”
He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
EPILOGUE
The Battery ended up winning their last game to secure a Wild Card spot in dramatic fashion, featuring a Randy Caminero grand slam and Chris making an incredible bare-handed line drive catch at third, then he’d tagged the other base runner out in an unassisted double play. The celebration had been intense, and even months later Daphne sometimes felt like she could still smell the champagne on her from when it had been sprayed all over the clubhouse. Chris had been very diligent later that night in licking every last trace of it off her skin.
But then the Battery ended up losing in the Wild Card in the opposite of dramatic fashion, in a game that stayed tied at zero through fifteen innings until the Mariners hit a walk-off homer to move on to the next round. That was baseball.
