“So, that means fewer people to notice,” I counter.
“No, I mean, they’ll be able to see into the stands from the dugout.”
“I doubt they’ll be worrying about some random woman in the stands. They’ve got a game to play.”
“I promise you, the boys in that dugout are gonna notice you, anyone who looks in this general direction is gonna notice you. You gotta know that, right?”
Rolling my eyes at him, I say, “I don’t know any such thing.”
Charlie shifts in his seat, angling his shoulders as much as he can in the tight seat, not nearly as roomy as the cushioned luxury we enjoyed on the flight down. He has to lift his elbow onto the plastic edge of the seat back to turn and face me. Blue eyes steady and warm as his forearm brushes my shoulder just slightly.
“I don’t know how to say this, because I can’t imagine you don’t already know it, Sullivan, but you’re the most beautiful woman in every room you walk into.”
I want to say something clever, something flippant, about how we’re not even in a room, and how beauty is subjective –anythingthat doesn’t require me to actually deal with the way he’s looking at me and the words he just said. The only words I can manage are a murmured “Thank you.”
It’s odd. I’ve never wanted to be judged by how I look, but it’s been a while since a man offered a compliment that sincere. Because he meant it. I can tell by the warmth in his eyes and the nod he gives me when I don’t protest. Though it seems like maybe he doesn’t know what to say now and it’s so odd to see him tongue tied that I determinedly break the silence.
“I’m at a ballpark to watch a baseball game. I need a hot dog and a beer,” I say, reaching into my bag and pulling out my card, waving it at him. “I buy, you fly?”
“Put the card away, Frankie,” he insists, before sliding from his seat and jogging back up the steps to the concourse to grab us food.
He’s gone before I can react to him actually using my name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say it before, at least not while he was conscious. Then again, on the plane it wasFrancesca. Thatwas indescribably hot, but this, just a casual Frankie, there was something more to that, something simple and easy about it, like he knows me.
And maybe he does, or at least maybe he’s starting to.
I busy myself with my phone, trying not to think too hard about what just happened, scrolling through messages, ignoring most of them and then my emails – nothing urgent there either. What good is having a high-pressure job if it isn’t there to distract you from the extremely hot ex-major league star who just called you beautiful?
Something in my chest flutters pleasantly at the thought.
No. I decided last night that this couldn’t happen. Actually, I decided a long time ago. You don’t smash glass ceilings in professional sports by fantasizing about your colleagues. And that’s what he is. He’s a colleague. We basically have the exact same level of authority within the organization.
Clearly, it’s something that concerns him also. He said as much that last night inLA, that we didn’t work together anymore, and then he kissed me. So clearly that’s a line for him too.
We’re both adults. We’re both capable of controlling ourselves. And we’re here to do a job, becausethisis our job, even if right now we just look like two people out for a date night at the ballpark.
Even more so when he comes back a minute later laden down with a box of food, balancing two beers and a scorebook underneath it all. Oh, I should have told him to get me one too. Keeping score is an art form all its own and it’s been so long since I’ve been able to do it just for fun.
“I didn’t know what you liked on your hot dog,” he says, handing one off to me and then digging into his pocket for a fist full of packets. Mustard, ketchup, mayo, relish, and a little plastic cup of jalapeños. “LAgirls like a little kick, right?”
“We do,” I agree, trying desperately to keep the resolve I’d just managed to build up less than a minute ago.
Handsome. Confident. Thoughtful.
A far cry from the arrogant prick I faced down every day back inLA, even if he thought it was a sign of respect.
Retirement has been good for him.
“Can I ask you something?” I squeeze some deli mustard onto my hot dog, licking a bit off my fingers when I’m done.
He clears his throat and blinks at me, expression blank. “What?”
I don’t repeat myself, sure that he heard me. “Is it just for a championship?”
“What?”
“Are you only back for a championship? If we win it all this season, are you one and done?”
“I . . .” he starts, but then stops. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
