Be My Game Changer: A Sports Romance(3)

“How’s the arm?”

“No complaints.”

“Well, I have one,” Dundee stands and leans over. “That ego of yours is gonna get bigger.” His annoyance contradicts the supportive slap he gives my knee as he walks away. He has faith in me and my abilities, but he also knows our bodies don’t always follow through.

I spend the bottom of the inning mentally reviewing Dundee’s analysis of the Hawks lineup and strategizing with Lynch on one particular hitter, then I’m back on the mound. Three batters up, three batters struck out. Boom. A hitless inning. Doing my job, motherfuckers.

Keeping cool on the surface, I mind my gait on the way off the mound. Like it’s easy. No sweat. It’s all part of the mind game. But I’m on fire on the inside, burning up with a satisfied adrenaline as I walk off the field to the cheers and chants of everyone—except that same brunette who still has her nose in a book.

I’m unsettled suddenly that it’s bothering me. Why do I care that her attention isn’t on me? Stepping onto the dugout’s top step, I lean against the rail, looking over the roof of the dugout to where the crowd has retaken their seats, heads swiveled to home where Gunner steps up to the plate. My only consolation is she still hasn’t looked up. So it’s not just one of my most important pitching days of my entire career that she’s uninterested in. All I can say is it must be a damn good book.





3





AVERY





“Now would be a good time to take a peek at the game,” Bodie informs me.

“Nah. I’m good.”

I flip the page of my paperback as Bodie leans in closer. “Really, you should take a peek because Carter Barlowe keeps looking this way.”

Lowering the book, I glance straight ahead to find a pair of deep-brown eyes staring back over the dugout’s roof. It takes a second for me to break the contact, looking back at my book. “He probably has family sitting around us. Your dad really did get you some good seats.”

“Yep. They’re Dad’s friend’s seats, but they’re out of town this weekend.”

“Lucky us,” I mumble returning my focus to the romance that is much more interesting than the sporting event in front of me. “What quarter is it?”

“‘Quarter,’ seriously?” Bodie asks in frustration. “I really hope you’re messing with me.”

Unable to hide my smirk, I glance over at him. “Just let me know when it’s halftime.” I focus back on my book as he drapes his arm over my shoulder, pulling me in for a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“I’m gonna grab us something to drink.” Bodie takes off, and I get lost in the pages. Only a few chants and shouts pull me out of the story here and there. One of the good things about growing up with three siblings and now teaching a swarm of teenagers is I’ve learned to block out distractions and concentrate on the task at hand.

Bodie returns with sodas and snacks in hand, bending down to hand me fries and a Dr. Pepper. He remains standing, I notice, joining in with the crowd whooping and hollering. It’s either been two minutes or two innings when he finally plops back in his chair, I don’t care because this book has gotten hot, and I’ve lost all track of time.

“Damn, Barlowe is on fire.”

“That’s good. Have you had enough of the atmosphere yet so we can head out?”

When he doesn’t respond, I look over at him, knowing what’s coming next. I’ve been duped into a full game. “There’s bound to be some postgame interviews right here.” He points at the field as I shake my head in defeat.

“I should’ve brought another book.” Or grabbed my Kindle because it doesn’t look like we’re leaving anytime soon.

“I’ll buy you more books as soon as the game is over.”

“Deal.” Might as well get some new books out of the guilt trip.

The “big game” continues around me, and I’m only vaguely aware of Bodie and his new friend—our enthusiastic neighbor—doing a macho chest bump as they shout about another hitless inning or strikeouts or some nonsense before sitting back down.

“Um, Avery. You really should look now.”

“I’m good.”

I feel a few taps on my shoulder from around me as Bodie leans over. “Look on the jumbotron.”

“The what?” I ask, my eyes immediately finding my dumbfounded face on the oversized screen across the stadium. “What the hell?”

Bodie doesn’t share my terror at the sight of my ginormous face as he joins in the howls around us.

“Barlowe’s number one fan,” the announcer booms over the stadium’s speakers. None too soon, the fans to the left and right of us jump around, waving and blocking the intrusive camera’s view of me on the screen.

Thankfully, the commotion dies down, and everyone focuses back on the game. “Why would they do that?”

“Probably because you’re the only person here not paying attention to the game.”

“Big freakin’ deal.” And apparently it is. As I glance to the field, I’m met with the same steely brown eyes on me. He’s throwing a damn ball around. “The book is still better than anything happening on the field. But can you let me know if they show me again? Please.”