The Dugout(30)

“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, shaking me from my thoughts.

Shit.

“Uh . . . did I tell you how nice that hat looks on you?”

“Yeah, a few times.” She blushes. “But thanks, and the shirt is wonderful too. Jerry and Shane were jealous.”

“Well, if they were as smart as you, they might have gotten one too, but only the best for my coach.” I reach for the food and bring it up between us. “Straddle the bench so you can use it as a table.”

Clearing her throat, she says, “I’m guessing this isn’t your first rodeo eating in a dugout.”

“Sometimes I think I’ve eaten more meals like this than at an actual dinner table.” I open a boxful of tacos, set the chips and guac between us, and then hand her a water from the bag as well. “Is this okay?”

“This is great. You really didn’t have to bring dinner.”

“Are you kidding?” I pick up a softshell taco and take a huge bite of it. “It’s the least I could do. You don’t have to be spending your extra time helping me out.”

“It’s what I love.” She shrugs and picks up a taco as well as a chip. Gingerly she dips it, barely gathering any guacamole, and then puts the whole thing in her mouth.

“What the hell was that?”

Eyes wide, she crunches down and then asks, “What was what?”

“That dip. You barely got anything on your chip.”

“Oh.” She chuckles. “Yeah, that’s how I dip things. My brothers make fun of me for doing it all the time.”

“Rightfully so. That’s ridiculous.” I take her taco from her hand, set it in the box, and then hand her a tortilla chip. “You’ve taught me some things, now it’s my turn to exchange the favor.”

“I know how to eat, Carson.”

“Clearly not.” Growing serious, I say, “You’re doing that chip a disservice by not giving it a proper dunk. Now, watch me carefully.”

I start to move toward the guac when I stop myself and playfully smack myself in the head.

“What the hell was I thinking? We need to warm up first. The key to a good dunk is a proper wrist and finger warmup.” I hold up my hands and start flexing my fingers in and out. “Copy what I’m doing.”

Her head tilts to the side. “You can’t be serious.”

“I never joke about stretching. Move it along, Coach, get those digits flexing.”

Humoring me with a smirk, she lifts her hands and starts moving her fingers up and down.

“That’s it, just like that. Now rotate your wrists, really move that lactic acid. We don’t want any buildup while eating chips and guac.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Other direction.” We switch out rotation. “Have you ever gotten chip wrist? I did once, couldn’t pick up a tortilla chip for a week.”

“Are you being serious?”

“You tell me.”

Her lips turn up as she pushes her glasses back up her nose. I’m seriously starting to become needy for that smile. “From our brief interactions, I’m going to say you’re very much serious about everything . . . when you’re not joking.”

“Precisely, and I’m very serious about chips and guac, so pick one up and watch me before you dip.” I grab a chip, dip it, and then angle the point upward. “See this angle, the wrist action, the precise hold my fingers have on the chip so it doesn’t break, this is exactly—”

Crack. Snap.

Plop.

Milly snorts and covers her mouth, a giggle bubbling up inside her as we both stare at my broken chip.

“Well . . . this is humiliating.”

“Oh my God.” She busts out in laughter, holding on to her stomach now. “That could not have gone worse. What were you saying about the precise hold again?”

“Are you busting my balls, Coach?”

She nods, her eyes welling up.

“Oh, you think this is funny?”

“Yup,” she squeaks. “You were just so serious. So knowledgeable.”

“Still am. I’m calling it a faulty chip.”

“Wouldn’t a chip and guac connoisseur like yourself know how to handle such a faulty chip and still breed success from their dipping?” she counters, looking smug and beautiful simultaneously.

“You’re quite mouthy when you break out of your shell, you know that?”

Her confidence falters briefly. “You noticed?”

I drop the sarcastic banter. “You seemed terrified to be on the same baseball field as me when we first started . . . yesterday.” Her cheeks redden, and I know she’s embarrassed, something that easily happens where she’s concerned. I don’t want to embarrass her in the slightest, but it would be cool if she opened up a little. She is helping me perfect my swing, after all, and it would be nice to know the girl who I’ll give credit to.

“I was terrified. Not many men give me a shot. My little league team, now that’s a different story, but when it comes to people our age or older, they want someone else teaching them. Someone with a penis.”

“I’d like to say that’s bullshit, but even I can’t act cavalier, because I doubted you. Then again, I’ve doubted everyone who’s ever offered a suggestion, but that’s for a different reason.”