The Lineup(73)

“We have the means for it, after all,” he says, continuing. “You’re taking over the city of Chicago, and I’ll be raining home runs on every opposing team. We would be the power couple, the new king and queen of the city. Excuse me, Oprah and Steadman, a new, hip couple is in town. People would wear our faces on their shirts like the royals in England. We’re the next Kate and William, the next Meghan and Harry. People will scream our name and then faint, only for us to give them mouth-to-mouth because even though we’re super famous, we are also humanitarians.”

“Wow.” I sit back in my chair. “That’s quite the picture you paint.” I know what my mom will say about him already. Don’t lose him, Dorothy. He’s gold. Gorgeous and selfless.

“So . . . with all that said, our six children at your side, would you wear a Rebels shirt?”

I take some time to think about it, mulling over the idea of switching to black and red as my team colors. Could I do it?

With the way Jason is smiling at me, hope in his eyes, how could I ever deny him that joy—and I say that as if we’ve been married for ten years.

“I would wear halfsies. Half Bobbies, half Rebels, and that’s the best I can do.”

He lifts his finger to the sky. “I’ll take it.”





“What do you mean you’ve never been on a roller coaster?”

“Just never have been,” I say, my hand looped through his as we walk through the park across from his apartment building. The night is chilly but Jason didn’t want to head up to our apartments just yet, therefore I’m one of the luckiest girls alive as I’m wearing Jason’s blazer.

Not only does it smell like heaven—like him—but its silk lining feels magnificent on my bare skin and it’s warm, just like him.

Even though he’s standing next to me, guiding me through the park, it still feels like by wearing his jacket, he’s holding me. Not sure he’s going to be able to get this back from me.

“But you grew up in Southern California, near Six Flags. You never visited the theme park?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Never went to Knott’s Berry Farm either.”

“Disneyland?” he asks, truly concerned.

“Obviously I went to Disneyland, but they don’t really have roller coasters there, just mini ones, nothing like a drop that will make your stomach pop into your throat.”

“True, okay. Well, we need to rectify this.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. I’m good with never going on one.”

“Nope, it’s official, our second date will be at Six Flags Great America. We have to go during the week though, when everyone is in school. This Thursday, what do you say?”

“Are you insane? We are not—”

Jason stops us and spins me toward him where he grips my chin lightly and says, “Play hooky with me, Dottie. It will be fun. I won’t even go for a run that morning. We can get up early, grab some donuts from Frankie Donuts, and then head over.”

It’s tempting, oh boy, it’s tempting, but I have a huge meeting to prepare for that’s taking place on Friday. I think about it for a second. If I spend the rest of this week focusing on the meeting and work Thursday night when we’re done being kids, I could possibly fit it in . . .

“If you think about it, if we dated in college, going to Six Flags is something we totally would have done. But since you never came up to me, never made a move, we were deprived of that entertainment. Now we have to make up for lost time.”

“Oh, you’re really reaching now.”

He rubs his thumb across my cheek. “Please, Dottie. Come scream your head off with me and eat tons and tons of junk food.”

“When you put it like that, how could I possibly say no?”

“That a girl.” He hooks his arm around my shoulder and kisses the side of my head. “Thursday it is. Should we wear matching shirts? Something that says, ‘I’m with her. I’m with him’ with arrows? Or we could wear shirts that say Future Mrs. and Mr.”

“Now you’re getting ahead of yourself. Matching shirts aren’t necessary.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see him bite down on his bottom lip, thinking, processing. “The more I put some thought into it, the more I truly believe we need matching shirts. Think of the endless photo opportunities.”

“If you want me to skip work and go to Six Flags with you, we are not wearing matching shirts.”

“That’s what you think,” he says with a smile.

Why do I feel like come Thursday, I’ll be wearing the same damn shirt as Jason? Probably because it feels next to impossible to say no to this man, even when I’m trying to put my foot down. And yet somehow, I don’t feel I’m losing control here. It feels . . . safe to allow him to take the lead. Occasionally. I won’t let him get too used to it.





The elevator doors open and Jason unwraps his arms from around my waist. The entire ride up, he held me, my back to his chest. It was sweet and romantic, especially when he whispered in my ear how great I smell and how he loves my hair down.

Hand in hand, we walk down the hallway to our respective apartments and then stop at our doors. I shrug out of his jacket and hand it to him. He opens his apartment, tosses the jacket inside, and then turns back to me.