Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(41)

Not that I’m Nora Dawn, but that it’s okay for me to be weird by normal standards.

I spontaneously lunge for Mackenzie and squeeze her in a hug. “Thank you for being so accepting. Even though this is real. For real. Honestly.”

Good gravy, I am not a good liar.

“Chick sandwich. Awesome,” one of the hockey players says.

Mackenzie pulls back and laughs. “Don’t take them seriously. They’re completely harmless and awesome off the ice, but they like to pretend they’re not.”

“Duck!” one of them yells as a weird shadow dances over us.

“Bird!” another calls over a squawk.

“That’s not a bird, it’s an ostrich!”

“Ostriches don’t fly!”

I look up at the circling shadows, realize they’re inches from my head, and I duck.

Mackenzie screams.

Feathers explode around us, and something heavy beats at the side of my head.

I shriek.

Someone’s yelling.

I can’t get under the seat. I can’t get under the seat.

And suddenly I’m being squished by hundreds of pounds of something solid and sweaty that’s hollering, “Back, devil, you can’t have them!”

Someone grunts.

I think it’s me.

I’m grunting with my lungs folded in half while feathers tickle my face and fly up my nose and land on my tongue.

There’s more shouting, and then a familiar voice. “Get off my fiancée, you idiot.”

“You weren’t here to protect her,” one of the hockey guys says.

“I can protect myself,” Mackenzie snaps.

Yep.

Brooks has come to rescue Mackenzie.

And where’s Luca?

I’m about to think he’s not playing his part when the weight is lifted off me and there he is, dropping into a squat on the stairs beside my seat, reaching for me while Brooks trips over both of us to try to get to Mackenzie.

Luca’s green eyes are pinched, his lips are having some kind of a spasm, and his hat is knocked crooked. People all around us are taking pictures. More people are running from the field, some official-looking, and fans are congregating closer to the two ballplayers in the stands while others start whispering about the hockey players.

He doesn’t say a word, and while at first I thought he was annoyed, it’s rapidly dawning on me that he’s not annoyed.

He’s trying desperately not to laugh.

“What just happened?” I ask him.

He still doesn’t speak, but instead, gestures to his hat.

“The birds like your sequins,” Brooks supplies as he inspects Mackenzie from head to toe while she beams at him, brushes feathers off her jersey, and insists she’s fine and wasn’t the intended target.

Luca chokes as I reach for my hat, which I’m wearing not because it makes me cute and fashionable like Mackenzie’s does for her, but because my hair isn’t fit to be seen in public.

“Brooks! Brooks, can you sign my ball?” a falsetto male voice says.

“Ohmygod, it’s Luca Rossi! Will you sign my left butt cheek?” another chimes in.

“Where’s Cooper Rock? Why doesn’t Cooper ever come save the ladies?”

We all turn to stare at the hockey players.

They point at each other, none of them accepting responsibility for their requests. Also, half of them are going back to eating hot dogs or Cracker Jacks, which means they’re gesturing at each other while also dribbling food all over amidst the bird feathers, which probably won’t help with the long-term management of not getting attacked by flying beasts again.

Luca’s lips are having another seizure. He squeezes my arm, glances at my head, and in a move so fast I’m not sure how he did it, he swaps our hats.

His, naturally, smells like delicious male shampoo and that smooth scent of new clothing, and not sweat.

Also, my ovaries are now exploding over the man who’s pecking my cheek and heading back to the ball field, his cleats clicking on the concrete stairs as he dashes past adoring fans while wearing a sequined hat on his head.

It’s not a far leap from wearing sequined hats on the ball field to wearing tutus to tea parties with little girls.

And there’s nothing more dangerous to that over-eager puppy of love beating in my heart than the idea of a man playing dress-up and sipping pretend tea with his toddlers.

I’d ask if his Nonna cursed me too, but the sad truth is, she didn’t have to for this to work.

Be strong, Henri. Be. Strong.

I chant it all through the game, while watching Luca make diving catches and hit doubles and steal bases and slide onto home plate to score the winning run.

I can do this.

I can be strong.

Wanna know why?

Because in this case, I know for a fact that Luca could never love me, and even if he said he did, I know I can’t trust him.

I just wish that knowledge didn’t suddenly sting.





17





Luca



When we walk out of Duggan Field to board the bus that’ll take us to the airport for our away series in Florida, there aren’t any sports photographers with their cameras flashing.

But we’re still swaggering, every last one of us in matching footy pajamas decorated with the official Fireballs mascot contender print.