The Art of Losing(29)

“Watch what you’re doing!” I snapped.

He leaned down, grabbed the bill of my hat, and snatched if off my head. “Get up here and celebrate with me, fat ass,” he said.

Without thinking, I batted his nearly empty beer cup from his hand.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I spat.

Suddenly his smile was gone. He looked at his spilled beer on the ground, then at me. His bloodshot eyes were furious. I could see the moment he decided to slap me. Too bad for him my reflexes hadn’t been muddled by alcohol. I shifted, and he caught my shoulder instead of my face and sent me slamming into Raf. The guy nearly fell on top of me, losing his balance from the force of his swinging arm. Raf and I were there to catch him from the front while one of his friends grabbed the back of his shorts and pulled him up.

“Asshole!” Raf yelled as he shoved the guy back up to his friends. “Are you fucking kidding me? Get the hell away from her!”

The guy reared back, looking like he was going to kick Raf in the face, but his friends held him back—one on either side. To their credit, they looked as shocked and pissed off at their friend as we were. As they pulled him out into the aisle, one of them muttered an apology. But it was too late. Two beefy security guards had appeared, and within seconds all three guys were being escorted from the stands.

We were standing now, even the people around us. They were all staring at me.

It had all happened so fast. I was shaking with rage, but I did my best impression of laughing it off for Spencer’s sake, who looked as rattled as I felt.

“Nothing to see here,” I joked lamely.

There was a smattering of sympathetic applause, and then everyone went back to watching the game. Everyone but Raf.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.

I nodded, but my hands were still trembling. I sat and tucked them between my legs, regretting my decision to wear shorts. I hoped Raf wasn’t looking at the cellulite on my thighs.

“That was a nice dodge,” he said as he settled back down into the seat next to me. “Maybe your hobby should be boxing.”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. In reality, I was having trouble with the fact that I had wanted to punch that guy’s face until his nose was a bloody pile of mush. I didn’t know what to do with the aggression. It scared me. And it was still rolling off me in waves.

“He was drunk,” I said, half to myself.

“Exactly. He could have hurt you.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve spent years dodging Audrey when she tried to bait me into a fight by hitting me over and over again.”

Raf bumped his shoulder against mine. “So modest,” he said, lightening his tone. “Just consider me impressed.”

I couldn’t help smiling. But as the anger receded, I was left with something else: the embarrassment of being called “fat” in front of him.

“I wanted to punch that guy for what he said about your ass,” Raf added, as if reading my mind.

“Let’s not talk about that,” I groaned. Besides, my butt wasn’t particularly fat; it was more flat and nondescript. But I don’t think that guy was being literal. I knew I was overweight—I didn’t have Cassidy’s slim legs or Audrey’s bikini-ready flat stomach—but I definitely did not want to discuss the particulars of my body here with Raf at a baseball game, in front of Cassidy and Spencer.

Raf held his hands up in defeat. “But let me just say this: I like it. It’s a cute ass, just like the rest of you.”

Blood rushed to my face. Definitely time to change the subject.

“Is Spencer okay?” I asked, craning my neck to peer past Raf. Spencer was engrossed in watching the game.

“He’s fine,” Raf said. He raised his voice a little so that Spencer could hear him. “He’s about to owe me five bucks when Tejeda gets his second hit.”

Spencer looked up at him and shook his head. “Tejeda hasn’t had more than one hit in a game since July of last year.”

“So you’re giving away money now?” I joked to Raf. “Can I get in on this?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Let me think about it. I have to run to the boys’ room.”

I tried not to stare at his ass as he stepped over Spencer’s short legs to the aisle.

The second he’d disappeared down the steps, Cassidy nudged me with her leg. “You are in trouble,” she said, drawing out the last word.

I frowned, pretending to focus on the game. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s smitten,” she said.

When I shot her a glance, she smirked. At my blank look, she added, “With you. He’s smitten with you.”

I waved her off. “No way.” But secretly, I kind of thought she was right. He wasn’t exactly hiding it. “I mean . . . maybe. But I don’t want him to be.” My voice faded. Also not true.

Cassidy just stared at me, one eyebrow raised.

Now my cheeks felt flushed again. I pulled the brim of my cap lower to hide my smile. “Fine, I like the idea of him liking me. But I can’t deal with it right now, Cass. I’m a freaking disaster. Look at me! I can’t even go to a baseball game without getting into a fight with some douchebag.”

She scoffed. “That was not your fault.”