“Holyshit.” Dallas wraps him in a tight hug. “Maverick Miller. A fuckingdad. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“That’s Daddy to you,” he jokes.
“This is awesome, man.” I hug him too. “Look at you growing up.”
“When is it going to be your turn?” Maverick asks. “It feels weird I’m going through all these life changes while you’re single. You’reneversingle.”
“You had a phase in your life where you had fun with people without caring about the labels. I’ve never gone through that phase, and maybe now it’s my turn. To not think about five, ten years down the road, but just what I’m doing tomorrow.”
“Does Avery want kids?”
“No clue. That’s not really relevant to our situation,” I say.
“When you were dating Sheila, you had that conversation by your fifth date,” Maverick says.
“And I ended up with a broken engagement and a canceled wedding. Can you two stop meddling and let me be? I know this isn’t who I usually am. I know this isn’t who I’m going to be the rest of my life, but I’m having fun right now. We’re two consenting adults who know what we want. Who know the rules and the boundaries we’ve set up, and rely on honest and open communication to keep having fun. Let me fuck in peace. I didn’t give you shit when you were going through your playboy lifestyle before you met Emmy.”
“Fine.” Maverick holds up his hands. “I’ll drop it.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Now let’s get the hell out of here so I can embarrass myself.”
I hate playing sports.
I always have, ever since my dad taught me how to hold a tee ball bat when I was four years old.
All the other boys are signed up for baseball, he told me when I was in elementary school.
You can’t sit inside all day like a fucking pansy, he yelled at me when I locked my bedroom door and pulled out my laptop in middle school.
No woman is ever going to take you seriously if you don’t have some sort of athletic accolade under your belt, you goddamn fucking loser, he snarled when I begrudgingly decided to try out for my high school team and got cut the first day.
I tried.
I tried and I tried and I fuckingtriedto be an athlete, but I’m not. I’m uncoordinated and slow and so far from fucking graceful, it’s hysterical.
I hate standing in the sun.
I hate people watching me.
I hate swinging a bat and missing the ball and being embarrassed when I’m at the plate.
I hate it all, and even though I keep telling myself this is all for a good cause, my skin is prickly. My motivation is declining with every inning, and I can’t get out of here fast enough.
“You good, Plant Daddy?” Maverick calls out as he jogs to first base at the top of the fifth.
I start my trek to the outfield after three strikes and squint into the sun. “Fucking dandy.”
We set up FedEx Field with a baseball diamond, and Titans fans are out in full force today. They’ve filled the seats we opened up so they could get a glimpse of their favorite players. There’s a signing line scheduled for after the game, and I’ve already assigned one of the interns to be in charge of filming content for it.
I know they put me out here because I can’t catch to save my life, but standing alone and in the heat is notmy idea of a good time.
I’m miserable, and I pull off my hat and wipe my forehead.
“Having fun?” someone yells from behind me.
I turn around and find Avery sitting in the row closest to the field. She has on a big sun hat that covers her head and a strappy little tank top that shows off her shoulders.
My throat goes dry at the sight of her.
