Paisley whistles. “That’s hardcore.”
“When your sister-in-law can afford a helicopter to glitter-bomb your brother’s entire house to prove who’s top dog, you have to take drastic measures. Sometimes the wind still blows leftover glitter down his mountain and all around town.” Tillie Jean looks at me, clearly intent on leaving out her own history of launching glitter bombs. “So are you here to hit on Addie, or is this a PR stunt before the pickleball league sign-ups?”
“Addie and I are friends.” And one of us—me—wants more. And I’m willing to play the long game to get it.
The very long game if necessary.
I wouldn’t if I didn’t think I had a chance.
But the way she looks at me—the way she let her guard down when I showed up the morning after the auction, the way she sat with me when I overheated, then sat with me while I told her I’m retiring, the way her eyes went dark while I told her I was taking advantage of this second chance over loaded cheese fries—she knows what I want.
And she hasn’t told me no.
Implied she doesn’t think I can earn her, yes.
Reiterated that she doesn’t dorelationships.
But told me no to being her friend? To being in her life?
Nope.
Sheinvitedmeto take breakfast to the Stingrays softball team. She didn’t argue about grabbing a bite to eat, just the two of us, afterward. And the way she lingered when we got back to her apartment, saying so much with what she didn’t say—she still likes me.
She simply doesn’t know how to handle it yet.
Fine by me.
I have time.
“Are youfriends-friends, orjustfriends?” Kami asks.
“I don’t know the difference between those two.” Which one means friends with benefits and which one meanswe’re honestly friends?
Never mind.
Doesn’t matter.
Neither fits.
“Uncle Duncan’s seen her naked,” Paisley supplies.
“I’ve seen Duncan naked,” Nick says. “Happens in sportsing. Sometimes in cross-sportsing. Like when we forget we’re not at our own home arena and walk into a different sport’s lockerroom. You smell that locker room smell, andboom. Clothes come off.”
Just when I’d started to give up on him, he comes through with the support.
We bump fists.
“When does baseball season end?” Kami asks.
“October,” Nick tells her. “Maybe early November, depending on playoffs.”
“And when does it start?”
“February,” Tillie Jean says. “Spring training. Kiss ’em all goodbye at that point if you’re not going with them.”
All four of them look at me.
I look at the field.
