My sister leans into me as we walk along the small businesses that are slowly flicking their neon signs on as the sun goes down.
“You’re not a bimbo,” she whispers. I suck my bottom lip in as I smile in return.
“Thanks.”
Night games in Sweetwater are special. We didn’t always have lights on the stadium. It was a big deal when the first night game was played about ten years ago. It revived the downtown strip in many ways, spurred on a late-night vibe that kept Earl’s alive in many ways. Without the college in session, things at Earl’s would get pretty slow. Now, though, the Mavericks games fill the bar all summer long.
We get to skip the line outside, thanks to the special tickets Hunter gave me. We’re closer to the dugout tonight. I think he didn’t want my father to have to take many steps when I camelast time. It was thoughtful, and of everything that’s attractive about him, I think it’s the little things Hunter does that catch me off-guard and hook me deeper than I want to be. Still, he is thoughtful. And it is striking.
“Girl, I could get used to this,” my sister says as she settles into the seat beside me. We both prop our feet on the dugout.
“They’re really nice seats.”
Lindsey snickers under her breath, then echoes my words in a mocking tone.
“Okay, okay. Don’t act like we’ve never been here,” I say, brushing her thigh with the back of my hand. She laughs louder at that remark, and I give in and join her.
The front rows at Mavericks games are strictly VIP. The seats are extra wide, with leather cushions that get covered after every game and polished before the starts. We also get our own servers who will take concession orders and deliver the food directly to our seats, just like they do in the majors. And as if the leg room and food weren’t enough, there’s also a special tunnel to a private bathroom and access to chat with the players anytime we want. And one of those players is crooking a finger at me right now.
“You’re being summoned,” Lindsey teases.
“Shush. That’s worse than bimbo,” I chastise her.
I skip down the aisle to Hunter, and he leans over the short wall to press a chaste kiss on my mouth that earns a few whistles from the fans nearby. My cheeks burn, but I smile right through it. Turns out I kind of like this attention.
“You ready tonight?” I tug down the brim of his hat, and he chuckles before adjusting it.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” Of course he is. He’s Hunter Reddick. Number one draft pick.
“Daisy said it’s a big game tonight. She heard something on the sports show, I guess?” I squint from the glare of the lights asI look up at him. He shifts so he’s blocking the bright beam from my eyes.Thoughtful.
“It’s just like every other game.”
He sniffs as he shrugs, but underneath the bravado, I catch a glimpse of his nerves. It’s in the way his upper lip twitches, fighting against a nervous smile, and the rapid blinking as he glances around.
“Hey,” I say, centering his gaze back on me. I grab hold of the collar on his jersey, the top two buttons open and exposing the thin silver chain he always wears. It was a gift from his mom in high school, and he said he never pitches without it. I tap my finger on the chain link and he tucks his chin, glancing down.
“You’re gonna be great,” I assure him.
He gives me a crooked smile and utters, “I know.”
I shake my head and laugh, the cocky young hotshot still beating strong inside him.
“Hi, Hunter!” My sister waves behind me, and Hunter leans over the wall further to wave back.
“Thanks for coming, Lindsey. I’m gonna need you to keep your sister in check tonight. Things are gonna get a bit intense.”
My sister gives him a thumbs up. He leans back and shifts his gaze back to me before darting it over my shoulder again. He’s a lot more nervous than I thought he would be.
“Why is it going to be intense?” I chuckle.
“Oh, no real reason. Just . . . well . . .” His eyes lock on something behind me, and I follow the path of his gaze until I see a man and a woman waving at us as they take the steps toward us two at a time. They’re both incredibly tall. And they look strikingly similar to Hunter.
Oh, fuck.
I swing my gaze back to him and lean in close.
“Did you invite your parents to this game? Is this a parent meeting ambush? Hunter Reddick, I swear to?—”
