His eyebrows hike to his hairline. I know he’s about to say something naughty when a shrill voice pierces our bubble.
“Carolina Saber! There you are!”
I turn to see Mara Thrasher, complete with Dickhead Dash, hustle over to us. Instead of firing eye daggers at Dash, I take a moment to look over Mara’s face. It’s hard to tell about any bruises. Her makeup’s on pretty thick. But I do notice she’s wearing a turtleneck.
“Are you cold, Mara?” I point to her top. “It’s April. In Florida. The humidity must be 80% out there.”
She offers me the fakest laugh on the planet. “Well, you know. Domed stadiums. You never know if the air conditioning will be working overtime.”
Dash grips her arm a little too tight for my liking. “That’s my Mara. Always cold.”
My eyes narrow at him. I wonder if a swift kick to the balls would be enough to take him down or if I might have to shove the heel of my hand into his nose. I step toward him, but Rand yanks me back.
“I hear the National Anthem,” Rand glares at Dash. “Shall we take our seats?”
The four of us walk down to the section of seats for our reunion group. And wouldn’t you know? Our tickets are right next to theirs. Dash scoots into the farthest seat, followed by Mara. Rand sits next to her. And I get the sweet aisle seat.
“Isn’t this fun?” Mara claps her hands.
“I don’t know about that,” Dash growls.
I whisper into Rand’s ear. “I don’t think I can hold out for seven innings of this shit.”
“Patience, puffin. Patience.”
???
Three innings of Mara’s inane ramblings and Dash’s nasty remarks were trying my patience. So, when the beer vendor came strolling by, I snagged two 32-ounce cups of weak-ass beer.
“Is one of those for me?” Rand raises an eyebrow.
I blush. “Ooops. Sorry. Yes.”
I hand over the beer as the Rays’ third-baseman hits a home run, giving us a one-run lead. I jump up, whooping it up, and only sit down when the guy crosses home plate, waving his helmet to the crowd.
“I didn’t realize you love baseball so much,” Rand nudges me.
“What’s not to love? There’s a reason it’s America’s pastime. It’s the only sport in the world just about anyone can play,” I nod.
“Anyone?”
“Pretty much. With every other sport, there has to be some innate skill to it. You have to be tall enough to shoot a basket or strong enough to stop a linebacker. But with baseball, you learn how to swing a bat, you learn to throw a ball, and it doesn’t matter how strong, or tall, or even if you can walk, you can play some form of baseball.”
Rand sits back and stares at me with a weird look in his eyes.
“What?” I rub a napkin over my face. “Do I have ketchup on my mouth from the hot dogs?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve never thought of baseball like that before.”
“I played a lot of ball growing up,” I lift a shoulder. “Plus, there’s a lot of time on the bus, in between games, to think about things.”
“You must have been quite the player.”
I snicker. “If we’re talking about softball, then yes.”
“And if we’re not talking about softball?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” I wink. “What about you? Did you play any sports?”
