“You can have anything you want.” Hayes’s voice is warm and indulgent.
For a moment, I imagine that tone in bed, asking me what I want him to do to me.
I swallow hard and push that thought out of my mind. “You can go back with the guys. I have this handled.” I motion toward where Decker and Easton are still conversing with fans.
Hayes leans in. “I’m right where I want to be.”
My pulse stutters. I need to get my reaction to him under control.
We move up in line, and a man who’s walking away from the counter with his ice cream sets his gaze on Hayes. “That passed ball in the eighth almost cost us the game. It’s only a matter of time before you poison this team. I told my friends they never should have taken you.”
Hayes stiffens but says nothing. Good for him for holding his tongue, but who the hell does this guy think he is?
I step in front of Monroe, putting her between Hayes and me. “Excuse me? Why would you think that’s appropriate to say to someone you don’t even know?”
There’s so much more I want to say, but Hayes puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let it go, Leighton. He’s not worth it.”
I narrow my eyes at the guy.
I’m so angry that I don’t notice Lincoln walking over until he stomps on the guy’s foot. “You’re a bully.”
The guy peers down at Lincoln and scoffs. The woman he’s with pulls him away, the two of them slinking off around a corner.
My hands fist at my sides. “Oh my god, I want to follow him and?—”
“Our turn!” Monroe shouts and rushes up to the counter.
“Stop. It’s fine. Everyone has their opinion.” Hayes is stoic, but I can see the muscle twitching in his jaw, as though he’s using every ounce of his strength not to react.
I hate that he’s learned to be the bigger person because he’s so used to people judging his mistakes.
Hayes asks Monroe, “Chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?” ending the conversation about the jerk-off baseball fan.
Decker and Easton squeeze in last-minute orders. I pull out my wallet to pay, but Hayes places his hand on mine and says he’s got it.
As we wait for our ice cream, Hayes takes Lincoln to the side, and Decker slips free from the new group of fans, leaving Easton behind.
“Everyone gets praised or ridiculed, especially on game days,” Decker tells me.
“I don’t understand how you guys handle it. I’d like to see that guy squat all game and catch hundred-mile-per-hour fastballs.”
Decker laughs. “He’d do a shitty job. Probably quit. But how Hayes responded is exactly what he needs to do. After last year… well, he’s the dark horse. But he’ll be on top by year’s end.”
My heart clenches. After the decades of work he’s put into his career… one bad season and people stop believing in him.
Hayes ruffles Lincoln’s hair, and they come over and join us. I assume he told Linc that he can’t stomp on people’s feet, but I don’t ask because that guy ruined our night enough. I’m not giving him any more attention.
We get called up for our ice cream, and we all agree to walk home and eat it there so the guys can enjoy theirs without the constant interruption from fans.
On the walk home, Monroe sticks to Decker and Lincoln to Easton. They seem to have found their favorites. And I have too—Hayes and I fall back. I’m not sure there’s a better time in Chicago than early spring. Then again, maybe autumn can compete. Hayes’s face plays peekaboo with every streetlight as we walk back to the house.
It’s a reminder of that night—our kiss. We were tucked in the corner of a party with the strobe light flashing from the aspiring DJ’s booth. Callie was in a room with a guy, and Hayes was keeping an eye on me, probably at her insistence. His hat was on backward, his arm on the wall above me, his eyes on my lips. My body was strung tighter than a bow. No kiss since has lived up to that one.
I push away that memory. Nothing good can come from it—the one time I gave in to weakness.
We reach the house, and the kids say goodbye to Easton and Decker on the sidewalk, then the guys slide into the Uber they ordered on the way home. They all have an early flight tomorrow.
“I’ll walk you up,” Hayes says.
