“I’m not taking you home. I’m taking you to my house.” When my mouth pops open, she holds up a polished finger. “Just trust me.”
Thirty minutes later, Mallory is tying the long gray-haired wig I’m wearing into a ponytail with several elastics. With the long gray beard, I’d almost resemble an aging biker, except for the fact that my face is undoubtedly youthful. The wig and beard top off the throw pillow Mallory duct-taped over my tank to give me a beer belly before forcing me into one of Kai’s flannel shirts. Mallory’s sweatpants, rolled up because I’m considerably shorter than her, and a pair of her black boots round out the ensemble.
“Good thing I went as Gandalf the Grey last Halloween,” she muses, tucking a Waves ballcap over the itchy wig with a chuckle. “Kai was Frodo. I should show you the pictures. We were adorable. Won the couples contest and everything.”
I hum, noncommittally, before stopping her hands with mine. A bubble of anxiety sours my throat. I want to be able to appeal being restricted from the stadium. I don’t want to be banned for life. That would go against my newfound plans to be in Trevor’s future for as long as possible.
“Won’t it make things worse if I’m caught sneaking into the stadium? I appreciate all your efforts, I really do, but I still look like a woman in a costume. How am I supposed to pass as an old man?”
Mallory tuts at me. “You, my friend, obviously aren’t familiar with the power of stage makeup.”
When we pull back into the reserved lot beside the ballpark, my reflection is borderline terrifying. The makeup on my cheeks and forehead creates hollows and wrinkles that are so realistic I feel tired just looking at them. What started as nerves now feels like giddy anticipation because halfway through this reverse makeover process, I realized two things.
One: I’m incredibly lucky that Mallory would go through all this trouble for me. Is this getup ridiculous? Yes, but if it gets me into the game and cheering for Trevor, so be it.
And two: Trevor is absolutely, without a doubt, worth all of this and more.
“I just texted Amaya that we’re here. I’ll head in while you walk to the south entrance to meet her.” Mallory’s smile is megawatt as she hands me a pair of dark sunglasses. “See you inside, Gramps.”
There aren’t as many people outside the stadium now that the game is well underway, so I keep my head down, walking with a slight limp. Who’s to say I don’t have a bad hip? The ballpark explodes in cheers, making a smile curve my lips. I hope the Waves are absolutelyannihilatingthe Sluggers.
“Granddad, over here. I’ve got your ticket.”
At Amaya’s voice, I look over the top of my sunglasses. Her lips quiver like she wants to bark out a laugh, but she quickly composes herself. We sail through the exterior gate, and I’mcheering internally until we’re stopped by another security officer just outside the players’ family area.
“Who’s this?”
My heart sinks. With the opposing team on the field and Trevor still in the dugout, I’m going to get kicked out before I even see him. I keep my gaze down as Amaya answers.
“My granddad.”
In the silence that follows, I make a mistake. I glance up. The security guard’s eyes look like they’re lasering through all my protective layers. I’m probably as convincing as two kids in a trench coat to someone who does security for a living. Sweat drips down my temples, threatening to mess up my fake wrinkles.
“Shouldn’t your grandad be…”
His sentence trails off, looking from her gorgeous brown skin to my pale hand balled in front of my mustache as I fake what I hope is a masculine cough.
Amaya’s eyebrows lift, silently daring the guard to finish his statement.
“I mean—” He gives his head a shake. “Enjoy the game, sir.”
“Thanks, son,” I croak and proceed to limp-walk to my seat.
Amaya makes a big show of introducing her granddad to the rest of the wives and girlfriends. By the overzealous way they greet me, it’s obvious Mallory gave everyone a heads up. They tuck me right in the middle, away from the appraising eyes ofthe security. Mallory positions herself nearest the guard in case she needs to ‘come up with a diversion’—whatever that means.
By the time Trevor is up to bat, my blood pressure has leveled out, and I’m making comfortable, albeit low-toned, small chat with Amaya. My words cut off mid-sentence at the sound of his walk-up song. Surging forward, my eager fingers tap on my knees. I’m sweltering in my disguise, my ‘belly’ makes an awkward sound whenever I shift in my seat, and my entire head is itchy, but watching Trevor smile and offer a cordial wave to the cheering crowd makes my heart sing.
I almost forget to throw my voice as I cheer for him. Amaya pats my back as myWoooturns into an almost painful grunt.
“Go get ‘em, young man,” I say, covering.
He fouls off two balls before a solid base hit. When Trevor pulls off his elbow and shin guards, joking with the first base coach, a wistful sigh slips from my lips. How did it take me over a year to notice how magnetic he is? Surely, I must have had some sort of undiagnosed brain disorder.
“Having fun?” Mallory’s voice comes from right behind me. “Don’t look back,” she adds quickly. “I just wanted to check in. You’re not answering your texts.”
Slipping my phone out of the plush pocket of my sweats, I see that I’ve missed five messages.
“Granddad is having a grand ol’ time,” Amaya says, barely restraining a laugh.
