“Nina called me the other day.” Clara clears her throat, looking less like her upbeat self.
“Is everything okay?” we ask in unison.
“I might be getting bought,” the words are said with a mix of joy and unease. It’s clear she’s unsure how she feels about it.
“What? Why?”
“Where?” Kaya adds.
“To Winchester United, in London. Effective at the beginning of the new season if it goes through.”
“Doesn’t that mean you’d be in the premier league? Which is the best league in soccer?” I ask, trying to figure out why she’s upset about this. “And it would be closer to your parents. Ireland isn’t a far flight from there.”
“It is, and I know that. But I grew up here, with you two, and I’ve loved playing for the United Stallions,” she explains, wringing her hands together.
“And you’re afraid you’re not good enough to play for Winchester, don’t you?” Kaya sees right through Clara, getting to the heart of it.
“Yes. They’re offering me an insane amount of money, and I’ll be playing alongside the best player in the league, Silas Rivers.So that’s intense.”
“He’s hot, though. Maybe you’ll hit it off.” Kaya shimmies her shoulder against Clara’s, making her laugh.
“Not a chance. I can’t stand him. Plus, I have a no fraternization policy for myself,” Clara says, but I don’t miss the way her cheeks tint pink.
We leave it at that, moving on from boys and work while we focus on the game as it’s in the final inning.
The Panthers are home, giving them the advantage as they get to hit last in case Florida decides to score and tie it up right now.
I watch as Quentin takes the mound, his head swiveling as he looks for something, and lands on what I’m assuming is the camera.
Because he’s staring right at the screen, almost like he’s looking at me, and mouthsI love you.
A widespread grin fills my face, making my cheeks hurt as I rub my belly.
“No, he didn’t!” Clara’s mouth falls open.
“That’s the sweetest thing.” Kaya smiles at me. “You’ve got a good one.”
“I know we do,” I reply just as she kicks inside me, telling me she knows too just how lucky we are.
I watch raptly as he gets into the zone, rubbing his foot into the dirt a few times to get his spotting just right. With his glove held up close to his face, he winds his arm back, leg up, and then twists and releases a pitch that the batter swings at and misses.
The crowd is on their feet, cheering and losing their minds as they’re one strike closer to ending the game, and leading the series 2-0.
Two more wins, and they will win the series. World champions.
I want it so badly for him that I’m sitting forward, watching nervously each and every movement on the field.
He strikes the batter out, and I let out a sigh of relief. One out down, two more to go.
God, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to watch the next two games if I’m already this stressed.
The next batter steps up to the plate, and this time, he makes a connection, sending the ball deep into left field. I watch in horror as the ball bounces off of the tip of the outfielder’s glove and onto the ground.
Fuck.
By the time the ball’s picked up, the batter is on second base and the crowd is quieter than they were a minute ago.
Because if the next batter hits a homerun, they’ll be up by one. There are so many scenarios to score, and it’s got everyone on edge.
