Baseball Boy:Is that a request?
I don’t think it works that way.
Baseball Boy:Watch and find out. Later,gattina.
The commentators chat, and I listen as I make myself comfortable on the couch and wrap my favorite blue cashmere blanket aroundmy shoulders. I repeatedly told myself not to watch Nico’s game, but curiosity got the best of me.
It was definitely not because I missed him and wanted to stare at his delicious glutes in those tight baseball pants he wears to play.
“Romero steps up to the plate. He’s having an amazing game. He’s two for two, having hit an RBI with that ground-rule double at the top of the first and the banger of a single that brought in two more runs in the fourth.”
“You’re right, Vince. Romero is having quite a game. It doesn’t hurt that Cameron Miller is pitching strike after strike as the Evaders lead 6-0 in the top of the fifth.”
Ignoring the commentators, I watch as the pitcher releases the ball and Nico swings. With a crack, his bat makes contact with the ball. It’s like he knows the outcome before the rest of us, because he grins cockily at the plate before he jogs to first base.
The camera pans, first showing the ball sail over the fence and into the stands for a home run, then back to Nico in time for me to see him trace the S in Evaders on his chest with his index finger. My jaw hits the floor as my ribs contract around my lungs, and I gasp.
Was that really for me?
I mean, he traced the S, and my name starts with an S. My heart races at the idea as an unfamiliar warmth fills my chest and flows down my limbs, making my toes and fingers tingle. I’m going to live in my delusions for just a moment longer and believe he hit that homerun for me.
My eyes stay glued on the man currently driving me crazy as he jogs around the bases, a devilish smirk on his lips. Nico looks like sex on a stick in his uniform. I can’t help wondering if his ass is as firm as it looks and if it’s covered in tattoos like the rest of his upper body. I’ve seen him in shorts, and I know for sure his thighs and sculpted calves are tattoo free.
The doorbell rings, pulling me from my lusty thoughts and off my warm perch on the couch. I open the door with a smile. “Hi, Roberto. What are you doing up here?”
My doorman greets me with a grin and lifts a brown paper bag at me. “Hello, my sweet Savannah. I’ve got a special delivery for you.”
“What’s this? I didn’t order anything.” I catch a whiff of the savory contents inside as I take the bag. My mouth waters with delight as my stomach rumbles at the scent of garlic and tomatoes.
“Dinner. It was prearranged.” Roberto glances towards Nico’s apartment and grins. “I have also been instructed to remind you that you are not to cook until your neighbor returns to supervise.”
“Message received.” My cheeks warm as I bite back a smile. I hope Nico didn’t tell Roberto about the fire, if you can call it that. In my defense, it was mostly smoke.
The roar of a cheer from the TV sounds behind me.
“Thank you. I appreciate you coming all this way for me,” I rush out.
Oh gosh, now Roberto is going to know I was watching Nico.
“You’re very welcome, Savannah. You have a good night. I know our favorite catcher is. The last homerun was a doozy.” Roberto winks at me.
Busted.
“It was.” I chuckle.
Roberto and I say our goodbyes, and I march my dinner into the kitchen and take a picture, then send the photo to Nico with a text.
Now who’s the smartass. Thanks for dinner, Nicolas.
I trace the blue ink on the bag.Belladonna.I can’t believe he sent me dinner.
From his mother’s restaurant.
Something tells me he wouldn’t do this for just anyone.
Aww, crap…
Nico’s going to make it impossible for me to walk away, isn’t he?
