“And they’re so cute,” Leighton goes on. “Especially since Foster is…”
A look crosses Penelope’s face, almost like fear, but she masks it with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I can’t help the gut feeling that I’m missing something here, but I have no idea what it could be. I mean, Ripley did coach in Seattle while Foster was there, but Penelope was didn’t live there.
Sourness hits my stomach, and I tell myself not to think too hard about whatever this gut reaction is. It’s just fear scratching at that scab.
“…so into it. I mean, you’d think he wouldn’t be so on board with this pregnancy, but he’s all protective…” Leighton continues, but I don’t hear much of what she says because my mind spirals somewhere it has no place going.
“I’ll be right back.” I hand my pretzel to Lincoln.
“Wow, thanks, Aunt Callie.”
I walk up the steps and into the bathroom, pulling my phone out of my pocket. There’s a message from Foster that I must have missed.
Step away from Easton.
I smile to myself, all those fears disappearing.
He was talking to the kids.
Sure he was. FYI, I told them something happened to our dishwasher and that’s why I was late meeting them downstairs. In case he brings it up.
He did, and I played along. After having a heart attack that you told them I was on my knees in front of you in blue lingerie.
Just so you know, if I pitch like shit, it’s your fault because I’m gonna be seeing every batter as you in that sexy lace. I want to tear it off with my teeth next time you’re wearing it.
Is this sexting?
Probably not the best time, but you started it.
One for one?
You first.
I loved making you fall apart.
I loved you making me fall apart.
I hug the pone to my body, knowing we’re playing with a Costco size box of matches, but I can’t seem to care.
Chapter
Forty-Six
Foster
* * *
When the stadium goes black and the sound system plays “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne, adrenaline pumps through my veins. I’m more excited to go out there than I’ve been in months.
I want to see her right there behind home plate. I want to see her smile and hear her cheering for me.
As I cross the field, my eyes search her out as Art checks my glove and hands, but I’m not close enough. Hayes, Easton, Decker, and the rest of the infield wait for me on the mound. Ripley holds the game ball in his hand, and I blindly hold out my palm. He places it there.
Hayes says something to me that I don’t really hear because I’m searching the crowd, and when my eyes find her, as cheesy as it sounds, calmness flows through my body. Now all I care about is ending this game and going to dinner with our friends with her next to me.
I’m not thinking about strikes or balls. My slider or my fastball.
