Foster
* * *
“I’m so excited to go home and read.” Callie’s been beaming since we left the bookstore.
“So happy we found that little gem of a place.” Do I want to sit and watch Callie reading about men who are probably more emotionally intelligent than I am? Hell no.
“Oh, stop it. You look jealous.” She knocks her shoulder into mine. “They’re fictional.”
I know she’s right, but I’m a little salty over the fact there aren’t enough baseball romance books. We’re tough. So what if we don’t fight like neanderthals on the ice? Have these writers ever heard of bench-clearing fights? A hundred-mile-an-hour fastball to the arm? Besides, baseball is a thinking man’s game. It’s definitely more appealing.
We stop at the corner, waiting for the light, and Callie glances at me. “You’re brooding.”
“Do you think hockey players or football players are more… manly than baseball players?”
She laughs, but when she notices I’m not, she cuts it short and tries to school her face. “It’s just fiction, Foster.”
“I don’t care. I’m gonna tell the guys about it.”
She laughs but contains herself once again. “Hey, I’d pick you over one of the hockey guys any day.”
“They’re all married.” It’s true. All the professional hockey players in our orbit are married with families, so her point is moot.
“Not the Chipmunks.”
“Who?” My brows draw down.
“You know those rookies who come to Peeper’s sometimes? They’re young and cocky and play for the Falcons. All unattached.”
My head rocks back, remembering them now. That trio needs to grow the fuck up. Always thinking the backroom is theirs when we’re out of town.
“And your point?” I ask.
She pulls me over to a wall, getting us out of the foot traffic. “Now I’m getting jealous. You want a bunch of women fawning over fictional you?”
I shrug. “Yes.”
“I’m not enough?” She huffs and walks away from me.
“Shit, Callie, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know if I do. I think maybe I’ll go to a Falcons game.”
“It’s their off season,” I remind her.
“Then I’ll ask Conor or someone to fix me up. I think one of the Chipmunks hit on me last year. Simon maybe? I can never keep them straight.” She pretends to think about it.
“You’re not going on a date with any of those squirrels.”
Unless she wants me to get into a bar brawl.
“Then stop being so grumpy ’cause there aren’t baseball romance heroes. You have me.”
I grab her from behind and tuck my head into the crook of her neck, kissing there. “Brooding officially over. Let’s go home, and you can give me a lesson on using a vibrator.”
She turns in my arms and pushes at my chest. “You got that lesson already but…” She swings her head back and forth. “You could use another lesson just to make sure you really nail it.”
I grin at her. “You’re too good to me.”
