Stephie’s smile dims. “I heard about that mean owner though.”
Easton laughs. “You just can’t go to the backroom. We’ll walk with you guys there first, so she doesn’t give you trouble.”
Easton saunters closer to Millie, and Stephie falls in line with me as we walk from Webber Field to our condo building.
I say goodbye to Hayes and Callie’s parents as they venture the opposite way toward the parking lot.
“I’m gonna go. Good game, big bro. One day maybe I’ll want to interview you,” Callie says.
Hayes puts Callie in a headlock. She squirms, and the two of them go at it as though they’re eight years old. Her hat falls onto the concrete right at my feet as she wiggles out of his hold.
I bend down to pick it up right as Leighton does, but she stops and allows me to do the kind act. She looks at me with a puzzled expression, as if she’s figured out a riddle.
Callie smooths down her hair, and I watch her search the area until she sees me holding her hat.
“Oh, thanks.” She goes to take it, her gaze flashing to Stephie next to me. And there it is in her eyes. The label she’s pinned and stitched on me—asshole, or maybe douchebag. I don’t think the world’s sharpest seam ripper could pry it off at this point.
“I want one of those,” Stephie says. “Where did you get it?”
Callie’s eyebrows rise. “At the store.” She points at the corner souvenir store that houses all of Chicago’s professional sports teams’ merchandise.
“Can you get me one, Foster? Or wait… should I call you Reaper?” Stephie looks at me expectantly.
Hayes laughs, but when Stephie turns toward him, he pretends to cough. “All that dirt.” He slaps his chest.
“Foster’s good,” I say.
“I’m Callie. We saw you were seated in front of us.” She puts her hand out in front of Stephie.
Millie and Easton are already gone from view.
“You were?” Stephie’s head tilts to the side.
I catch more than a hint of annoyance in Callie’s expression. “Nice of Foster to get you tickets. That’s a real sweet boyfriend move.”
I narrow my eyes, and Callie’s eyebrows rise slightly as if she’s purposely doing this. Does she not remember that she was the one who left without a word? But now she’s looking at me as if I’m exactly who she thinks I am. As though I’ve proven her theory right.
Stephie puts her arm around my waist and her cheek on my chest.
Callie’s gaze flickers down to Stephie’s hand tucked at my hip.
“I know, right? I feel like I won the debutante ball. The diamond girls say he rarely gives out tickets.”
“You must be really special then.” Callie looks at Hayes, who secures Leighton to him—as if she could get any closer.
“We have to get going,” he says.
“No way, you’re coming out with us,” Decker says, sidling up next to Callie. “Looks like we’re the odd ones out.”
“Are you though?” Leighton asks, and Callie shoots her a look that would scare a gladiator.
“I meant because you and Hayes, Foster and…”
“Stephie,” she fills in with a big smile.
“Foster and Stephie. Easton and Stephie’s friend. Callie and I are the only ones unattached.” Decker acts as if he’s some master chess player and has to spell it all out for us. Get a fucking life.
My hand flexes in my pocket, so I wrap my other arm around Stephie. Fuck this. Decker and Callie? Just stab me in the gut and twist the fucking knife.
