Sheila glared, turned her cart the other direction, and stormed off.
The minute she was out of sight, Brock’s body sagged. All he wanted to do was buy steaks and burgers for the barbecue, and somehow, he’d lost his chance with the girl who made him feel like Captain America. He slammed his palm on the handle and made his way to checkout. What did he need Sheila and her drama for, anyway?
Because she makes each day a little sweeter than the last. We laugh together—which is big. And she’s the best thing in my life.
Stupid heart. It needed to shut up and know its place.
Chapter Eighteen
Brock
Saturday was an awful day to go to the home improvement store. The place was crawling with homeowners pushing carts that were too heavy while frustrated that they’d forgotten the one screw or bolt, or were three pavers short of a load. It was a recipe for disaster. Which was why Brock was in the stadium parking lot instead of working on the deck railing.
He really should be home working on the railing.
Except he couldn’t seem to stay away from the mascot contest, and his car practically drove itself to the Redrocks’ home.
He wasn’t here to see Sheila. He was here to find out who advanced to the next round. Because, like it or not, he had a stake in how the contest turned out. Yes, that was why he was there. Not because he knew Sheila was inside, running around and getting things done. And not because it had been a week since they’d kissed and three days since they’d chewed each other out and he couldn’t get either event out of his head.
The kiss always came first. He’d walk into the sunshine, and in the split second it took for his eyes to adjust, he’d compare the warmth on his skin to the warmth she created inside of him when she ran her hands up his chest and around his neck. When he closed his eyes at night, his lips felt the soft weight of hers. And now anything that smelled like leather also brought up the memory, because they’d been in the locker room and there was a new mitt in someone’s locker. Although he hadn’t paid attention to it that day. He hadn’t noticed anything buther.
Following the quick memories and blissful moments came the shattering word.Fine!It would forever echo in his head as a goodbye. He vowed he’d never say the word again. If anyone asked, he was great, good, amazing.
He scanned the lines of people streaming through the gates and decided to go in through the players’ entrance. Ralf, the security guard, waved him through with hardly a glance. He was a tall man who stooped constantly. His bent back could have been from age or from bending over to be a part of conversations. Brock had had that trouble growing up. He was always a head and a half taller than his friends, but his dad wouldn’t stand for slouching. Mattocks had to stand tall.
He parked and ducked into the building, avoiding the locker room at all costs. Weaving through the labyrinth of hallways and staircases, he finally made it to the top of the bottom tier of seats. Seating was first come, first served, so he made his way down the section above the dugout.
Juan was doing commentary for the contest today. He looked like he’d had a lot of sun and a lot of fun taking his daughters on their dream princess vacation. Then again, Juan always looked like he was having a good time.
“Yo, check. Check. Mic check. Check it, bro.” Juan grinned and fist-bumped the intern as he listened to his own voice over the loud speakers. “Hey. Hey, St. George!” He threw his arms above his head. The crowd yelled back, loving his enthusiasm.
Brock held back his laugh. Whoever thought handing Juan a microphone was a good idea was about to be fired. The dude didn’t know when to shut up.
Juan ran to the edge of the home-team dugout. “We’re gonna do the wave, starting right here. Don’t get ahead of me. Don’t do it. You lift when I run by.” His white teeth stood out against his olive skin and dark hair.
Judging by the way the crowd lifted out of their seats as Juan ran in front of them, they were having fun too.
“Brock?”
Brock’s shoulders inched up to his ears at the sound of Kelly’s voice. He turned slowly, hoping she’d evaporate before he faced her. No such luck. “Kelly. How was dinner with the family?”
She smiled and hugged him. He patted her back once and then stepped back. She stumbled a little, being on a step higher than him, but she let him go. “It was good. Mom loved the crackers, and Dad loved the potato salad.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “You need to meet them. They’d be ecstatic. You’re their favorite third baseman. They’re just right down there.”
Brock bit his tongue to keep from correcting her. Center field was a long way from third base, but she wasn’t a baseball fan, so how would she know? Besides, it didn’t matter what she thought, because he wasn’t going to see her after today. He put on his polite smile and followed her down to greet her parents. He was curious about the couple who had raised these two strong and independent women.
Kelly made introductions, and he shook Lisa’s and Michael’s hands. Sheila had her mom’s height and her dad’s eyes.
Michael pulled the bottom of the chair next to him down. “Have a seat.”
“I really should get going.” Brock hooked his thumb over his shoulder as if he had a job today and wasn’t loafing around the park.
“Stay for a minute. I’ll go grab us some Cokes.” Kelly about shoved him into the chair.
He landed with a grunt. Though he may have grunted more from displeasure than from the physical discomfort of being pushed down.
Lisa leaned across Michael to talk to him. “We’re so happy to finally meet you, Brock. You’re all Kelly talks about these days.”
The words were like a bucket of cold water making him suck in his stomach and clench his teeth. “That’s nice of her. I’m glad she’s my friend.”
