And then the stadium comes into view, rising just past the river.
We walk inside and through the gates.
The stadium sits right along the Mississippi, with the river stretching wide and slow behind the outfield like it’s part of the whole experience, and it really adds something. Especially when most towns in these parts are landlocked by cornfields, Riverbend being an exception because we have a small river flowing through our town. Boats drift lazily in the distance, and the air smells like sunscreen, beer, and hot dogs.
It’s already buzzing inside.
Music is blasting. Kids are running around. Mascots dance near the entrance and on the field, too.
And it’s not even noon.
“This is actually so fun,” I say, scanning everything.
“Told you,” Jackson grins, handing me a drink. “Best setup in the league. We’ve got a fun group coming. Some of my athletes from the university team and, uh, Eric, and maybe some other people from the college.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We find our seats—front row, first-base side, just like he promised.
Too close, honestly.
Like…Logan will definitely see meclose.
I try not to think about that.
By the time first pitch gets closer, the drinks are flowing.
Some of Jackson’s athletes—he coaches college football—are packed into the section behind us, already loud, already chirping at anyone within range.
Ivy’s laughing. Jackson’s eating it up.
And then there’s Eric.
“Didn’t realize this was a fashion show,” he says, looking me up and down.
I arch a brow. “Didn’t realize you were judging.”
He smirks. “Just saying. Didn’t peg you as the ‘try this hard for a minor league game’ type.”
Something about the tone. The way it lands.
It clicks almost instantly.
Oh. He’s…insulting meonpurpose.To try and make me get his approval.
I tilt my head slightly, studying him.
“That’s funny,” I say lightly. “I didn’t peg you as the type who needs to insult someone to get their attention.”
Jackson snorts behind me.
Eric’s smirk falters for half a second.
Then he laughs it off. “Relax. I’m messing with you. I’m just curious why you didn’t answer my texts this week.”
“I was busy,” I say, turning away. “And besides, you don’t know me well enough to make fun of me.”
And just like that—I’m not interested in some “friendship” with him. And definitely not romantically. Not like I ever was.
