A wave of laughter broke out amongst the patio.
To be fair, none of us could confirm or deny whether Carolina’s assessment was true. I had never been up close and personal with Coach Ward’s tattoos. It didn’t matter, not when I already knew that my artist back in Baltimore had used the left side of my body to create one hell of a masterpiece. A patchwork of black-and-white flora and fauna, woven together byHedera helix, or common ivy to non-plantsmen.
Carolina was right. They were pretty.
I threw my arms up in the air. “Now, let’s do this.”
The game was on after that. As the guys assembled on either end of the field and Soren dictated the rules and boundaries,I stretched out my quads. Pitchers generally didn’t bat—and thank fuck for that because batting had never been my strong suit—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t run. I was ready to run circles around these guys.
A small tug at my shorts had me spinning around . . . and looking down. Way down.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“Can I be on your team?” Carolina asked.
“Of course you can.” I bent forward, resting my hands on my knees. “Are you sure you want to play?”
She nodded. “Daddy says girls can do anything that boys do.”
“Your daddy is a smart guy. Do you want to know a secret?”
She nodded, her head bobbing up and down quickly like a bobblehead. “Your daddy scares the poop out of me.”
That sent her into a fit of shrill giggles. At least six-year-olds thought I was funny.
“Daddy isn’t scary,” she said definitively when she finally caught her breath. “That’s just silly.”
Her very nice and not at all scary daddy was currently nursing a beer while he watched my every move.
“You’re right,” I told her. “That’s silly. Let’s go play.”
“Can we be the Green Unicorns?”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Oh my god. That’s the best team name I’ve ever heard. Carolina. You’re brilliant.”
The compliment made her blush.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted to my teammates, “Guys, Carolina’s on our team and she came up with the best fu—fluffing name ever. Green Unicorns assemble!”
A cheer rang out. Matty, Soren, Tuck, and I circled together, welcoming Carolina into our huddle. After a few minutes of strategizing, Carolina rushed my dirty shirt—aka our designated flag—down to the endzone.
I readied myself to run like hell as soon as Dani blew the whistle. But there was one last thing to do before then.
I looked over my shoulder, scanning the group that had gathered on loungers and patio chairs for one face in particular. It didn’t take long to find her amongst the crowd.
She was watching me again, just like before. Only this time—for the first time—she was smiling back at me.
And just like that, it didn’t matter to me whose team I was on or what we were playing for or who had the prettiest tattoos—even though we all knew the answer to that last one was me. Obviously.
No, I had Nessa’s attention, and for the time being, that was all the motivation I needed.
Nessa
Roasters 92–58
Fall was right around the corner.
I could feel it in my bones—an overwhelming desire for flannel sheets and pumpkin spice. The basic bitch starter pack.
