“Exactly,” Liam says.
“Better than the peewees?”
“On par with the peewees.”
“Did you just break out a golf pun during baseball practice?”
“I’ve got a lot of respect for golf. It’salsolong and boring.”
I burst into laughter, turning to face him. “I worried for a minute no one had told you.”
His eyes sparkle as he jogs away. “Show me your pitch!”
“Did you just sayshow me your tits?” I call back, well aware I’m flirting.
“Obviously not. You’re from Bristol, not Talladega!”
My smile widens in direct correlation to the number of feet between us. When Liam is too far away to hear, I let out a giggle and then get into position. Left foot forward, right elbow tucked in. When I let the ball fly, it goes straight ahead but too high. Still, Liam runs the handful of steps forward to catch it and manages, no problem.
We go back and forth a few more times until I miss one of his passes. It lands in my glove, then bounces out of it.
“You have to grip harder!” he calls out.
“But I meant to do that!”
Liam laughs and runs back to me. I follow his limbs with a mesmerized gaze. “Let’s have a beer and then switch to batting practice.”
“Do you always have a beer before batting?” I ask.
“Only when I’m practicing my switch-hitting.”
“That,” I say, walking alongside him toward home plate, “sounds filthy.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Bristol. It only means I’m great at using both of my hands to get to third base.”
“Oh my God!” I shriek, laughing. “That was impressively horrific.”
Liam smirks as he drops his glove onto his bat bag and bends in half to unzip his cooler. He fishes out two beers and hands one to me.
“How’d you get these?” I ask, popping the tab.
He takes a sip. “I turned twenty-one last weekend.”
My beer pauses halfway to my lips. “And you didn’ttellme?”
Liam shrugs. “I’m not a birthday person. Also, I was in Mississippi playing a game that day.”
“Still. I wish I’d known.”
Liam’s lips hitch up softly. His eyes are fond as he watches me. “Well, then, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it.”
“My birthday is next month,” I tell him. “May twenty-first.”
He nods. “I won’t forget.”
We sit side by side on that bench, dirt gathering around our ankles. Liam tells me about the grungy bar he and his teammates went to for his birthday in Hattiesburg, and I tell him about my crazy customers at the restaurant. I count the inches between our legs. Two, maybe three. It feels like less. Halfway through my beer, I stoop to examine the bag that was left behind.
“Catcher’s gear,” Liam tells me when I unpack it. “Somebody must’ve forgotten it.”
