“You’re the one who admitted you only like to look at men, not actually date them.”
She shrugs. “Fair enough. Still, you’re not exactly subtle making goo-goo eyes at him during warm-up.”
“I am not making goo-goo eyes,” I protest, but it falls flat when Brady comes jogging out with his teammates for the national anthem, and my breath catches.
“Mm-hmm, you were saying?” Fiona nudges me with her shoulder and gives me a knowing smirk.
We stand up, my hands immediately going to my belly. “Shut up,” I mutter back.
I see Brady scanning the crowd, and his face breaks into a wide grin when he sees me. I want so badly to lift my hand in a wave, but just then, the singer starts, and his focus snaps to attention.
Several minutes later, the fans are all sitting down as the players take their positions. Brady had warned me he wouldn’t be pitching until later in the game, so instead, we watch him jog down the side of the field toward the bullpen at the back. He winks as he passes our section, and then I’m unashamedly staring at his ass, covered in tight, crisp white baseball pants.
Two high-pitched voices drift down from behind us, sounding more than a little tipsy.
“Did you see that? He winked. I wonder if we can get down to meet them after the game, these baseball boys are so hot.”
“Girl, you pull that shirt down and I’m betting you’ll be invited into the freaking locker room.”
The women in the row back from our seats burst into high-pitched giggles as Fiona’s hand grips my thigh tightly in silent support.
It’s not like I’m shocked to hear another womanmake a comment related to how attractive the players are. But hearing her try to claim that Brady’s wink might have been directed at her has something mean and jealous stirring inside of me.
She’s not the one carrying his child.
That wink was mine.
“It’s not worth it.” Fiona leans in close to murmur in my ear.
I give her a brusque nod and take a deep breath in and out. She’s right, I know.
The game starts, but my attention isn’t on the field. It’s on the man who’s currently out of sight, throwing practice pitches in the bullpen before he takes the mound.
The man I’m starting to see a future with. The man I’m realizing I actually want stability, and commitment, and a loving, full life with.
I don’t know what to do with these feelings, these new desires that are so at odds with who I thought I was and the life I thought I was happy living. I’m still terrified of having it all and then losing it somehow. But that fear is no longer strong enough to keep me away from Brady.
I’m not sure anything would be.
Partway through the game, Fiona goes to get some snacks. While she’s gone, I take the opportunity to stand up and stretch a little, needing to move. The baby is getting big enough now that I’m almost always uncomfortable in some way or another. At times, I feel like a rotisserie chicken, constantly needing to rotate and change positions to move the discomfort around.
When I told Brady that, he didn’t stop laughing for along time. And the next day, he brought home a damn rotisserie chicken for dinner.
“Hey, Sage!”
I turn at the sound of my name to see Cal waving at me from the other side of the netting that protects the viewers from any rogue balls.
Making my way down the few steps to reach him, I try not to think about any of the not-so-good reasons a Thunder player would be wanting to talk to me. But it’s impossible not to worry at least a little bit.
“What’s up?” I say when I finally get to the front row.
“Hopefully Dixie doesn’t kill me for taking so long, but I couldn’t get out to tell you until now. He wants you and Fiona to wait here when the game’s over so he can see you.”
“Oh.” My breath escapes in a whoosh. “That’s all? Okay, yeah. That’s fine.”
Cal frowns for a second before understanding dawns. “Shit, did you think something was wrong? Damn, now he really will kill me. Sorry.” He gives me an apologetic grin.
I wave it off. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my stupid hormones making me a little crazy. Although, you have to admit, it’s not exactly common for a player to yell five rows up at a random fan.”
