“On your marks, get set—” The blast of the air horn trumpets through the infield. It’s chaos for a moment while everyone finds their rhythm.
“One, two, one, two . . .” I block out the cheering and noise from our competitors, hearing only the sound of Delilah’s voice. Her petite body is molded to mine as we steadily waddle toward second base. To my side, I see Lincoln and Braxton lumbering alongside us. They have no rhythm but their combined size and athleticism seems to be working in their favor.
“Come on Delilah. Take the base counterclockwise and then we need to turn the jets on.”
Her arm tightens around me, and she increases the tempo of the count as we approach the base. She’s impressively fast, easily keeping me up with me. But they’re still right there with us. I can hear them bickering under their breath.
We take off back toward first, but the turn makes us lose our cadence. It’s the opportunity the competition needs to catch up. Lincoln and his brother take the lead and the Wrights are gaining on us.
“I can go faster. Don’t hold back on me Cruz,” Delilah barks and then increases the pace of her count again. We quickly make up the lost ground on the Hayes brothers. Pulling ahead of them with about fifteen feet left.
“Son of a bi—biscuit,” Braxton yells from behind us.
“Hurry the heck up, Frank,” Lori yells at Coach, before there’s a shout and a thud behind us. “Did you just trip me? You did that on purpose, you turd.”
“Chill out Lori. I’ll make it up to you later.”
“You bet your sweet a—apple you will,” she huffs out.
The finish line is right there. I can hear the footsteps right on our heels, but we cross the finish line just in time. Delilah wraps her other arm around my waist, squealing in delight.
“We did it! We won!” She’s trying to jump up and down, but it’s more of a bounce since we are still connected.
I grip her hips tightly, trying to anchor us because I’m afraid this little celebration is going to take us down to the ground. I am about to ask her to stop because I don’t want her to get hurt, but a volunteer rushes over and undoes the fabric tie.
As soon as we are free, I lift Delilah, spinning us around. Her hands wrap around my neck, and she giggles into my shoulder. “Yeah, we did. You were awesome, bestie!”
“Nice job, guys. You better watch it. We are coming for redemption next year,” Lincoln says, patting my back when I set Delilah back down on her feet, face beaming with pride.
“Bring it on,” I tell him as Wren walks over with our trophy. It looks as absurd as you’d expect a three-legged race trophy to look.Two flailing bronze figures ambling towards nowhere. But Delilah clutches the heavy statue to her chest like it’s her prized possession.
“Congratulations guys. I look forward to the rematch next year,” Wren says as she hands me Delilah’s Bandits stuffed animal.
Chapter 15
The Talk
Present
Anytime Delilah’s not at work, she’s been hovering over Poppy. It’s been that way for weeks. Her need to nurture, combined with two, short, away trips, means we haven’t spent more than a few minutes together in almost two weeks. But she just texted me to let me know she’ll be at the game tonight, and better yet, she’s going to come out to Draft with us afterward.
While she’s been tending to Poppy, I have been stewing over how much my feelings for her have grown and changed over the last three years. I know she feels it, too. I could see it when we woke up together after the movie night. The way she looked at me when I had her pinned down, her pulse jumping in her neck. The flare of her eyes when she dragged her gaze over me, settling on where I was so fucking hard for her. There was a heat there that you don’t feel for a friend, and she was so close to admitting as much before Poppy called needing her.
I want to show her how perfect we can be together, but mostly I want her to understand that our friendship will always come first. If we decide to be together and fail spectacularly, I will still be there for her as a friend. I know I need her in my life more than anything, and I’ll take her anyway I can get her.
My excitement about seeing Delilah tonight propels me through one of my best games of the season, ending with a walk-off grand slam to win the game against the Chicago Comets.
I’m riding that post-game high when we walk into Draft. She’s tucked under my arm, texting Poppy. She crooks her fingers at me and cups her hand around her mouth. The bar is buzzing with noise from hyped up fans after the game. I strain to hear her over the crowd. “Poppy’s going to meet us here. She’s locked herself up in that apartment for long enough.”
“You’ll have both your besties reunited,” I reply, bringing my lips to the shell of her ear. Nothing can bring my mood down. I have every intention of getting Delilah alone tonight. We are finally going to finish the conversation we started the other night before Hendrix and Poppy imploded.
The reserved area at the back is much calmer thanks to being removed from the crowd at the main bar. Delilah settles into the chair next to me at a table with a few of the guys. Xavier, Dom, and Dean are out with us tonight. We are only missing Hendrix from the crew. He wasn’t in the mood to come out. He’s been a grouch since everything went down between him and Poppy—even more so in the last few days, since he’s been verbally accosted by all the women in his life for acting irrational.
“You were a beast tonight, Cruz. A monster on a rampage with a bat,” Xavier says, pulling out the seat across from me.
“Did you eat an entire box of Wheaties this morning?” Dom echoes, pouring himself a beer from the pitcher.
I sip from the beer I’m nursing. “Nah, just feeling it today. You know how it goes. Some days you’re just hot.” I play it off like it’s no big deal. I’m not about to tell them that my hot bat tonight was due to how psyched I’m to see Delilah tonight. They would never let me hear the end of that, and it would embarrass the shit out of her. The last thing I need is to freak her out before we have time to talk.
