Page 70 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

It will take her about a year to complete, but then she wants to look into getting a job at Tiff. Of course, that probably means that Nikki’s parents will be selling their place and moving west a couple hours as well. Marie and Julianne haven’t been more than a mile apart since they were born in separate hospitals on different days—barely different days. Kinda like me and Nik.

As for my dad, he’ll never leave Odell. The high school team had a rough year, probably because he kept cutting practices short and leaving his assistants in charge so he could drive to Tiff and watch me. From the same seat every time.

I was glad he was there. I never invited him officially. And he never asked. It’s something we both sort of let happen, and eventually, before the season was up, he stuck around to shake my hand after a game.

We silently built a new off-day routine too. It would start with a text from me asking if he was around. And usually about ten minutes later he’d send an ETA. We’d meet at the cages at the stadium, slipping in and out without fanfare, without anyone but Coach, who caught us once, knowing what we were up to.

It was working. I was soaring. And my dad, he was making amends about the only way he knows how.

Our relationship is still stunted, and maybe it will always be like this. But I’d like to have faith in myself that sometime down the road, I’ll forgive him. My mom has, though she still doesn’t like him hovering over her behind the couch.

“¡Sientante!” she finally snaps, pointing to the open chair next to the TV.

Senior grumbles and I can feel the tension grow between them. Okay, so things aren’t quite perfect.

“Beat you with my chancla,” my mom mutters under her breath. She’s always threatening to smack us with her flip-flop. She’d be so proud of the way Nikki threw her shoes at me a while back.

“Let him stand there. He’s superstitious,” I say to my mom. Nikki snorts a laugh then cups her mouth, blushing and guilty.

“I am not,” my dad grumbles. He sure as shit doesn’t move, though, and that amuses all of us.

“You so are, Alex,” my mom says, looking up from her spot, staring at his chin while he holds his head still, eyes on the TV, never once acknowledging her words. In a way, his silence is acquiescing that she’s right. Or maybe that’s how I take it. I think it’s how she does as she turns back around and purses her lips into a smug little triumph that only I seem to notice.

“Okay, you should get a call in about five,” my uncle Joe says. He’s been helping with all of the craziness leading up to the draft. My mom’s brother is a contract lawyer, and since I can’t have an official agent, he’s the next best thing to make sure I do all of this by the book.

“You ready?” Nikki says, laying an open palm on my thigh. I cover her hand with mine and thread our fingers together, bringing her hand to my mouth.

“Not at all,” I laugh out.

The house is beginning to fill with the rich flavors my abuela and Nikki’s mom have been cooking in the kitchen. Two families’ worth of hungry people are crammed into this tiny-ass house. Once I get this announcement done, there’s going to be a herd headed into that kitchen. I hope they’re prepared.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Nikki’s dad, Andrew, announces.

“Papa!” Nikki flies to entry, leaving me in the dust so she can wrap her arms around her father. I’m a little jealous that she can do that, but not so much that I would ever want to diminish it for her. Plus, I’d really like to call him Dad someday.

“Alex,” he says, meeting my gaze as his daughter skips back to her seat, half on me, which feels odd under his stare.

“Thank you for making it in time, Andy.” I’ve always called him that, though now that I’m sleeping with his daughter, I feel like maybe I should start using Sir. I think that would stand out more, though, and then we’d likely both be thinking about why I’m saying it. And then he would think about me and what I’m doing to his little girl. And then . . . well, then I’d be dead, so that’s the end of that.

“I brought you a little something,” he says, reaching over my girl cousins who have not put their phones down since they plopped their asses on the coffee table in front of me and Mom.

I lean forward to take an envelope from him and slip out the small card inside.

“Holy crap, how did you?” It’s a baseball card. My baseball card, though not authentic. My image, clearly Photoshopped into the right uniform, is standing in the middle of Wrigley Field.

“You better not have jinxed this, Andy,” my dad grumbles.

I drop my head in laughter, my dad oblivious to the fact he just proved our point from earlier. Superstitious as fuck!

Nikki takes the card from me, running her finger fondly over my image.

“That’s pretty cool,” I say, then glance to her dad. “Thanks for that.”

He nods.

And then my phone buzzes in my lap.

“Shit!” I wave my hands and everyone hushes. My dad leans over enough to practically take the call with me, and I let him.

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