Page 16 of Triple Play

PART THREE

Boston to Philadelphia

CHAPTER THREE

Blake

“Are you sure your car can make it to Florida?” Paquette asks.

A gust of wind answers him, blowing through the parking garage underneath Shira’s apartment building. Snow sure is easier to deal with when it’s in a snow globe. On our drive over it was already beginning to stick to the asphalt.

Down in the garage, it isn’t snowing, but it’s gone from chilly to frigid even by New England standards. Another thing I wasn’t anticipating about Boston.

How cold the weather can be.

How cold the people can be, except for Shira.

Even Paquette is sending me an icy glare. I will not let my teeth chatter in front of him, not when he hasn’t even flinched from the cold. Guess that’s the benefit of being as massive as he is, not that I’ve really noticed. Or if I have, it’s just because I’m sizing him up—literally—as a new teammate. Something about him reminds me of a forest: the flannel shirt, the way his treetrunk thighs test the limits of his jeans. How his eyes are very green…and currently studying Shira’s car with considerable skepticism.

Just ignore the car’s age. And its faded brown paint. And the silver tape patching up part of the bumper.

Paquette points to just above the rear wheel well, then turns to Shira. “You shouldn’t let it rust like that.”

He might have well just said, Why’re you letting her drive around in this heap? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t think Shira was the kind of girl to keep secrets, but that’s not a discussion we’re having in front of Paquette.

I don’t even know what his problem is.

Well, maybe I do.

The Monsters signed me to play first base. I guess that’s what Paquette also plays. It’s not like I did it on purpose. There was no way I could stay in Atlanta after last season, and Boston put enough money on the table that it wasn’t really a question of where I signed.

Plus two days after I got into the city to look at condos, I met Shira standing in line at a coffeeshop. Things were finally, finally looking up. Until this mess with our flights.

I clear my throat. “If Shira says the car can make it to Florida, then we’ll make it.”

“Yeah,” Shira says, “Lilac’s tougher than she looks.”

Now it’s my turn to study the car. Lilac. Who is definitely, positively brown. “Is this a thing where men see one set of colors and women see another?” I ask eventually.

Shira laughs. “She’s named for the Lilac Fairy in the Sleeping Beauty ballet. That was the first part I ever wanted to dance. My parents took me to the ballet when I was four or five. Watching her felt like the ballerina from my music box came to life.” She says it wistfully, like there’s more to the memory than that—she doesn’t talk about her family a lot and when she does, it’s only in past tense. I haven’t asked. Family stuff can be complicated, and I don’t want to press her into telling me anything she’s not comfortable with.

“Anyway,” Shira says, “Lilac’ll get us to Florida. She’s reliable like that.”

“Sorry—” Paquette cuts himself off like he’d been about to say something else. “Sorry, Shira. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Shira cocks a hip in semi-facetious outrage. “Is that who you should be apologizing to?” She taps the trunk for emphasis.

Paquette grins. Don’t smile at her like that. Not when his smile takes him from mountain man to… approaching handsome. Maybe. If you’re into burly guys in flannel.

“Sorry, Lilac,” he says. “Didn’t mean to question your, uh, structural integrity.”

So we load our luggage into Lilac—and I try to ignore the squeak of her suspension and the occasional twinge in my shoulder. It’s nothing. Just the same small tweak I’ve had since I signed with Boston that should go away any time now.

After we’re done, Shira pats the trunk approvingly. “I can drive the first stretch. At least until we get through the weather.”

Between her rusting car and her insistence on carrying her own bag, I’m starting feel like a pretty terrible boyfriend. No way she should have to drive us around on top of that. “I can get it. Traffic might take some maneuvering.”

“Um”—a faint wrinkle develops between Shira’s eyebrows that I want to kiss—“how much experience do you have driving in snow?”

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