Page 3 of Caught Stealing

Inside, I turn my attention to dinner. Everything in my fridge is prepped by my sister, a chef in training, and all I have to do is pop it out and follow her directions for cooking. The easiest thing for tonight is a tray of veggie lasagna, so I preheat the oven and pop it in before calling my best friend.

Owen Fields and I have known one another since first grade and have been friends just as long. We went to a private school in a small town in northern New Jersey, and we were the only two boys in our grade. More boys trickled in as the years went on, but for a while, it was us against a female population who wanted nothing more than to put us in glittery dresses and play tea.

That’s not to say we declined. We were young, not stupid. We played tea party if only to ensure we had something to do besides look at each other during recess.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” Owen sounds winded, which probably means he just finished working out or practicing. Oddly, we both ended up in pro sports—me in baseball and him in soccer.

“Ah, you know, just another day as an old pro athlete. Busted my shoulder again. Don’t ever try to open a shower curtain one handed.” I sit on my uncomfortable white sofa and try to let the stress of day fall away.

Owen sighs into the phone. “We talked about this. You know it isn’t the end of the world if your career is over. I’m thinking about retirement myself. My body is tired. And your shoulder is a constant reminder that we’re getting too old for this level of play. Maybe we should take up pickleball.”

I can always count on Owen for brutal honesty.

“I need my shoulder for pickleball, too. But you said you had news. Are you coming down for a visit?”

“Not exactly.” His tone changes to something whimsical, just like it always does when…

“Is Virginia pregnant?” I ask, scooting forward on the sofa. A smile cracks. This is exactly what I needed to feel better.

“She is.” Owen laughs again. “Ah, what am I going to do with six kids, Drew? Maybe I’ll send the oldest to spend the summer with you.”

“Hey, I’ll take him. Maybe teach him why baseball is better than soccer.”

“You’d never. Besides, I think Virginia would kill me if I sent him down there. She’s…you know. A little sensitive these days, but we’re really excited.”

I’m happy for my best friend, I am. I really am…so why do I suddenly feel…empty? I try to ignore the feeling and focus on Owen. “She deserves to be pampered. Six of your kids is bound to make any woman sensitive. You have a—”

“If you tell me again that I have a big head, I’ll post our fifth grade class photo on social media.”

“Dang, Ow. Touchy today?” I chuckle. “No one needs to see me with an accidental mullet, thanks.”

A vehicle starts in the background, so I know I only have a little more of his time before he heads to pick his kids up from school. “Yeah, it would be too traumatic for your fans. Speaking of which, when are you going to settle down and give me some little Godchildren?”

I can’t pinpoint how, but I feel like I walked into that one. He’s been trying to get me to settle down for years, but it’s been baseball twenty-four seven. I wanted it too much to slow down. Needed it like I needed air. Water. Food.

“Here we go again.” I prepare myself for the usual—I’m too picky, I’m too focused and driven, I only think about work and not long-term life goals. To my surprise, he only laughs.

“Look, I get it. I have an idea if you think you’re willing to be open minded about it.”

I groan. “Look, when you say to be open minded, what you mean is brace yourself because something utterly ridiculous is about to come out of your mouth.” It almost always ends in someone going to jail, getting lost, or losing a finger. I shudder thinking back to the summer after sixth grade. Joey Holmes is still probably screaming about the tip of his pointer finger.

“I’m serious.” His tone shifts again.

“I’m not prepared to be open minded by your standard, but tell me anyway.” Goblin barks to get my attention, so I walk to the back door and glance out. He’s going down the slide again, and evidently, I need to watch him. It’s like owning a very furry, hyperactive toddler that never grows up and needs my attention all day every day.

“I never told you how I met Virginia,” he says.

“Yeah, you did. You said you met her at Roscoe’s down by the river.”

“That’s where we had our first date, yeah, but I actually met her online.”

“Online dating is risky. Maybe it was good years ago for you, but now—”

“Yeah, yeah. Just listen. It’s a secret dating app my coach told me about. He met his wife on it, and their success rate is in the high nineties. You can only get in by recommendation from someone else who has used the app.”

“This sounds insane or illegal.” I run a hand over my face and watch my dog leap from the playset into his plastic pool like a goon.

“It’s completely legal. No one is forced to be on it or go on any dates they don’t want to go on. They’re very secure, and it really works.”

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