Page 53 of Caught Stealing

Rafael almost spills water on the table. “You signed her up for a dating app without telling her?” He’s down for the juicy gossip, too, even if it does mean he officially has no chance with any of the ladies in his favorite regular group.

“Hey, don’t judge. It worked, didn’t it?” Carmen narrows her eyes at our waiter.

“Rafael! Tiramisu at table five!” His father shouts across the entire restaurant, reminding him he’s at work not a social circle.

“Excuse me, ladies, the senile old man beckons again. Should I bring dessert?”

“Have we ever not ordered dessert?” Josie asks.

Rafael shrugs and disappears across the room, knowing well that there will be a round of desserts shared at our table. We’ll order one of everything and dive in like a pack of wild, starved dogs. Except somehow, Josie will end up with most of the chocolate cake.

“I, for one, happen to think they make a cute couple,” Amelia says and holds her phone up beside my face. She has a picture of Andrew front and center—in his uniform, no less—and sighs. “Won’t they make the most beautiful babies?”

“Oh, stop! We’re not even officially dating. I hate it, but I still have to make sure Rory knows he has no chance.”

“I think he already did that when he sucked face with their social media manager. Why should you feel guilty for moving on?” Carmen stabs her pizza repeatedly, which tells me two things. One, once again her eyes were bigger than her belly, and that third slice is going home with her. Two, it’s going home macerated because she’s envisioning Rory’s face on it.

“I don’t feel guilty. I just don’t like the idea of moving on with Andrew when Rory might still think he has a chance. It ended weirdly when he picked up his stuff, so I want to clarify that it's over. I want to be in an emotionally stable place where I can forgive my ex for being a moron and let it go.”

“It’s been almost a week since the impromptu meeting with Rory happened. Seems like you’re stalling, if you ask me.” Amelia bites her lip and wrinkles her nose as if calling me out physically pains her. It probably does.

And she might not be completely wrong.

“Maybe I'm not handling this right, but I just…need to…I don't know, hear him out and try to forgive him, then I can go about life not hating him. Andrew deserves someone who is emotionally stable and ready to move forward with him, wherever it might lead. He’s serious about dating, and I don’t want to waste a man’s time who is looking for lasting love by not being on the same page emotionally. I'm a little scared of that, okay?” I lean back and cross my arms feeling a little too exposed.

Carmen picks up on the slight edge to my tone. “Okay, ladies, let’s ease up on her and discuss how Rebecca is coming back to town. Now we really need to figure out how to make a monthly meeting.”

I raise an eyebrow and fake scoff. “Oh, so my sister comes back to town and suddenly there’s more effort to spend time together? Am I not good enough for you?”

I have a feeling I would wear her slice of pizza if not for Rafael showing up with arms full of our desserts. We spend the rest of the evening laughing and catching up, making plans and talking about family. At one point, Josie reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. She gives me her softest smile and mouths, “Welcome back, Lottie.”

I am back. I feel better. I’m me again, and I think I have Andrew to thank for that.

Chapter Twenty-One

Andrew

The only thing that made watching Martinez bomb the first of two away games any better was getting to talk to Lottie about it that night. It looks like he’s going two for two with tonight’s game, which means he’s going to be a beast to deal with in the locker room. The guys grumble and groan with every solid hit the Tennessee Wildcats knock out of the park, and all I can do is pray that my shoulder heals soon so we don’t slip into obscurity in the first half of the season.

My old college teammate and friend, Jesse Waycross, steps up to the plate. He’s a power hitter, also close to retirement, and Marco makes the mistake of pegging him as too old to hit a fast ball. He’s wrong. Despite the heat Marco puts on that ball, Jesse connects with it in full force making Boone whistle long and low.

“We gotta get him on our team,” he says.

“Nah, this is his last year. His wife wants to move back home with the kids near their parents.” I watch my friend slide into first while our pitcher has a fit on the mound. “Went to college with him. He’s a nice guy, but yeah, he’s not looking to join another team.”

“Hey, Quinn, speed it up!” Martinez shouts to Travis Quinn, our first baseman. The guy’s been busting his rear end all night thanks to Martinez’s inability to get a strike out in edgewise.

“Well, we gotta get rid of this kid,” Boone says as if the Sharks can trade their next starting pitcher for a soon to be retiree.

The guys on the bench with me groan their agreement while the Tennessee crowd goes wild. There’s no way around what I have to do. I’ve gotta sit down with this kid and try to knock some sense into him before he makes us the laughingstock of the league with his bad attitude and the way he’s falling apart under pressure. He’s used to filling in the last couple of innings, not pitching a full game, and it shows. He tries to keep up that cocky exterior, but one look straight into his eyes, and any fool can see he’s barely holding it together. The kid is scared.

He needs the team behind him, but with the way he’s lashing out and generally annoying the guys, he’s going to find himself the odd man out with no camaraderie to speak of. It’ll land him a trade to a terrible team, one where all the troublesome players end up if he’s not careful. That’s no way to build a career, and despite my irritation with him, I don’t want that to happen.

Marco proceeds to singlehandedly pitch the worst game of any Sharks pitcher on record, which is saying something. The guys leave him in the dugout and head to the showers to the chants of Tennessee fans. Losers! Losers!

Well, as much as I hate to admit it, we are and it’s all thanks to a creaky machine we call a team.

I grab a gear bag just in time to catch Marco running his mouth to a drunken fan. The fan grabs his arm and tries to yank him into the stands and it ends in a tumble of arms and legs on the field. Security steps in, but Marco is fuming.

---