Page 9 of Playing with My Heart

“Only the best for my team,” I shot back, winking at him as I flagged down the bartender. Orders flew fast and loose, a cacophony of preferences that spanned from craft beer to whiskey sours.

“Hey, Parker,” Jenna, one of our outfielders and a notorious jokester, called out from a few seats over. “You planning on showing us up at every practice, or was today just a fluke to make us like you?”

“Eh, somebody needed to bring the talent to the game,” Parker joked with a grin, and the table erupted in laughter.

“Careful, Parker,” I interjected, leaning closer so only he could hear, “she’ll recruit you into her weekend shenanigans if you’re not wary.”

“Shenanigans, you say?” He raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Sounds ominous.”

“Trust me, they are,” I said with a laugh, taking a sip of the cold beer that had just arrived. The bitter hops danced on my tongue, a perfect contrast to the warmth spreading through me from the camaraderie around us.

As the night wore on, the laughter grew louder, and the stories more outlandish. Parker’s tales of small-town antics were charmingly quaint compared to our city-slicker escapades, but it was the way his lips curved around each story, the light touch of his hand on his chin as he recounted memories, that held my attention.

“Did you really convince your entire high school to have a flash mob at graduation?” I asked, incredulous yet entirely captivated by the image.

“Guilty as charged,” Parker admitted, the confession accompanied by a sheepish rub of the neck. “David helped me plan it. We thought it’d be a memorable exit.”

“Memorable doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I said, shaking my head in admiration. “I wish I’d been there to see it.”

“Maybe one day I’ll reenact it for you,” he offered, and I couldn’t help the way my heart skipped a beat at the prospect.

“Is that a promise?” I teased, trying to keep the atmosphere light, despite the gravity pulling me toward him.

“Hell no,” he answered, and we both burst out laughing.

Time swept away with our laughter, and it wasn’t until the bar lights brightened for last call that I realized how late it had gotten. Glancing at Parker, who was now thoroughly integrated into a debate about the best 90s sitcom, I felt a warmth bubble in my chest—a happiness that was different from the thrill of a night’s conquest or the satisfaction of hard work.

“Alright, last round, folks!” I announced, unwilling to end the night but knowing we all had early starts tomorrow. “Make it a good one!”

“Here’s to new friends and killer softball plays,” Parker toasted, raising his glass with a smile that reached all the way to those mesmerizing gray eyes.

“Cheers to that,” I echoed, our glasses clinking together, a sound as clear and promising as the connection blooming between us.

As the bar began to empty, I stood up, stretching my arms above my head, feeling the pleasant pull of muscles well-used during practice. I caught Parker, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. They widened when they landed on my face, and he caught me staring back at him.

“You ready?” I asked, aiming for a casual tone. I was sure the look he’d given me hadn’t meant anything, but there was part of me that had really liked having his eyes on me.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” he said, his smile looking a bit forced in the dimming bar lights.

We said our goodbyes to the friends who were still lingering then made our way outside, stepping out into the balmy summer night. We were quiet as we climbed back into my car and drove off.

“Man, you were on fire today at practice,” I chuckled, glancing over at Parker, whose profile I could see in the passing streetlights. “I mean, seriously, you’ve got some killer moves out there.”

Parker’s laugh was a warm sound in the enclosed space. “Thanks, Travis. It felt good to be back on the field again. You guys have a great team spirit—makes it easy to jump right in.”

“Easy? Dude, you were like a damn ninja on those bases,” I teased, making a mental note of how his eyes crinkled when he laughed. It was infectious, and I found myself grinning, relieved that whatever tension I’d felt between us back at the bar seemed to have disappeared. “You’re definitely going to keep us on our toes. That is, if you decide to join the team.”

“I’d love to, if you think everyone else is alright with it,” he replied. His modesty was genuine but unnecessary. The guy was a natural, and I knew talent when I saw it—plus, it didn’t hurt that every dive and slide just added to his appeal.

“Of course they will. We’re lucky to have you,” I assured him, turning onto his street. “I’m looking forward to seeing what we can do against Pete’s team this year. Those damn electricians have managed to beat us the last two years. I can’t wait to see their faces when they get a load of you out there.”

“Pressure’s on now,” Parker joked, though the undercurrent of excitement was palpable between us. “I’ll have to make sure I don’t disappoint.”

“Impossible,” I said, more earnestly than I intended. But it was the truth—Parker had this way of exceeding expectations without even seeming to try. As we pulled up to his building, I found myself wishing I could prolong the night, keep this easy flow of banter going, but reality was a persistent third wheel.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said, his hand resting on the door handle. “And for inviting me today. It really meant a lot.”

“Anytime,” I replied, the word simple but layered with a sincerity that I hoped conveyed more than just friendly gratitude. “See you tomorrow at the clinic?”

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