Page 41 of Karma's Kiss

My phone rings on my nightstandjustas Sawyer succeeds in undressing me from the waist up. I ignore the ringing and try to delve back into my dream, but now my subconscious is having a field day with this setting. Loose packets of space food float past our heads.

I groan in annoyance and rip my phone off the side table.

David’s chipper voice grates on my nerves. “Morning, slugger. Rise and shine. Game’s in an hour.”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”

I don’t expect him to understand me since my face is pressed into my pillow, but he manages just fine.

“Softball. You think we’d let you go after your stellar performance last week? You were the MVP.”

“Hilarious. Now leave me alone. Mom and Marge got me drunk last night, kept me out until midnight. I have a hazy memory of Marge dancing on a table and taking off her bra through the arm hole of her shirt.”

“Wellthatwill be burned in my brain forever. Appreciate it.”

“I’m going back to sleep now,” I groan.

“We need you!” he insists.

“No.” Then I hang up and toss my phone onto my bedside table.

It’s a few minutes later as I’m drifting in and out of sleep—trying and failing to recapture the magic of the space station from a few minutes ago—that I realizeSawyerwill be at softball. He’s the captain of the team!

I sit up and toss my blankets off me.

Oh, this is perfect. Up until now, I’ve relied on Sawyer chasing me, but he’s fallen off the face of the planet in the last two days and I can’t reach out to him overtly because then I would have to admit to myself that Iwantto reach out to him. I’m supposed to be keeping my distance. That’s the plan, but going to softball doesn’t interfere with that. I’m going to the game because David really needs me. I can’t let the team down. I’m theMVP.

It’s good I’m already getting a move on because as I’m walking toward the kitchen with one hand on the wall to steady myself—hangover in full force—I hear a honk from out front.

“That’ll be David here to pick you up for softball,” Queenie says, smiling from the kitchen doorway as she watches me practically crawling my way toward her.

“Need. Coffee.” I sound like I’m dying. “And why is this house spinning? Are we on a boat?”

“That’ll be the mojitos. I’ll make you a hair of the dog.”

Five minutes later, I slide into David’s back seat with my sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes.

Lindsey turns back to look at me from the passenger seat. “Morning!”

My response is an undecipherable grumble.

Then she sniffs and scrunches up her nose. “What is in thatdrink? It smells putrid.”

I look down at the reddish brown liquid Queenie handed me on the way out the door. “Tabasco sauce and lemon juice. Other stuff too. I quit watching her make it after she added a raw egg.”

Lindsey gags.

“They got me so drunk last night. I think I’m going to die. Can you roll down the window back here?”

I proceed to ride to the ballfields with my head lolling out the window like I’m the family’s beloved golden retriever. I force down three sips of Queenie’s hair of the dog before my stomach protests altogether and I toss the remaining liquid (though can you really call it a liquid if there are unidentifiable chunks floating in it?) onto the grass behind David’s truck.

“You gonna make it?” Lindsey asks, helping me walk toward the fields with her arm around my back.

“It’s okay so long as I don’t move and I keep my eyes shut.”

This is by far the most trouble I’ve ever gone to just to spend time with a guy I’m NOT INTERESTED IN, but seeing Sawyer for the first time completely confirms I’ve made the right choice. So what if I almost threw up a little bit back in those bushes?

Sawyer is agodin the outfield, backlit by the rising sun. He’s wearing his captain’s t-shirt and black workout shorts. He looks gorgeous—tall, strong, confident—as he lobs softballs to a few of the Heatwave players. He’s having them practice scooping up grounders, and he does it with an encouraging smile.

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