Page 14 of The Foul Out

“We were fourteen minutes late today.” Piper was focused on a nearby table, where three men stood. The only one I could name was Kyle Bosco. Baseball getup or not, I’d recognize him. He had broad shoulders and a perfect head of dirty blond hair with natural highlights. His jaw was too chiseled for its own good, and he was impossibly good-looking. It was annoying. Piper had loved Streaks since she first discovered baseball, and in all that time, I’d secretly hoped she’d move on from him. Because the guy oozed southern boy charm, and no matter how much I pretended he didn’t affect me, I couldn’t help but get caught up in his good looks.

My mother had always warned me to be careful of the southern boys. She said they could charm a girl right into a broken heart. And she would know.

I forced my attention to another blond man who was a few inches taller than Kyle. He stood beside him, dressed in a gray shirt and jeans, rather than a Revs jersey and baseball pants. On Kyle’s other side, a man with a 21 on the back of his pin-striped jersey stood.

“Yes, well…” Zara shrugged. “I hate to admit it, but I’m known for being late.”

“So is Mom.” Piper zeroed in on Zara’s peach-colored shirt. Piper was only seven, but she came up to just below the tiny woman’s shoulder. “I don’t like it.”

“It drives Asher batty too.”

“Asher Price. Number 5. Traded to the Revs from Los Angeles this season. Batting average .301 during the regular season. But in the playoffs, he averaged .420. Almost high enough to set a record.”

“Aren’t you a smarty pants?” Zara smiled.

Piper shook her head. “I have high-functioning ASD.”

My heart clenched at her toneless words.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

The deep voice startled me, and when I looked up from my daughter, I found a pair of warm brown eyes focused not on my girl, but on me. I hadn’t seen him come our way, but now he stood just two steps away. And once again, meeting his eyes caused my stomach to flip. It was the same sensation that had hit me last night. I’d barely shaken it off in time to stop the ball from hitting Sam in the face.

I clenched my fists at my sides, almost successfully keeping myself from wincing at the pain in my hand as I did. Annoyance ran through me as I continued to assess this man. Why the hell did my body have such terrible taste in men? My only comfort was knowing, without a doubt, that my brain wasn’t so dumb anymore. Jace had taught me that lesson.

Kyle shifted one step closer. “Hi. I’m?—”

“Kyle Bosco,” my daughter interrupted as she took two steps back. “Number 29. Right fielder for the Boston Revs, with a seasonal batting average of .225. One hundred sixty-five runs, twenty-eight home runs, fourteen assists. It was not your best.”

Light brown eyes narrowing, he dropped to one knee. Adults did that a lot to help kids feel comfortable and on the same level. In Piper’s case, it wouldn’t encourage eye contact. In fact, she took another step back and turned her body slightly in response to the move.

Unfazed by her reaction, Kyle went on. “It also wasn’t my worst season.”

Piper nodded. “Your second season with the Revs was your worst.”

My heart lurched at her comment, but Kyle just tossed his head back and laughed.

“Do you know everyone’s stats, or am I just your favorite?”

“Yes.” Piper focused on a spot on the other side of the room. “I like the whole team.”

“You excited to go out onto the field and run bases?” Kyle asked.

Though Piper nodded, I doubted that she’d actually do it. She knew the infield was sand, but I wasn’t sure she’d really thought about it. My daughter had aversions to several textures, sand being one of them. So as much as she might want to run the bases with her favorite athletes, I couldn’t imagine her forcing herself to actually do it.

Braced for the meltdown that could very well cause—I always braced for the next meltdown—I said, “We’ll see when the time comes.”

I tried not to put any pressure on her. The poor girl already put too much on herself. I had no doubt she’d been in sensory overload before we left the stadium last night, and that was without coming into contact with sand.

Kyle glared at me. “Leaving early?”

“We are leaving at two o’clock,” my daughter said.

Hannah had mentioned it to me, so I had told Piper to give her a sense of security, and that absolutely locked us into a schedule in a way most people wouldn’t understand. Leaving at 1:50 wouldn’t do. Neither would 2:15.

I pulled my shoulders back. “We’ll leave at two,” I reassured Piper so she didn’t get upset. “But the bases might not be her thing.”

Kyle opened his mouth, as if to argue. But he quickly snapped it closed again. He pushed to his feet and angled in so Piper couldn’t hear. “Give her a chance to do it.” His gravelly voice felt like sandpaper. “She might surprise you.”

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