Page 73 of Love in the Outfield

Eric bumps his hip into Georgia’s and says, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

She bumps him back. “He just got here. Eric this is Cade. Cade, Eric.”

I reach across the bar and shake his hand. “Nice to put a face with the stories.”

“Not gonna lie, my girlfriend practically drools when the camera pans to you. Hard on my ego.”

I laugh and shrug. “Sorry?”

“I don’t blame her. I have a bit of a man crush myself.” He nods at the growing line. “Gotta serve the masses,” he jokes. “See you around.”

Georgia smiles shyly, her cheeks slightly pink. “What can I get for you?”

“How about a Corona Light?”

“Sure,” she says. She pulls out a bottle from the under-counter cooler and uses the bottle opener attached to the bar to pop it open. “Do you want a frosty mug?”

“No thanks.” I pull out my wallet and she shoos me away.

“It’s on me. Great game yesterday.”

“I thought you were working,” I say.

Looking at me from under her lashes, she says, “I recorded it.”

“Wow! Baseball has come a long way in your household.”

“Hold that thought.” She leaves me to wait on a few customers. I take a long swig of my beer and look around. Amixed crowd, mostly twenties and thirties with a sprinkling of seniors mixed in.

“Hey, aren’t you Cade Jennings?” I turn towards the man standing next to me.

“Only if you’re a Cutters fan,” I say.

“The only team I follow. You guys are on fire! World Series here we come.”

“Looks like playoffs at least,” I reply. “Not sure which wild card team we’re up against, but there are some stiff competitors, and they’re playing their best right now. Unfortunately, they got hot at the right time.”

“No doubt. Would it be rude to ask for your autograph?” he asks as his girlfriend turns from her friend, sees me and squeals.

“Oh my God!” she blurts. “Cade Jennings!”

“Brianna, chill out. He doesn’t need the entire bar lining up for photographs.” Too late. I see a couple of people with their phones out taking pictures.

“My bad,” he says sheepishly.

“No problem,” I reply. “Comes with the territory.”

I scribble on the coaster he provides then smile into the camera as his girlfriend cozies up next to me for a selfie.

“One more with all three of us,” she says excitedly. I look over at Georgia and she rolls her eyes. I shrug and smile for the camera.

Eric comes to the rescue and says to Georgia, “I’ve got things under control here. Why don’t you take a break and greet your man properly?” His ornery broad grin is contagious.

Georgia playfully shoves him, “He’s not ‘my man’, you doofus.”

“Whatever you say,” he drawls.

“Give me a second,” Georgia says to me, then shoots through the counter pass-through. She grabs my arm and hauls me towards the exit before the group of women tentativelyapproaching can reach me. Laughing, we run out of the restaurant.

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