Page 121 of Double Play

I sigh in frustration. I guess I’ll send it later.

We sit at the table and Butch orders us a bottle of wine. He doesn’t bother to ask if I want wine. I rarely ever drink it. If I were here with Layton, I’d already have my favorite beer waiting for me. That, or a tequila shot.

I start to wonder if I’ve taken for granted the way my boyfriend treats me. He always has my beer of choice waiting when I arrive somewhere. We never mention it. He just does it for me. He does a lot of things for me without me asking. Heoils my glove, cleans my hairbrush, always has the food I like in his refrigerator, has made space for me in his bathroom, always compliments me, and treats my friends well. Layton Lancaster is a unicorn.

“Are you texting him?”

I realize my head has been buried in the phone as I think about my man. I miss him so much.

Knowing I’m being kind of rude, I place my phone on the table. “Sorry. Yes, but there’s no reception here.”

We chat for a bit. I slowly sip the wine, not caring for it. He still manages to fill my glass every few minutes.

He smiles. “Is it true that you and Layton started as a PR relationship?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Around town. A few people have mentioned it.”

I don’t feel like he needs to know the whole story. “We were asked to make a few appearances together. Things quickly took off from there. There’s absolutely nothing fake about us.”

He nods. “I see. You know, he’ll probably never play ball again.”

“Layton is strong. He can accomplish whatever he sets his mind to. He’s overcome a lot in his life. If he wants to play again, he’ll play. If he doesn’t, he won’t. Frankly, I just want him to be happy.”

“For your career, you might be better off on a different arm. One who’s a bright star, not a fading one.”

“I have a good career because I’ve worked my ass off and I’m a great softball player. My love life has nothing to do with it. Back off, Butch.”

Realizing a change of topic is needed, he challenges, “Tell me a secret. Something no one else knows about you.”

Not interested in having a bad relationship with him, given the amount of time we have to spend together, I decide to playhis little game. “Hmm. When I was in Little League, like five or six years old, I was afraid to miss a minute of the games. If I had to pee during a game, I’d just go in my softball pants.” I smile. “It happened at least a dozen times.”

He lets out a deep laugh. “That’s priceless. Kind of gross and endearing all at the same time.”

I nod as I sip my wine. “Definitely gross. I’m not sure about it being endearing. And you? Tell me something no one else knows.”

“It’s hard to think of something that no one knows. I’m a pretty open guy. Oh, I’ve got something. I was a competitive ballroom dancer as a young kid.”

“Is that a thing young kids do?”

“It is. My mother made me take lessons as soon as I could walk. She was a dancer back in the day. I was one of those kids with slicked-back hair and tight clothes, dancing the mamba at eight years old.” He mock-dances in his seat as he says it.

I can’t help but laugh at the image. “Can you still dance?”

“I can.” He motions his head toward the orchestra playing lyric-less music. “I’d love to show you.”

I nod. “You’re on. I need to see this.”

He stands and holds out his hand. “Join me.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t dance well. I just want to watch you.”

“I don’t dance alone. Ballroom dancing is meant to be with a partner.”

I sigh, dropping my napkin on the table. “Fine. Just so I can see it with my own eyes.”

He smiles as he takes my hand, and we make our way to the dance floor. He whispers something to one of the orchestra members and then slips him some money.

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