Page 26 of Curveball

“Sex feels good too. That helps with stress.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

She giggles. “Nice try. Not happening.”

I sigh. “Fine, we’ll do the small talk thing. You guys start your games this week, right?”

“Yes.” She mumbles, “Theoretically.”

“It seems like you’ve made friends.”

“I have. I suppose I’m closest to Emily, the girl your friend was with. I think they’re still hanging out.”

“Heads up, he’s a bit of a bullshitter.”

“What do you mean?”

“He promises forever to get women into bed. He says the same crap to every woman.” In a mock deep voice, I say, “I can really see this becoming something, baby. I’ve always dreamed of finding a woman like you. You’re so special. Blah blah blah.”

She cringes. “Ugh. He definitely said those things to her. What a dick.”

“It’s an asshole move for sure.”

“What do you promise women, Quincy?”

“A good time and nothing more. I’m very clear up front.”

“What if you meet someone special?”

I continue rubbing her feet. “Not looking. What about you?”

“I dated a few guys my first two years of college but was with the same guy for the last two years. We bothknew we had an expiration date though. It was a healthy, good relationship. We’re still friends.”

“Will you tell me why you’re upset? Please. Maybe I can help.”

She blows out a breath. “Okay. Just don’t stop rubbing. It feels amazing.”

“There are other areas I could rub that would feel even better.”

She shakes her head. “Not happening, Abbott.”

I smile as I continue rubbing her feet. “Tell me what’s going on. What made you so upset?”

She lifts her head off the sofa pillow as I see sadness take over. “Just my mom being…my mom. You know how she is.”

That could mean one of two things. Ripley’s mom was always either flaking out on her or bed-hopping from man to man.

I lift my eyebrows waiting for a real answer.

She sinks her head back down and lets out a breath. “Fine. You know how we moved from Canada when I was five, right?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“When I woke up this morning, I had a message from the team owner. Apparently, I’m not a legal citizen of the US. My nutjob of a mother never bothered to file the appropriate paperwork. She did it for herself, but not me. When I called her just now, she said she didn’t think she needed to because I was five. So I’ve lived here illegally for seventeen years. If I’m not here legally, I can’t play professional softball.”

“What about when you applied to college? No one picked up on it then?”

She shrugs. “I have no idea. I guess illegal aliens can have social security numbers. Who knew? I didn’t know anything about this until about an hour ago.”

“What about a work visa? I’m sure the team can help make that happen.”

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