Page 65 of Curveball

He nods. “Is it all the same kinds of pitches?”

“Mostly, except we can throw a rise ball in softball. There’s nothing like it in baseball. A rise ball looks like it’s coming into the strike zone but because of the spin, it rises at the last second. It’s a wicked pitch. If thrown correctly, it’s hard to hit.”

“How well do you throw it?”

I try to remain humble. “Pretty darn well…most of the time.”

“Wow. That’s so cool. I want to see you play. Your family must be so proud.”

“I have a small family. I was raised by a single mother, and I never knew my father.”

“Oh, did he pass?”

“Honestly, I know nothing about him. My mother has always been reluctant to talk about it.”

“That must have been hard growing up. Things fathers do with their daughters. Father-daughter dances and the like.”

I consider his words as Quincy pops into my mind. He always took me to that kind of stuff. Come to think of it, we never discussed anything. It was assumed every time I needed asurrogate male in my life, Quincy would be there. Always there for me in his own special way.

Brandon clears his throat. “I lost you. Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. I’m sorry.”

“We’re all settled up. It’s a nice summer night. Would you like to go for a walk?” He gives me a boyish grin. “I don’t want the date to end.”

I nod. “I’d love to.”

We walk a few blocks hand in hand. He makes it clear that we’re near his apartment, even pointing to the building. I think he’s feeling me out to see if I’m willing to come to his apartment tonight.

At some point, he stops and pulls me into his arms. His body is tight to mine. Smiling down at me, he admits, “I really like you.”

I run my fingertips through his thick beard. “I like you too.”

I do like him. It’s the best non-Quincy date I’ve been on in years. Maybe there is life after Quincy Abbott after all.

He begins to lower his lips toward mine. I close my eyes and tilt my head to the side, anticipating his kiss. Just as his lips touch mine, he’s gone. His lips, his arms, his body, all of it.

I blink my eyes open to see Quincy shoving Brandon. He barks out, “Keep your hands off my wife.”

Brandon’s eyes widen in horror as he looks my way. “You’re married?”

I sigh. “Yes and no. I can expla—"

Brandon holds up his hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I like you, Ripley. I like you a lot, but I want no part of this. You two work out your shit. Call me if and when you’re truly available.” He turns and walks away.

Tears fill my eyes as I ball my fists in anger. I’m so mad right now. I shout, “What are you doinghere?”

“I don’t want my wife kissing other men.” He runs his fingers through his hair over and over. “I can’t watch it.”

“No one asked you to come here and watch it. Are you fucking crazy? What’s wrong with you? I’m not your wife.”

“Yes, you are. He can’t have you. You belong to me.”

“You can fuck anyone you want in our little arrangement, but I can’t?”

“I haven’t fucked anyone since you got to town.”

“Get the man a medal.” I throw my hands up in the air. “God, Quincy! This whole thing is so messed up. I can’t have you holding me back anymore. I want a divorce. I’m not kidding. I need to rid myself of you.”

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