Page 20 of Head Over Heels

I wrote back,Sounds like I’m getting the best end of the deal.

So far, she’s lived up to her promise. She’s put away two hot dogs and is midway through her second beer. Her baseball cred is real: she’s actually scoring the game in her program, including every ball and strike. Apparently her dad taught her to do it when she was a kid, and she has a set of binders at home with every game she’s ever been to. She told me about the first time she went to a game, Yankees v. Orioles at Yankee Stadium, and what it felt like to walk into the park for the first time—the hush before the crack of the bat, the bright green field suddenly wide open in front of her, the smell of grass and dirt and hot dogs and peanuts and beer.

And she’s cute. Long, shiny blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail (sexyandlow maintenance),a killer tan, big blue eyes, and a great bod.Check, check, check, and check.

Plus—she likes kids, or at least it seems like she must, because who else would explain baseball to a little boy she doesn’t even know?

She rises out of her seat, cheering wildly with the rest of the fans as Canó hits a near-home-run ball that drops into the right-field corner.

Perfect, right? So why am I such a mess? I should be ecstatic.

It’s because I can’t stop thinking of Liv.

This morning she took freaking forever in the shower, and I pounded on the door and yelled, “Get out of the shower! Before you erode!”

I could hear her laughing. “Shut up, Chase.”

“How long can it possibly take?”

“You try shampooing long hair!”

“I need to get in there sometime before work.”

The water shut off. I leaned against the door, checking Facebook on my phone while I waited. A few minutes later, the door opened and fruit-fragrant steam poured out. At the center of the cloud was Liv, wrapped tight in a towel.

All mental processes, and the brain cells associated with them, died.

Her cheeks were bright pink, her hair was up in a towel-turban, and her bare shoulders, arms, and upper chest presented me with an expanse of creamy skin I couldn’t tear my eyes away from.

“It’s all yours.”

“Uh—” I raised my gaze and found myself looking at her lips, just as she licked them nervously.

“Theshower,” she said pointedly, and brushed past me.

I mentally dope-slapped myself and got in the shower. Suffice it to say that getting clean wasnotthe only thing on my agenda. I accomplished all my goals quickly and intensely.

“I’m going to get a beer,” Ava says. “Do you want me to get you one?”

I snap back to the present, pissed at myself. I’ve almost forgotten her, and it’s a point of pride that I never do that, never think about another woman when I’m with one. I’m here, I’m with Ava, that’s where my mind should be.

“No way. I’ll get ’em. You stay here and hold down the fort.”

“Aw. That’s so incredibly sweet.”

“Hey,” I say lightly. “What kind of asshole makes you get your own beer on a first date at a baseball game?”

“Guess I’ve dated all the wrong guys,” she teases, with a suggestive little smile.

Except all I can think about is that secret smile Liv wore last night when she and Katie unveiled their project. It wasn’taboutsex, but it was sexy nonetheless. It made me actually feel, secondhand, Liv’s pleasure and joy. It made me think about other things that might put a smile like that on Liv’s face.

Chase Crayton, quit it.

I trudge up the stadium steps and find my way along the mezzanine to one of the places that sell decent microbrews. The lines are epic. Seventh-inning-stretch beer is a hard-won prize.

My phone buzzes. A text from Liv. Actually, a whole string of them. How’d I miss them?

Girls’ night out!

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