Page 87 of Dream Girl Drama

He’d been fighting the urge to turn and look at Chloe for the last five minutes and he finally gave in now, finding her watching him, too, her expression open and vulnerable and... missing him. Yeah, she missed him. Maybe even half as much as he missed her. And that was going to make staying away infinitely harder. God, it might kill him, but he had to respect the decision she’d made. The hard one he didn’t have the ability to make himself.

You okay, Chlo?Sig mouthed at her.

There was a long hesitation, followed by a series of too-quick nods.

She’s not okay. We’re not okay.

“Play ball,” shouted someone from the opposing dugout, dragging Sig’s attention back to the field, though his awareness never detached from her. Not for a second. Not even when the first pitch came whistling into the strike zone at what appeared to be at least eighty miles an hour.

“Son of a bitch,” Corrigan intoned, looking dazed. “Did I just meet my future wife?”

“No,” everyone shouted back, including Skylar and Elton.

Corrigan just grinned. “Can’t wait to prove everyone wrong.”

It came as no surprise that Jorgenson struck out.

The second batter managed to get on base, but only because Sig advised him to bunt—but it was not pretty. In fact, Sig wouldn’t freely admit to anyone who listened that he did not want to try his hand against Skylar, because, yeah, she had an arm like a fucking cannon and she hadn’t even broken a sweat. Outwardly, though, he kept his cool and approached the batter’s box, taking a couple of practice swings along the way. And he reverted back to the fake mind bets he used to make with himself as a kid for motivation. Such as,if you score today, you get to meet Sidney Crosby.If you practice for one more hour, you get drafted in the first round.

Man, the stakes were a lot different as a twenty-nine-year-old man.

If you hit this ball, you get to marry Chloe.

It was a ridiculous bet to make with himself, since the outcome was impossible, but hell if he didn’t lock in on the baseball as Skylar wound up and... threw a pitch that was slightly off—and he didn’t swing. On instinct. “Ball,” called the baseball player acting as the umpire.

Skylar rolled her eyes, accepting the ball her teammate threw back.

Rolled her shoulder, scuffed the dirt with her cleat.

Leaned forward.

Much later, Sig would admit he got lucky. Or maybe getting to pretend the impossible dream of marrying the love of his life could come true caused him to smack the ball out into the right outfield, over the heads of the players who were clearly not expecting him to connect. Dazed, Sig stood watching the ball sail into the trees, but Sir Savage shouted at him to run and his legs took over, instinctively following the directive of the man who’dbeen his captain since rookie year. But he only made it past first base when all hell broke loose.

Because of course, Pierre chosethatmoment to come alive.

To discover a resource of energy that perhaps he didn’t know existed inside himself.

Yes.

The bulldog went sprinting through the field after the ball, like his very life depended on retrieving it. Which obviously meant Chloe went running after him in visible distress, her blonde hair coming loose from its bun, her squeals of the dog’s name echoing across the park.

Sig didn’t even hesitate—he ran after Chloe, envisioning all manner of heinous ankle breaks or violent murderers lurking in the woods, just waiting for a beautiful girl to come running straight into their trap. Nope. Not on his watch.

“Chloe!”

“Pierre! Stop!” When the dog officially vanished into the trees, his leash sailing out behind him, she made a desperate sound and ran faster. “Sig!”

Yeah, he’d be lying if Chloe reflexively calling out to him for help wasn’t the balm he needed over his aching wounds, but he’d savor it later. He passed Chloe in the race to reach Pierre before he became unfindable, breaking into the trees, winded—

Only to find the bulldog rolling around in a puddle of mud. No,sludge.

With the baseball in his mouth.

Sig had never seen the dog look happier.

“Oh no,Pierre!” Chloe panted, jogging to a stop beside Sig, planting her hands on her head. “Look at you! You’re all covered in filth. What am I going to do with you?”

The problem at hand sort of slipped to the wayside as Sig looked at Chloe, her face contoured in shadow and sunlight, herhair a windy mess, cheeks flushed. The most incredible sight he’d ever seen—at least, since the last time he’d looked at her. On top of the morning glow she was sporting, she was wearing a Bearcats sweatshirt he’d given her.

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