Page 152 of Wait For It

Killian’s eyes narrowed, inspecting me. “I love you too—can you call me back? I’d like to continue our conversation.”

“I’ll try! Okay, I love you. Bye!” I ended the call and turned to the older woman. “What the hell are you doing, Georgia?”

She studied her painted nails with a shrug. “You’ve been in the same city as that boy for over a month now. You’ve attended every single post-season game—home and away—why won’t you tell him already?”

“Because I don’t like the media circus that pops up when the two of us are together,” I barked, crossing my arms over my chest. “He’s been in a hitting streak for the last thirty-six games, for crying out loud! Do you know how big of a deal this is? I don’t want to be the reason that comes to an end. Nothing can jinx tonight for him. Once the game is won, then I’ll reveal everything.”

“I’m ready!” Morgan entered the room and twirled as if she was wearing a ball gown, not a baseball jersey. “Do you like it? Joe picked it up for me.”

I blinked, masking my surprise. My former stepmother had traveled all over the world with us but was back to being afraid of her own shadow now that we were home. “Seriously? You’re going tonight?”

“I am. This is important to you, Ari, and if you can go out in public without being recognized, I can too.” She looked down at the jersey, color rising on her cheeks. “Although I need to be honest. I don’t know a single player, other than Killian.”

Her small act of bravery made me smile. “That’s okay.”

“Not to worry, dear. I’ve already made a list of potential love interests for you and ranked them,” Georgia said, beaming like she’d just solved the world’s hunger problem.

I gave her a side-eye. “That’s what you’ve been doing during the games? I thought you were keeping score.”

“Oh, I am. Just in my own way. Now, Morgan—” She slipped off the bed and shuffled toward the door. “Do you want the top five now, or would you like to get a feel for all of them first?”

Morgan’s wide eyes met mine in a universal signal for help. “Um, maybe I’ll, um, just decide when we get there. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly okay, dear. Oh, Ari—” Georgia snapped her fingers as she turned back to me. “I knew I came in here for a reason. I need to know, are you going to be having your usual for brunch—egg white omelet and veggies?”

“Yep. Breakfast of champions.” I didn’t understand why champions shunned the tastiest part of the egg in favor of white rubber but had somehow forced it down every morning for the past month.

Her lips curved into a patient smile. “Mmm, hmmm… and the jersey hanging up in my laundry room was washed at exactly midnight, I presume?”

I bristled with defensiveness. “Maybe—what are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing.” Georgia waved her hand as if shooing my question away. “Just curious. Those baseball players—so superstitious, you know?”

She began cackling when my mouth fell open before slipping out and closing the bedroom door behind her.

The septuagenarian had some snap in her garters.

So, maybe I’d picked up a few habits from Killian over the past couple of years. We’d overcome so much to get here, and I was willing to do whatever it took to keep their winning streak alive, including following the same meal plan and schedule he was.

No matter how much I hated it.

A little superstition never hurt anyone.

Well, within reason.

I wasn’t giving up my razor for anything.

“And now, first baseman, number thirty-four—Conor Bailey!”

“Come on,” I murmured, clasping my hands under my chin and rocking on the balls of my feet. The current of nervous energy running through my body had made it impossible to sit. We were down by one in the bottom of the ninth with only one out remaining.

Killian stood in the on-deck circle, his eyes on theAtlanta Thrashers’ closer, Dan Antonelli. Some players worked on swinging or stretching, but not my man.

When I asked his dad about it, he told me Killian viewed it as a free at-bat. He’d study the pitcher, so he knew when to get his front foot off the ground to be on time for the pitch.

It was like watching a choreographed dance, where Killian’s body moved in sync with the hitter’s. Right now, he and Bailey were like mirror images, finding their rhythm with Antonelli and raising their cleats at the exact same moment.

As much as I wanted to run down the aisle, launching myself over the fence and into his arms, seeing him in element reinforced my decision to keep my return a secret. This was the side of him I never got to see when we were together, a man not concerned with impressing his prodigal girlfriend or keeping the press at bay.

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