Page 35 of Crossing Lines

“Hope he doesn’t allow success to get in the way of taking care of you. Ambition can blind people.”

She twists her mouth. “My man and I are… good.” The brief glitch doesn’t convince me. It isn’t enough for me to continue holding back these emotions.

Observing her body language, I ask, “Why’d you look irritated last night? Don’t care for his fam?”

Her head flies up, and she fidgets on the chair. “They’re all right.”

I blurt a short laugh. “Okay. Want to hang out since you’re free, and I’m not going to the center today?”

She clicks her tongue. “When did I say I was free?”

“You told me you just did Pilates, and that’s it for your day. So yeah, you’re free.” I give her a sly smirk.

“Pfft. You’re something else.”

“I take that as a yes. So what would you like to do?”

Considering for a beat, she relaxes her shoulders and says, “Batting cage.”

“Ah. You want another workout.”

She snorts. “It’s fun. I haven’t been since high school.”

“Okay. Let’s do that then.”

After deciding on a spot, we finish breakfast, return to our cars, and drive downtown.

The loud cracks of hits and boisterous cheers reach us at the entrance. I rent two bats, secure a box, and allow Davia to go first. She steps up to the plate, her eyes tight with determination as the time on the machine counts down.

The first ball shoots out, and her impressive swing sends it flying to the net with a mighty thud.

“Whoa!” I clap for her. “Great job!”

Her giggles are music to my ears. “I still got it.”

Like a proud partner, I watch her in admiration, swinging without a miss and racking up points effortlessly. Her competitive spirit is on display, and I like this other side.

“Your turn,” Davia urges once I’ve retrieved the last ball to load back into the machine.

“Damn, shorty. How do I compete with a pro? How are you so good?”

She laughs it off. “I told you, I did this in high school. My first boyfriend played baseball, so we spent some time at the batting cage.”

“First love?” I question teasingly.

“Yes.” She touches her neck as if shy. “Stop delaying. Go ahead.”

“All right, all right.” I take my stance. The ball flies out, and of course, I miss it. “Damn.”

“Relax,” Davia advises. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

I twist my mouth at her. “You were all serious like you’re playing in the league. So don’t give me that.”

She shrugs and splays her hands. “Trying to help. Keep at it, rookie.”

“Hm.” Another ball shoots out. I swing in time and manage a hit. “Yes!”

“Nice!” Davia cheers. “Just like that!”

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