Page 54 of Treat

9

In the eighth inning, Brynn feigned a headache and took a ride share back to the apartment. She did it the coward’s way, saying she was going to the bathroom and then not texting Jude she was leaving until she was already in the car. Then she silenced her phone.

“Because I’m a coward,” she muttered.

“Sorry?” her driver asked, eyeing her anxiously in the rearview mirror. She couldn’t blame him. If someone were in the back of her car talking to themselves, she’d eye them anxiously, too.

“Nothing, never mind,” she said and gave him an overly generous tip to make up for the anxiety.

Up in the apartment, an annoyed Tilly was dancing at the door, ready for a walk, so she grabbed the leash and her earbuds and hurried down the block just in case Jude was already on his way back.

Once she’d turned the corner, she slipped in her earbuds and called Amy.

She picked up on the first ring. “Professor Hill, thank you for calling me back.”

Brynn paused to let Tilly sniff at a weed growing out of the sidewalk. “Amy, it’s me. Are you still sleep-deprived?”

“No, that’s not an issue. One second, let me get to a quiet spot where I can talk.” There was a muffled scramble, then the sound of footsteps.

“Where are you?”

“At your parents’ house,” Amy replied in a hissing whisper. “Your mom picked me up and brought me home for lunch.”

Tilly tugged on the leash, so Brynn started walking again. “I thought she might. Why are you pretending I’m your thesis advisor?”

“Because if they know it’s you they’ll wonder why I’m leaving the room to talk to you, and I figured you wouldn’t want me to ask you why you’re playing kissy face with your boss on national television in front of Rachel and Joe.”

Brynn stumbled to a halt, which brought Tilly to a halt. Brynn ignored her annoyed yelp. “What?”

“Your dad has the game on,” Amy said, still talking quietly but no longer whispering. “The kiss cam thing made the broadcast.”

“Oh, no.” Brynn wished the city had placed benches along this street—she really needed to sit down. “Did they see?”

“No. Your dad was in the bathroom, and your mom was doing a crossword and wasn’t paying attention.”

Brynn breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

“But they used Jude’s name. Like, a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they were all, ‘That’s Detroit Cougars defenseman Jude Bessonette, who threw out the first pitch today, enjoying the sunshine,’” Amy said in the rounded tones of a TV broadcaster. “‘Enjoying something else, too, isn’t he, Bob?’ ‘Sure looks like it, Dave, heh heh heh’.”

“Oh, God.”

“It was pretty gross,” Amy agreed.

“Did they say my name?”

“I don’t think they knew it, or they would have. They sure speculated about who you are, though.”

“Great.”

“Are you still at the game?”

“No, I left early. I’m walking Tilly right now.”

“So? Are you going to tell me, or are you going make me guess?”

---