Page 4 of Rocking Player
He saw a mini version of himself, square jaw, blue eyes, pointed nose. “You checked out of the hotel early.”
My entire body felt tight, like I was going to rocket my own flight out of here from the energy in my veins. “I…My father died. Then my mom soon after. I was a mess and my life was in turmoil for a while.”
He took my hand in his. “You didn’t leave a way to find you.”
“Michael Irons!” Jeremy said fast. “You’ve got the best batting average and record of catches in the league.”
Of course. The one thing our son craved to be better at was the one thing his father was clearly good at. He took out his phone from his back pocket and shoved it in my face as the stadium-filled crowd around us became clearer.
Michael quickly said, “Look, give me your address and phone number. I have to work, but after the game, we need to talk. Clearly.”
Talk. Right. Of course. I’d played out finding him and telling him about his son for years now, but it generally was me in a sexy dress strutting over to him and then he’d kissed me in my dreams of this moment. Now, real-life was different, and my fingers trembled.
Still, I typed down my information and handed him back his phone as Michael asked, “Can we stay at the game, Mom?”
Jeremy’s lips thinned.
I wish I knew what he thought, but I asked with my head down, “How long do games last?”
Michael answered in a deep voice that had once made me swoon, “A few hours usually, and I’d like us all to go out to dinner after.”
Jeremy’s bounce and jumping beside me meant he wanted to. I had no argument. My son had wanted to know his father. Searching out who he was online had been impossible when I’d been so busy looking up cures for my mom that never panned out. And when she’d died, I’d been in my third trimester, more worried about what to do to prepare for a baby than anything else.
I nodded at Jeremy and wished things had been different as I said, “Then we’ll stay.”
Michael put his Sooners cap back on. “I’ll see you both right after we win.”
“Boo.” The red-headed, overweight man behind us screamed. He had the Pirates logo painted on his cheeks.
I slumped onto the bench and Michael strutted away with that hard, muscular ass I’d once squeezed. He spoke with someone on the team and then they both stared at us.
My jitters were still inside me as I stabbed the ice with my straw in my soda.
Another man, skinnier, wearing a uniform like Michael but much younger than him, ran toward us as the team went onto the field to play. “The team wants to offer the two of you family seats.”
I grabbed Jeremy’s arm like someone might steal him from me. Family with Michael sounded permanent.
I trembled a little and squared my jaw when I said, “We’re fine here.”
The young man then backed away and said, “Well, at the top of the ninth, I’ll come to find you both.”
“Great,” I said and then slumped into my seat.
Jeremy stood and the second I heard the national anthem, I jumped up.
At the end of the singing, and someone in a wheelchair tossing a ceremonial pitch, we took our seats and the game began.
My son asked, “Mom, how do you know Michael Irons?”
Clearly, I was a liar. And a bad one. Maybe I should have at least looked at his baseball cards once or twice, but that wasn’t my interest. I bet I probably had seen his face in passing, but I'd never connected the dots. I’d been more into ensuring Jeremy had what he needed for school, clothes, and ate to stay healthy.
A head rush came from having to explain everything to a six-year-old and then to a sexy grown man right after.
I slumped my head down and didn’t care who was hitting what ball on the field and said to Jeremy, “I… we met at a hotel. I didn’t know he was a professional baseball player.”
Jeremy sounded like my father when he asked, “Where was this hotel?”
I'd been a financial analyst when I’d met Michael. I had gone on an adults-only vacation with some friends who I was no longer close to.
