Page 65 of Going Deep

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“Sean, this is Ginger. Ginger, Sean. He’s an old friend.”

Sean grinned. “Nice to meet you, Ginger. You ever play organized ball?”

“Nice to meet you too, and yes.”

Michael chuckled. “Sean coaches a summer league team. Brace yourself for a recruitment pitch.”

“Oh.” Ginger smiled. “That’s nice. Beer league ball, I presume?”

“Beer league?”

“Yeah. Run around for a couple of hours pretending to play so you have an excuse to go for beer.”

“Actually, we try to take it more seriously than that .”

“Really?”

Michael set a hand on her waist, drawing her in to his side. “I can vouch for Sean’s team, if not the rest of the league.”

Sean crossed his arms over his chest. “How’s your defense?”

“Better than my offense.”

“Position?”

“Catcher and shortstop.” She frowned. “Actually, I’ve played every position except third base.”

Sean turned to Michael with something akin to awe shining in his eyes. “I think I’m in love.”

Michael laughed as Sean turned back to Ginger.

“The season’s over this year,” he told her, “but we start up again in early May. Think about it.”

“I will.” She smiled. “It might be fun to play on a team again.”

A shout made Sean wince. “I gotta go. The kids will tear this place up if I’m not careful.”

“Good to see you.” Michael held out a hand.

“You too, man. Ginger.” He released Michael’s hand and took hers with a wink. “A true pleasure. You decide you want to play, call me. Michael’s got my number.”

“I’ll do that.”

Sean trotted away into a gaggle of about a dozen teenage boys, and Ginger turned to Michael. “Jeez, how many kids does he have?”

“They’re not his, at least biologically,” Michael explained. “He works at a community center, and he brings some of the kids here a few times a week.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” She hoisted her bat onto her shoulder. “I’m starving.”

“Then I’ll feed you,” he said and grabbed her free hand. “Burgers?”

“Sounds perfect,” she said as they started out. “What’s the community center called?”

“What?”

“The one Sean works at,” she said as they cleared the cages and began the walk to the parking lot. “What’s its name?”

“Ah, the Killingsworth Chicago Family Center,” he said, and tightened his grip on her hand when she stumbled. “You okay?”