Page 51 of Mistlefoe
I stand there, blinking, heat rushing up my neck.
“Wow.” Sierra sucks her lips in, as if to stop from laughing. “I thought you were an athlete, what the hell?”
“Of a different sport, okay? Watch me shoot a puck and see if you laugh.” I fold my arms. “Why don’t you try instead?”
“Fine.” She takes another fake ornament and steps up closer to me, pushing the bag against my stomach until I grab it. “Step back.”
“Good idea, I don’t want to be pelted when you throw the ball backwards.”
She sticks her tongue out at me, which is the most life I’ve gotten out of her since this morning. I make a point ofstanding as far to the side as I can, which gives me perfect view of Sierra shutting me the hell up.
Because she makes a perfect windup, the kind a professional baseball pitcher would do complete with leg raised high, torso twisting around, and her arm coming forward like a whip. The ball—I mean, the ornament—flies off the tip of her fingers as if she were controlling it with string. It smacks right into the tree with enough force for the impact to echo around the barn.
And of course it latches onto the velcro tree with no issue.
It all happens so fast that a microsecond later is when Sierra’s foot falls back to the ground.
“What the hell just happened?”
Her shoulders start shaking with a quiet laugh. “Sorry, big guy. I was an athlete too.”
“What? Why don’t I know about this?”
“It’s not a big deal. There was no pro future for me.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I played softball up until college with a scholarship. Now the only action I get is the spring beer league at my neighborhood.”
“But… that’s amazing. You’re amazing.” I can’t seem to close my mouth after that.
Even more shocking, her face warms up. “It looks cool but that was a really slow ball, just for the record.”
“Who cares? You could probably kill someone with how heavy it is.” I lift a hand to rub at my chest, right where my heart is throbbing harder than it ever has. One thing is finding my coworker attractive, quite another is to find her spectacular.
And that’s what she is. Just the most outrageously hot woman I’ve ever met.
“Wanna throw again?” she asks, and everything about her glows right now. I don’t know if it’s because of the thrill of showing me up or if it’s because I’m officially done for, and I don’t care. I just want this moment to last forever.
“Yeah.” I sound choked up and try to swallow it down. “But apparently you’ll have to teach me how.”
Sierra jerks her head at me to join her and I have to force myself not to run over like a lapdog wagging his tail. “Okay, all you have to do is throw with your legs instead of your arm.”
“What?”
Her mouth opens and closes as she utters more words, and none of them get through my addled brain. The only things I can think of are how Gramps is right, and I can’t let this woman pass me by. And second, I have no idea how I’m going to win her over. Should I just find excuses to flash my abs more? How did I ever date before?
“Conor, are you going to try?”
“Yes,” I say with firmness. “Yes, I’m going to try very hard.”
“Okay…” Her eyebrows twist as she steps away from me.
Right, the baseball. She wasn’t talking about me trying to ask her out on a date. I’ll do both, but for now only throwing a baseball well matters.
I don’t do the fancy windup she did or anything, but I’m more conscious of my leg placement and how that propels the ball forward. It thwacks against the tree, teetering for a second while I hold my breath, but it stays put.
“Yeah!”
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
We high five each other and I get the gift of her eyes crinkling at the corners with joy. Right now, she seems happier that she taught me something than a moment earlier when she left me in the dust.
