Page 32 of Wild Pitch
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I get to the ice cream shop a whole five minutes before Starr, and I take that time to unfollow everyone from the friend group who is giving effusive congratulations to the couple, and the two jerks themselves. I’m archiving any picture I have on my social media where they appear, when the bell at the door dings with a new arrival.
I lift my eyes to Cade Starr’s entrance and my stomach dips at the disappointment in his face as he strides over to me. It feels like I’m being kicked when I’m already down.
But he toes the chair beside me to turn it my way, plops down with his massive legs spread out around me and leans his elbow on the counter by the front window. “A yoghurt ice cream place, really? And here I was excited that you were gonna let me cheat on my diet, darlin’.”
My lips part and I release a soft breath in relief. He wasn’t disappointed to seemebut the healthy treats. Well, healthier—this still has more sugar than he should be consuming at this time of night.
“You have a whole season ahead of you, Cowboy.”
He twists around, setting those weird blue eyes of his on the overhead menu. “Can I at least get the chocolate syrup? Your treat, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeat in a deadpan but push away from the window counter. “Fine, but I’ll get you the kid’s cup.”
He looks up at me, eyebrows scrunched up in annoyance and lips curved into a pout. “Meanie.”
I shake my head and leave the man-child behind to place our orders. I’m not ready to start this conversation until there’s some dopamine in my system, so I hang out at the cashier’s until one of the two employees returns with our order. With my left, I carry Starr’s smaller treat, and on my right mine.
I place them in front of our seats and his eyes bulge. “Excuse me but what happened to equality?”
“I’m the one who’s suffering tonight,” I mumble as I sit down and stab my spoon into my large swirl with strawberries, bananas, chocolate syrup, and caramel monstrosity.
“Fair.” His attention shifts to his and he grabs his spoon. “How did you know I like peanuts?”
“It’s part of my job. I know what each player absolutely can and can’t eat, and what they should or shouldn’t avoid.”
“Oh yeah? What am I allergic to?” His eyebrows lift as he puts a spoonful in his mouth, his lips closing around the spoon.
“Nothing at all. You could probably eat a rock and be totally fine,” I respond, doing the same.
“I’m impressed.” A corner of his lips lifts, even with the spoon still in his mouth.
I shrug one shoulder. “You’re one of the easy ones.”
Once he’s done swallowing his cold mouthful, he asks, “What about you? Any allergies?”
“None, I’m easy like you.”
His lips twitch but he has the decency of not turning that into an indecent joke. “So tell me, Garcia, why is it that we can hold a low key conversation like this and you can’t do the same with dates?”
My mouth drops open. Belatedly, and only because his face lights up with barely contained laughter, do I realize my mouth is full of food. I turn away for a moment to swallow without scrutiny and wipe my mouth with a napkin just in case.
I swivel back around. “Who’s the meanie now?”
He observes a strawberry that hangs precariously on the rim of my cup, and I motion at him to just take it. “Thanks.” This makes his eyes light up even more and he carefully spoons the fruit and shoves it in his mouth. It’s a very different look compared to when he’s on the pitcher’s mound in the middle ofthe game, radiating so much intensity that it even translates into television screens. Or compared to how he is when flirting with women at a bar.
“Anyway, I just wanted to illustrate the point,” he says while eating. “You don’t really need me.”
“But I do,” I whine bad enough that the two store employees glance our way. Ducking, I continue, “You don’t count. I go completely blank when it’s a stranger, like…”
“Like?” Starr prods.
“I lost my confidence,” I admit for the first time in almost two years. “Dawson, my ex, he destroyed it. He said—He said…” I interrupt myself to clear my throat when my eyes start to sting. I refuse to shed a single more tear about my jerk of an ex boyfriend, and especially not in front of Cade Starr.
But the latter surprises me by taking a clean napkin from the pile between us and offering it to me. No pity in his expression, no empty platitudes tumbling out of his mouth. Like he’s fine either way if I cry or not, but like he cares if I do just as smidge.
I take the napkin and lightly blot my eyes. Two small wet dots remain on it, proof that I’m nowhere near as strong as I wish. Sucking it all up for almost two years has led to this, so I try a different tactic. The one where I open up at least a little.
