Page 95 of Wild Pitch
“You know exactly why, you stinking perv.”
He blinks for a moment until it finally clicks. His expression turns sheepish. “Sorry.”
I’d tell him to apologize to her, but learning that she has colleagues who leer at her would probably make her uncomfortable and I don’t want that. Instead, I say, “Just don’t do it again.” Huffing, I swivel around and trudge down the aisle to the service area.
I push the curtain aside with my forearm and stop. Hope is right in front of me, leaning back on the service counter as she glares at her phone screen so fiercely that it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack.
“Everything okay, darlin’?”
“No,” she responds right away, before even meeting my eye. “Look at this bullshit.” She flips her phone so I can see the screen.
At first I’m not sure what I’m seeing, but at second I start making out words from what looks like a digital invitation. I step into the enclosed area, letting the curtain close behind me, and take the phone from her hand. And yeah, I enjoy the feel of her hand under mine, however brief the touch lasts.
I read aloud in my most bored drawl. “You are cordially invited to the engagement party of Amy McFadden and Dawson Clark, to be celebrated at blah blah on…” I look closer. “Oh, this is in less than a month. Didn’t you say they started dating just last November?”
“Turned out it was since way longer,” she spits out with annoyance.
The plane tilts a little and I have to spread my feet wider to not pitch. Just in case, I place a hand on the cabinet above her. “You said you don’t have feelings for him anymore, so why are you gnashing your teeth?” I ask, returning her phone.
“Because…” As she pockets it, she draws in a sharp breath. “At the rate I’m going, there’s no way I’ll find a boyfriend for Friendsgiving, forget within a month.”
I close my mouth. Open it again. Close once more.
Boyfriend.
She wants a boyfriend.
The thing I’ve never really been.
I’ve dated. I’ve fooled around. And the only time I thought using the boyfriend label was fine, it lead to one of the most prominent episodes in my collection of childhood trauma. I don’t need to get a psychology degree to know that it’s the main reason why I never wanted to try again.
Except I really don’t think someone like Hope, after everything she’s gone through, would be satisfied with just being a date. She wants to be a girlfriend. Probably a wife after that. How the hell can I turn myself into boyfriend or husband material when I’m simply not?
“What if…” I trail off, trying to wet my suddenly dry mouth. “What if you keep me as your backup plan? You know, in case you don’t find the boyfriend you’re looking for in time.”
“Oh.” She blinks fast. This close I notice she has long eyelashes. “Um, would that be an option?”
“Sure.” I shrug, acting much cooler than I feel, considering I’m so hot under the collar. “My pride as your dating coach is on the line. I won’t have you show up empty?—”
The wordhandedvanishes in thin air, replaced by the yelp that comes from her. The plane tilts forward, sharp enough that Hope loses the battle. She goes from leaning against the counter to crashing against my chest. My arms close around her and I’ve never been happier that I don’t have actual chicken legs, because I’m able to keep our balance and not send us crashing through the curtain and to the middle of the aisle. Overhead, thebeep that indicates we should be at our seats with our seatbelts fastened comes on.
But we stay put. Hope, probably because she’s trapped in my arms. Me, because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“You okay?” I whisper, looking down at the top of her head.
But that’s also when she tilts her head back. And our noses brush.
Her eyes widen and I can feel mine doing the same. Wiggling, she wedges her hands between us and pushes me away. “Yeah, thanks. You?” And steps back against the counter again, putting as much distance as the space physically allows her.
Um.
Excuse me but…
Ouch.
I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I’m good. We should probably take our seats, though.”
“Right.”
