Page 65 of Flirtasaurus
“Ooh, he’s talking smack again! Look at him! I love it when he talks smack!”
Ralph laughs and sips on his overpriced but hella refreshing beer. I’m knocking one back too. We’re sitting in a packed stadium with a perfect view of home base, and I am getting an absolute kick out of watching the Phillies catcher trying to psych out the Yankees player up at bat.
“Man, I haven’t been to a baseball game since I was a kid,” I say as I look up at the rows and rows of fans in red, speckled with the occasional brave spectator dressed in navy blue.
“Well, I’m glad we could remedy that,” Ralph says between sips.
“It’s so much more theatrical than I remember it being! Such drama!”
“You think? Most people would tell you that baseball is on the slower side.”
“Sure, the actual progression of the game is kind of slow, but that just gives you time to check out all the behind-the-scenes action. Like that! Look! He’s stealing a base! He’s gonna steal it! Go, dude, go! Aw damn, they got him.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be supporting your home team?” Ralph laughs and puts his arm around me.
He’s been doing things like that off and on throughout the day, and I have to admit that I love it. Slipping his fingers through mine while we walked down Boathouse Row, rubbing my shoulders while waiting in line for ice cream cones at Bassetts. Every time he touches me, I only want him to touch me more.
“Oh, I totally support the home team, but I one hundred percent appreciate that guy’s chutzpah.”
We’re quiet for a moment while we take in the game. I enjoy the feel of the warm breeze on my skin. I watch it blow the shaggy brown locks of his hair.
I find myself wanting to trace the line of his profile with my fingers, letting them linger on his pillowy lips. But I don’t because that would be weird. Right?
“So,” I say. “I tried to act all cool and blasé when we first walked in, but holy shit, these seats are amazing! How did you get these? Wait a second. Are you one of those secret rich guys who acts all down to earth, but then when I go to your apartment for the first time, I suddenly learn that you live in a massive penthouse overlooking the entire city skyline with floor-to-ceiling windows, all-leather and metal furniture, a sleek, stocked bar with the world’s finest whiskey collection, and a walk-in closet filled to the brim with tailored ten-thousand-dollar suits?”
He laughs. “Uh, no. I live in a studio apartment in a fourth-floor walk-up. And I thought we already covered the fact that my ‘bar’ consists of the $29.99 RASKOG Utility ‘rolly’ cart from IKEA filled with a few bottles of Goldschläger.”
“You even know the name of the thing? Yeah, that atrocity needs to go.”
“Noted. Kidding about the Goldschläger, by the way.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“But listen, Calliope.” He gets really close to me and lowers his voice so only I can hear. “I didn’t realize you were so eager to come over to my apartment. All you have to do is say the word and—”
“Alright, wise guy, I didn’t say I was—”
“You’re welcome at my place anytime,” he says, punctuating his words with a gentle, quick kiss to my lips. I feel that butterfly sensation in my belly that everyone seems to talk about, but I’d never felt until now.
We’re still super close, and I want to get closer, but because I’m me… I break the moment.
“FYI, I’m about to down a second hot dog with full fixings right before your very eyes.”
“I figured you were. Why else would we have bought it?”
He reaches for his own food and takes a bite.
“I’m just warning you because I don’t want to hear smack about how a lady is supposed to eat or any other nonsense like that.”
“Lady, you eat whatever the hell you want. And for the record, any guy comments on your eating habits? He needs to go. Oh fuck me, this is good.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” he says after taking another bite of his cheesesteak. “This is just effing delicious.”
“Not that I’m judging, but didn’t you say you were a vegan?”
“Yeah, but you can’t have a Philly day and not have a cheesesteak!”
