Page 14 of Raine Out (Grand Slam 2)

Alex

As I walk into my house, the smell of tostones fills the air. My housekeeper, Rosa, knows they’re my favorite. I won’t let her make them for me while we’re in season because I try to eat healthy—except for the chicken fingers, of course.

“The season’s not over yet, Rosa,” I yell, stopping in the foyer to let the intoxicating smell of fried food fill my nostrils.

“One more game,” she yells back. As I turn the corner into the kitchen, she turns around and points the spatula at me. “That’s nothing. I want to feed you something other than baked chicken, rice, and vegetables before you leave to go home. Your mother will think I starve you.”

She scoops the rest of the tostones out of the frying pan and sets the plate in front of me. I grab one and drop it quickly when it burns my fingers.

She hands me a fork, shaking her head. “They just came out of the skillet. Sometimes you’re the smartest person I know and sometimes the dumbest.”

I spear a tostone off the plate and dip it into her homemade hot sauce.

“Damn,” I say as I savor the mix of sweet and spicy, “your sauce is still the best I’ve ever tasted. Are you ever going to tell me what spices you put in it?”

“If I give you the recipe, you won’t need me. And I won’t tell your mother that you like my sauce better than hers—or that you cuss.”

“I appreciate it.” I grab the glass of sweet iced tea she slides across the counter. “Sugar and fried food? Really, Rosa? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Your post-game smoothie is in the refrigerator,” she says, pointing over her shoulder. “The mangoes were so fresh at the market this week, so I used them instead of strawberries. It’s banana/mango—”

“And kale?” I grab another tostone on the way over to the refrigerator.

“Yes, I put your disgusting weeds in it.” She sticks her tongue out. “They make it taste like dirt.”

“Thank you.” I kiss the top of her head as I pass by. “Is Ant here today? I thought I heard the leaf blower when we drove up.”

She wipes her hands on her apron. “Yes, he’s trying to get the yard in shape before you leave.”

“It’s already in shape,” I say, taking a long drink of the smoothie. She’s right it tastes like fruit-flavored dirt. “I swear he grooms every blade of the grass individually.”

“Probably. He’s obsessively detailed,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He doesn’t get that from me or his father. It drives us crazy most days.”

She puts an entire roasted chicken on my plate and dishes out a side of rice and vegetables from the stove. “How are you not tired of eating this?”

“It’s a good recovery meal for my body,” I say as I tear into the chicken. “And the way you cook it, it always tastes different.”

“I try, but I won’t miss cooking it in the off-season. Between you and Seb, I’m about tired of chicken. Are you still heading out on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but not to Puerto Rico,” I say, switching from Spanish to English. “Switch to English. You said you wanted to practice.”

She sighs, but switches. “You’re not going home?”

“I decided I’m going to Seb’s wedding, so St. John first and then home.”

“Ah, I’m glad you’re going to the wedding!” She claps her hands together. “Sophie will be so happy. I like her. She’s sweet, but very feasty, too. She’ll keep Seb on his toes.”

“Feasty?” I look up from my plate.

“Yes. It’s like spirited, right?”

“Do you mean feisty?” I grab a piece of paper and pen off the counter and spell it out. “Like this?”

“Yes, but I think it should be pronounced feasty,” she says. “I’ll never be fluent in English. How did you get so good?”

“Your English is fantastic, Rosa,” I say, patting her hand. “And I’ve been bi-lingual almost since birth. Remember? My uncle grew up in Ohio. I spent a lot of time with him and my aunt when I was a kid.”

“Plus, you went to college here. That makes a big difference. Are you still trying to help me get Antonio to apply for college?”

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