Page 40 of Dear Pink

Game starts at 6.

A kickball game is a harmless event, and I have nothing else scheduled tonight. Anything’s better than staying home and eating a bowl of cereal for dinner. I check my desk calendar for today’s plan: “45 minutes training for Hotter'N Hell.” The neon post-it attached reads, “DON’T TALK YOURSELF OUT OF RIDING.” Stop yelling at me, bossy post-it.

Another text from Gabe.

I’m an excellent kicker. You should watch me run the bases. I kick a home run almost every single time. Trying to entice you to come. Did it work?

My mouth breaks into an obnoxious smirk. A home runeverytime? I bet. A guy like Gabe is used to scoring. If only I could round to second base with his big hands. Libby’s right. It’s been too long since I had any action.

You want me to watch your base runs, huh? I bet you say that to all the girls.

A few minutes tick by and he doesn't respond. Great. That’s what I get for flirting. I’m an idiot. I move the cursor so it won’t go into sleep mode. What is my problem? I’m drawn to Gabe and his tight ass in shorts and the perspiration glistening off his buff arms . . . Yep. I definitely should avoid any situation where he might take off his shirt, revealing those hard six-pack abs. A drop of sweat rolls down my neck, and I tear off my hood. I’m suddenly on fire.

“Why is your face bright red?” Maude asks, placing a thermos on my desk. “My God, Hannah, you’re sweating. Are you ill?” She steps away as if I have Ebola.

I peel off the parka, my shirt clings to my chest. “No, I’m fine.” I stand and grab her thermos. “I’m hungry, and I’ll get you a tea refill.” I don’t wait for an answer and race to the elevators.

What’s wrong with me today? Maybe Iamsick? I hope the Kale Queen put chocolate granola bars out today.

In the elevator, my phone vibrates with a text from Gabe.

Ha. Didn’t think of it that way. Promise. I couldn’t flirt if I tried. Come tonight?

Of course, he didn’t mean to flirt with me. Geez, how embarrassing. He doesn’t even want to kiss me. He made that point very clear in the bathroom debacle. Mr. Fancy is out of my league.

I should act responsibly and ride around the lake after work, but watching Mr. Fancy run bases sounds more enticing. Train for my race or check out his kickball game? Libby wants me to broaden my horizons, and she’s spot on. I deserve more fun in my life, damn it.

The elevator doors open, and I step out onto the silent fifth floor. The break room is deserted. No Nerf salesmen in sight. I grab a granola bar and a bag of nuts out of the basket on the kitchen table. Shoving a handful of almonds in my mouth, I text Gabe.

Sounds fun, but I haven’t played kickball since middle school. Do I have to play?

He responds instantly.

Not unless you want to. You can sit on the sidelines and cheer for the Ferocious Felines.

“The what?” I say out loud, giggling.

Ferocious Felines? You're joking, right?

I swear I see his smirk before he replies.

I wish. It’s better than the Kitty Kickers. Had to put my foot down. No respectable veterinarian could play under such a terrible name.

I choke on my almonds and spit the rest in the sink. He’s hilarious. A door opens in the hall, and I freeze. Crap. My inane noises caught the Kale Queen’s attention. I’m in no mood to discuss the dietary benefits of power greens. I rush to the elevator and pulse the button twelve times, hoping I beat her footsteps rounding the corner. The doors close and my phone vibrates in my hand.

Norbuck Park. 6:00. Easy to find me. Search for blue T-shirts with enormous whiskers across the front.

When I sit at my desk, I text a thumbs-up emoji and check my watch. Only 2:00. It will be a long day.

“Where’s my tea, Hannah?” Maude yells over her cubicle wall.

Ugh. I left her thermos on the counter upstairs. I grab my sketchbook and jump to my feet. “I left it brewing. I’ll go get it.” I jog to the elevators with no intention of returning. I crave a drawing session. Forget Sandra’s deadlines. Maude’s tea will also have to wait.

***

At 6:20 I climb the bleachers to one of the few empty seats. I didn't expect a crowd on a weekday. The lot was full, so I parked on the street in the surrounding neighborhood, making me late.

I scan the field, searching for blue T-shirts. I spot Gabe at the same time he spies me. He gives me a big wave and points to his team. Waving back in cut-off jean shorts and a gingham halter top that pushes my breasts together, I’m the lead actress in a teen movie. I haven’t felt this excited since high school.

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