Page 42 of Dear Pink

She narrows her eyes. “Are you here to support my love muffin, little one?”

Love muffin? Little one? I check around for a camera crew. Am I beingPunk’d? Thank goodness Sasha comes to my defense.

“You mean Dr. Russo?” Sasha’s claws are ready to pop out. “Yeah, we’re here to support him and my boyfriend.” She points to a Dwayne “the Rock'' Johnson look-alike on the field. His muscles have their own set of muscles. The tan god glistens with the most slippery, sexiest sweat ever seen. He wears a red 2 Legit 2 Kick jersey stretched across his hulking pectoral muscles.

“Well, hot damn, Sasha,” I say.

Elise turns her attention to me. “Gabe is my fiancé.”

Fiancé? I choke on my tongue. I have no words.

“WasElise,” Sasha blurts. “Wasyour fiancé.”

“Never you mind. He will be again after tonight.”

Sasha rolls her eyes, and I swear they almost fall out of her head. “Whatever, Elise. You’re delusional. He won’t take your ass back after what you did.”

That shuts her up. Elise turns around and whispers to the woman next to her.

Sasha jumps to her feet and cheers for her bodybuilder boyfriend, oblivious to the fact I’ve died a gruesome death beside her, my innards ripped out and thrown onto the field. I need to get the hell out of here, but before I move the crowd collectively gasps. A woman lies on the field, grabbing her knee and crying. The Ferocious Felines surround her, and two men help her limp away. Gabe shakes his head at the referee.

An imposing man with tattoos covering his arms yells into the bleachers, “Anyone in the stands wanna play? We don’t want to forfeit the game.”

This is my cue to leave. I don’t relish the thought of hanging around to witness the romantic reunion of Elise and Gabe after the game. It’s too much humiliation in one night. He said we were friends, and I should have listened. He didn’t kiss me or ask for another date. It’s time I get the message through my thick, stubborn skull. When I stand, the crowd roars. Oh, god, what now? Do I have ketchup on my ass?

“Yay! We have a volunteer.”

Sasha hustles me off the bleachers. “Elise wouldn’t play kickball to save her life. Way to show her, Hannah.”

What does she mean? I didn’t show anybody a damn thing. I need to get the hell out of the ballpark. The fans in the stands clear a path for me, everyone guiding me toward the field. I mean to go left, not straight, but I’m stuck riding this wave until the end.

The tattoo guy holds out his hand and lowers me to the ground. “Thank you for helping. We’re in the bottom half with one play left. Ever play kickball before?”

I fall speechless and apparently deaf with shock. Gabe jogs over and says something, all the while grinning from ear to ear and touching my arm. I don’t understand any of his words. Did I volunteer to get my ass kicked in this game? I glance around a second time for the hidden camera crew. Nobody in sight except a bunch of Ferocious Felines smiling widely.

Wake up. This is happening. For reals.Libby screams into the abyss of my mind.

I inspect my pink Chuck Taylors. At least I didn’t go with my new gold slide wedges today.

They place me at third base. “Hold the line, Hannah,” Gabe says with a worried expression.

“Hold what line?” I ask, but no one answers. The smiles disappear, and everyone wears concerned faces. The sweat pools in my perfectly constructed cleavage. I should have worn my trusty sports bra tonight. Damn you, Tina, and your pretty lace lingerie.

I study my fellow Ferocious Felines. They take a wide stance and pose in a strange squat move. I copy their position and hold stationary. I doubt anyone will kick a ball in my direction. Wait. If they do, should I catch the ball or kick it? How did they play earlier? Cheese and crackers. I should have paid attention to the game and not to Gabe’s sculpted body. He sure didn’t focus on me after Elise arrived. His fiancée? He has a damn fiancée. It’s Jack-Shit déjà vu. Damn it. I should have known better.

I watch Sasha’s hulk of a boyfriend take the mound for his turn to kick. They pitch and the ball soars through the air straight for me. Damn all red bouncing balls to hell. The object flies high in the air, arching straight in my direction. I back away. There’s no way to kick a ball out of the air. I must catch the huge red weapon headed for my head. I search my brain for the rules from middle school PE, but my only memory involves the coach yelling to run fast. Should I run away from the ball?

Gabe screams my name. Did he say catch the ball? Who the hell knows? The other team members cheer, so I must be doing something right. My hands get ready to catch this son of a bitch, but I’m suddenly aware I should block my face instead. I don't want a fat lip to complete this disastrous evening. Before I change my position, the ball soars straight into my arms. I hold the sucker tight to my chest and freeze.

“And you’re out. That’s three and ends the game,” The umpire yells at Sasha’s boyfriend.

The Ferocious Felines surround me, lifting me in the air, chanting, “Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.” Shock sweeps over me. Mr. Fancy holds me in his arms, hugging me close to his chest. The adrenaline pours out of my body and the shock melts away. I sink into Gabe’s sweaty, sexy body and lose myself. Why does he affect me like this?

“That was amazing, Hannah. Eric’s the best kicker on their team. You did it. You won us the championship.”

I blink. “I did?”

“Yeah, Pink. You did.”

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