Page 41 of Dear Pink

Gabe radiates sex appeal, even on a kickball field. He wears an ass-hugging pair of shorts. They drop below his waist, leaving a glimpse of his rock-hard abs. On his blue tee, an adorable kitten with gigantic whiskers covers the front. Nothing about Gabe could be ferocious. Drool-worthy, yes.

Eager fans fill the stands, cheering. I sit in the middle of the enthusiastic crowd, my mouth agape. I fidget and wiggle on the bench, unsure of what to do. The other team’s jerseys have 2 Legit 2 Kick printed on them. I chuckle. Are they lawyers?

As Gabe steps on base, my attention drifts to his strong legs and his shoulder muscles bulging through his thin jersey. The best part of the game is when Gabe checks on me. He meets my gaze every single time and gives me his signature boyish grin. His adorableness makes me lose my mind. The urge to throw my new lace panties at him and ignore the people watching threatens to overpower me.

What’s happening? My sweat could fill a bucket. I wish I had a glass of cold water. I would pour the liquid over my head. I snort out loud and pivot in my seat, hoping no one heard me chortle like a hyena. I’ve lost it.

The woman beside me catches my eye. Oh, god, I recognize her face, but don’t remember her name. Who is she?

The brunette adjusts her sunglasses. “It’s Hannah, right? How’s it going?”

“Yes, Hannah. I’m sorry. I recognize you, but can’t place how we’re acquainted.”

“It’s Sasha from Vine & Dine. I waited on you and Gabe.”

Of course, Sasha-Sexpot is here. Is Natasha-Good-in-Bed here too? “Right.” I tuck my hair behind my ear to cover my complete and utter embarrassment. “What an unexpected night it turned out to be.”

“Gabe’s such a goof.” Sasha shakes out her stylish bangs. “But a hunky one, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” I say breathless and go stiff, praying she didn’t catch my swooning voice.

She wrinkles her brow. “So, you two arejustfriends?”

“Yep,” I say quickly. “Just friends, nothing more.”

“I see.” She studies me with an expression indicating she doesn’t believe me. Hell, lady, I’m unsure too. I’m puzzled by the whole situation. My emotions jangle all over the place. And why is Sasha here . . . again, crashing our date. But this isn’t a real date, like dinner wasn’t a date. We’re only bike friends. Right?

Sasha stares at me. Does she hear the insane ideas spinning around in my head? At least I hope I didn’t blurt out my manic ramblings. Maybe I should leave before I make a fool of myself?

“Ugh,” Sasha says, rolling her eyes and shoulder bumping me. “She’shere? I wish she would move on with her life already.”

I nod, unclear who she is talking about.

“She’s such a bitch,” Sasha whispers to me conspiratorially.

Am I supposed to agree? I glance around. Do I know this supposed bitch? I follow Sasha’s sightline to the woman one bleacher over and to my left, and holy Jell-O, is that Gwyneth Paltrow? Long blonde hair, tall, thin body, actor perfection. Gwyneth goes to kickball games? Isthisthe bitch?

Sasha nudges me. “Have you had the displeasure of meeting the infamous Elise yet?”

“Elise?”

“You know, Gabe’s evil ex.”

My blood boils. Another ex? Sasha, Natasha, and now Elise? What the hell did I get myself into? Why did Gabe invite me to this game? This is messed up. Gabe hasn’t caught my eye or flirted from the field in a while. He gazes directly at his super-hot Goopy Goop—or whatever they call that popular website—girlfriend.

“I’m relieved they called off the wedding,” Sasha continues. “That was a fiasco in the making, though the reception venue would have been gorgeous and well-styled. She wouldn’t scrimp on the dinner and drinks either.”

“I can hear you, Sasha,” Elise says, whipping her head around, a golden strand catches the corner of my eye. “You’re louder than a chainsaw in the forest.” She gives Sasha a death glare.

I shrink, squinting my left eye, and hope she doesn’t turn my way. She does, giving me the same foul glare.

Sasha ignores her scowl and smiles innocently. “Oh Elise, is that you?”

An inopportune chuckle bubbles out of me. I’m in a TV drama.

Elise hears me and focuses her daggers in my direction. “Who the hell are you, munchkin?”

“Oh, she didnotjust call you a munchkin?” Sasha says, daring me to . . . to do what? Slug her? Call her a beautiful leggy monster? What the actual hell is going on here? Elise doesn’t give me time to do anything.

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