Page 59 of The Amazing Date

“Shocker. Even after spending four days round the clock with each other, you two are still strangers.” Kelly’s words sting as I attempt to process how I could get something so simple wrong.

“Watch and learn,” Caitlin states as the blondes jockey toward the end of the corridor, awaiting their turn.

“You’ll get it next time.” Ronnie’s comforting words do nothing to hide my shame as I avoid his gaze and step in line behind him and his wife.

I press my back onto the cold concrete corridor and catch Rylee’s gaze. “I’m sorry, I thought for sure you preferred reading on planes. That’s all I’ve seen you do since this contest started.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. It’s a trick question. When I completed the survey months ago, I answered with Gabby as my travel companion in mind. We always talk the entire flight. It’s one of the few times we are in the same place at the same time with uninterrupted time. How could you have known?”

“I guess.” I still feel bad. I should have figured that out. Not the first time in this contest I’ve made this mistake.

Because of my misstep, both teams are now ahead of us. What makes it worse is baseball has no clock. Our disadvantage can be anywhere from ten minutes to two hours. This is the final city; there is no way we’d be able to overcome a two-hour lead. Because of my failure, we may never recover.

Chapter 34

Rylee

Thirty-five minutes later, it is my turn to step to the plate, literally. Both Kelly and Ronnie had no problem with the travel companion questions. Ronnie and Thelma have been married longer than I’ve been alive, and Kelly and Caitlin are not only best friends but share one brain, apparently.

We have gone from first place to last in the span of two innings. If I don’t get the questions right, then we will be stuck here to repeat this godforsaken task over and over like a nightmarish Groundhog Day.

The crowd is all pumped up from the seventh-inning stretch. Feet-stomping, beer-slurping, happy fans turn the stadium into a party. The Mets are leading the Milwaukee Brewers eight to two, a win virtually guaranteed. The Brewers are performing almost as poorly as we are.

Roberto is standing on the race mat a few yards away, shoulders slumped, still beating himself up for a question he was not prepared to answer. Maybe instead of joking with Ronnie and Thelma on the flight to New York, I should have forced us to study. Would it have made a difference? Probably not. This game is too unpredictable. Watching how Ronnie and Thelma run the race has been eye-opening. They don’t need to cram piles of useless information because they have been running this race for decades.

Every day they learn. Every day they work at their relationship, understand their partner’s likes and dislikes, how they respond to life’s challenges, the good, the bad. No wonder they are still here. No wonder they are nipping on the heels of the blondes and we are in last place. Wilma Reed is a genius.

The individual trials are just a metaphor for life’s challenges. It’s up to two individuals to work together, lean on the skills and strengths of the partnership at the right time to overcome them. Roberto didn’t fail the last challenge. We did. As a team.

For this next challenge, it won’t be just me on the mat. I’ll have the shared history of everything Roberto and I have experienced. I’ll have the four-year history of listening to Gabby rant on and on about her incredible brother, knowledge my guilt-filled ears sopped up like a sponge. I feel the love and support of Gabby on one shoulder and the warmth and comfort of Roberto on the other.

I step in front of the MC, the cameraman an afterthought. While the Mets are chatting in their dugout without a care in the world, the Brewers are all on the top step of theirs. Gloves in hand, their eyes focused on me, they wait to take the field and get back to their game.

I catch the eye of their star player, Crush Caldwell. He is a tall, graceful, easy-on-the-eyes superstar whose glare is filled with heat and impatience. Crush is one of those athletes whose profile elevates above the sport. His name and image have crossed into the mainstream. Even non-baseball fans such as me know who he is. Late-night talk shows, national television commercials, and even a hosting gig on Saturday Night Live. His nickname originated back in high school because of the damage he can do to a baseball; however, once he reached the big leagues and his fan base expanded to include every woman on the planet, his moniker of Crush took on a whole other meaning.

“Hurry up, sweetheart. We have a real game to finish.” His comment is not sexual or threatening; he appears to be annoyed at losing and can’t wait to get back to the game. I can relate. His impatient glare transforms to a challenging one as he shifts his attention to Roberto. “I bet she knows you way better than you know her.”

I strain my ears over the crowd’s noise to take in Roberto’s response. “She always has.” I catch the look of pride on his face as he admits to a world-famous athlete something he’d never admitted to me.

Butterflies swarm in my stomach as I let the words marinate. The loud rumble from the announcer fails to rattle me. “Question one. If your companion could choose one place to fly to, which would it be? Los Angeles, New York, San Juan, or Paris.”

The words fly out my mouth before the fourth city is mentioned. “San Juan.” I stare down at the perfectly cut grass, the cheers from the crowd telling me all I need to know.

“Question two. Does your companion prefer to arrive at the airport well before the stated time of arrival, at the time of arrival, or cut it close?”

Traveling out of LA with their notorious traffic, Roberto always arrives early, never knowing what he will encounter on the road. Last time Gabby visited him in LA, he took her to the airport three hours before her departure time. “Well before the stated time.”

I ball my hands into fists by my side, my stare intent on the grass, not bothering to peek at the jumbotron. The crowd cheers once again, and I prepare for the third question.

“Final question. Checked bag or carry-on?”

A snicker escapes my lips as I recall our incident with TSA. This man carries his life with him when he travels. “Checked bag.”

I don’t wait for the cheers, racing toward Roberto, who is waiting with open arms. He catches me as we spin, kissing in front of the world. I feel like Drew Barrymore kissing the man of my dreams in front of a raucous baseball crowd. I will pay Wilma a million dollars to get a copy of this video.

Hand in hand, Roberto and I follow the usher back to the corridor entrance but not before being interrupted by Crush Caldwell, jogging out the dugout, glove in hand. He towers over both of us, easily six three or four, with lean muscle and the most gorgeous hazel eyes I’ve ever seen. His large palm lands on Roberto’s shoulder. “Told you. She’s a keeper. Now, go win that thing. Tag me on IG when you do.”

“Oh my god, of course, yes, absolutely,” Roberto stammers. One of baseball’s biggest stars has asked him to tag him, and Roberto is fanboying. I get a glimpse into what a teenaged Roberto must’ve been like. It’s freaking adorable. Color floods his cheeks, and he freaking bows.

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