Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(77)

And now I feel terrible that this man would ever think I was not worried about his safety. Or that having a deathly allergy is an inconvenience for me. “Oh my gosh, absolutely. Let’s move.”

“Great, thank you,” he says, extending his hand for me to proceed him first.

When I turn and face Will, he immediately diverts his eyes and tries to hide himself behind the bill of his hat. He holds his hand up to tug the hat down farther over his eyes, and this makes me laugh. As if he didn’t think he was distinct enough on his own, he’s shielding himself with his tattooed arm. Nice.

I walk up the bleachers and stop just in front of Will. “Excuse me, sir, is this seat taken?”



* * *



—

Both guilty persons turn their eyes up to me and then to the man over my shoulder. “Of course! Have a seat there, young lady!” says Amelia in the worst impression of a male country accent I’ve ever heard.

Will—the devil—bites his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Thank you,” I say solemnly while taking the seat next to Will. Brandon takes the seat beside me and now we are one big awkward human sandwich. Should I just acknowledge that I know these two loons beside me and get it all out in the open? If I do, however, that might stir up a lot of questions. None of which I feel like answering.

Suddenly, Brandon’s nephew steps up to bat, and Brandon shoots up from his seat clapping and shouting encouragements.

I take the opportunity to whip my head toward Will and Amelia. “What the helicopters are you two doing here?” I hiss.

“Just enjoying America’s favorite pastime.” If I could describe Will’s expression in one word it would be provoking.

I shove my elbow into his ribs. “Don’t you dare smile right now! You both need to go. Immediately. Amelia, you look ridiculous.”

“Leave before I find out who wins the game? Never. We’re not fair-weather fans,” Will says way too over the top.

“Knock it off. And you,” I say leaning toward Amelia. “Your mustache is falling off!”

She gasps and presses it back on with a grin. “It’s pretty convincing, isn’t it? It was a leftover from a Halloween party costume.”

“No. You look suspicious and mildly alarming.”

Will shrugs. “Told her not to wear it, but she insisted.”

“You shouldn’t have come at all! I don’t need a bodyguard.”

A smile touches his mouth. “Executive protection a—”

I hold up a menacing finger. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Brandon does the dad whistle through two fingers, and it’s so loud I have to clutch my head. He finally sits back down when his nephew gets three strikes. He then leans around me to indulge in my worst nightmare: my date having a conversation with Will, the one man he’ll never live up to. “Hi, I’m Brandon. And I guess you’ve already met Annie?”

I watch the moment Amelia slips back into character. It’s painful.

She smiles so big her mustache unpeels in the right corner. “Hi there! M’name’s Joe! And this here is my brother, Sam.”

I watch in silent dismay as the two men’s hands cross over me to join in a man shake. The sight of Will’s butterfly hand clasping my date’s very normal one makes me irrationally angry. I shouldn’t be able to compare the two men so directly like this. It’s not fair to Brandon. And when Will’s eyes cut to me for the briefest of heated moments, I’m afraid that the thought He licked my neck this morning is projected onto my face. Will’s invisible fingerprints all over my body are now glowing like a radioactive substance.

“Nice to meet you both,” says Brandon.

“Likewise.”

Brandon sits back and then leans into my side. “That’s definitely a woman with a fake mustache, right?”

“It appears to be so, yes,” I say, my gaze fixed forward, wishing I could drop the two people beside me into a black hole somewhere.

“I think moving to the country is going to take more getting used to than I expected.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve lived here my whole life and I’m still not used to it.”

He laughs. “Not sure it does.”

Will crosses his arms, and his knuckles brush the back of my arm. My rude, rude stomach barrel-rolls. I want to glare at Will.

A conversation Amelia is having with the woman in front of her suddenly grabs my attention. “I’ve never seen you at these games before. Who did you say you were here to see play?” says the woman decked out in Little Grizzlies gear.

“Never seen us, huh? Strange. We’re here every weekend to cheer on little Tommy.”

“Timmy,” Will corrects.

“Right. Little Timmy. Poor thing never was very good at baseball, but I tell him to keep on trying, just like his aunt!”

“Uncle,” Will says.

“Uncle, right. Oh look, there he is getting up to bat!” Amelia stands up, her jeans (that is, Noah’s jeans) swallowing her whole, and yells, “Go, Timmy!”

“That’s my son…Matthew,” says the woman.

Amelia pretends to squint heavily. “Well shit. That’s what I get for leaving my glasses in the car. Brother, can you see Timmy?”