I notice the small gathering of fans, including a few kids waving their arms around to get my attention. Walking over, I sign a few baseballs, gloves, and a jersey, but my attention remains on the two guys standing on the periphery as they chat amongst themselves.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see the hazel-eyed temptress still in her seat, feet kicked up and her head propped on her hand, appearing sound asleep. Temptress is exactly the correct term for her. Even with her damn alluring eyes closed, she’s pulling me in. One of the guys chatting was the one sitting next to her. And I patiently sign my way towards him.
“Great game, man.” He offers his hand, and I return the handshake.
“Thanks. Your girlfriend doesn’t seem quite as intrigued.” And why is it that’s still scratching on my nerves? I had one of the best starts of my career, and one person out of forty thousand not noticing is bothering the shit outta me.
“Oh yeah, Avery.” He nods in her direction as he chuckles. “We’re not dating. I roped her into coming. Best-friend bro code. She’s not a fan. I mean … baseball fan, not that she’s not a fan of yours. She isn’t all that into sports in general.”
Avery. “I noticed.” A little more than I should’ve. A few of those points make me feel better, the most significant being that she’s not his girlfriend. Which shouldn’t matter in the least to me.
“I should probably wake her up,” he laughs as I sign something else that’s thrust in front of me.
“Allow me.” I give the small crowd a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Hopping over the waist-high wall, I maneuver over to the seats where she’s as comfortably reclined as you can be in a hard, plastic stadium seat. Tilting my head, I watch as she stirs a bit before I plop in the seat next to her, my focus trailing up her tanned thighs. She sits up, rubbing her eyes while mine roam the soft-looking skin of her neck down to her chest where a delicate gold chain disappears, my fingers itching to trail along the same path. Shit. Since when are jean shorts and a button-down shirt so damn sexy? And more importantly, why is the clothing more appealing than any of the Coyote attire that every other fan was donning?
“It’s about time,” she says in a groggy voice.
“Great game, huh?” I grin as she turns a shocked expression to me. No way she’d expected to hear any voice other than that of her friend. At least I hold her attention for a few seconds before she gives me a once-over and jumps out of her chair.
“Yes. It was,” she says, pulling her bag onto her shoulder and surveying the area, spotting her friend. She gives him a look, eyes going big like she’s saying, Why are you over there and I’m over here? Help me!
He doesn’t though, which thoroughly amuses me. Instead, he gives her a wave as he stands talking, all casual as you please. When she moves to walk away, I ask, “How would you know since you kept your nose in a book the entire time?”
She immediately halts, her shoulders stiff as she turns to glare at me. Out of all the things I expected to see on her face, annoyance wasn’t one of them, and I can’t help but smile as she says, “It was a really good book.”
“Apparently not good enough to keep you awake.” Why do I want to know what （or more like who） keeps her awake at night? Annnnnd why the hell am I effortlessly picturing one of the many ways I’d keep her up all night? Preferably under me, in a darkened bedroom, her eyes on mine, and her attention definitely not on a damn book.
“That’s because I finished it.”
“Glad you got your happy ending.” As soon as it spills out of my mouth, a film reel flips through my mind of all the different ways she could finish, but from the look of hatred she’s giving me, I doubt we’re picturing the same happy ending.
“Ditto. Great game. Welcome to Canaan Falls and all that shit.” She waves her hand around, dismissing me before turning to make her getaway.
“This is my hometown. I grew up here. How about you, Avery?” I want to know something about her, anything other than she loathes the very thing my life revolves around.
She gives me a wary look before glancing back to her friend, but he’s still paying her no mind. “Yes. I grew up in Canaan Falls.” She starts walking, calling over her shoulder. “I really have to go.”
With that, she hurries over to her buddy, pulling at his arm. I have no idea what she’s saying, but it’s clear to anyone with eyes that she’s bitching him out. And it’s also clear I’m part of the problem when the dude’s eyes dart to me. He’s a good sport though and obviously used to being on the receiving end of her irritation since he gives me a happy wave to which she responds by pulling down his arm and lightly slapping his chest. The guy chuckles before she pivots and heads up the stairs leading out of the stadium.