More, he wouldn’t have to remember how it had felt.
“You thinking about that new deck already, bro?” Drake broke into his thoughts.
Peter shook his head and looked at the field just as JP hit a grounder and made it to first base. “Nah.”
Drake laced his fingers behind his head and stared straight ahead. “Yeah, me neither.”
“HEY, LESLIE. CAN you hand me my soda down by your foot?” said her sister-in-law, Lorelei Cutter, as she sat back down in her seat. “Sorry that took forever. The line for the bathroom is outrageous.”
Leslie glanced at her sister-in-law from behind her Ray-Bans. “Are you feeling okay, hon? You don’t look so hot.” Her normally tawny skin was super pale and she looked worked.
The brunette shook back her long hair and sighed. “I’m not sure, actually. I’m afraid I might be fighting something. My stomach has been off for a few days now.”
Leslie handed her the soda, all concern. “You think it’s the flu?” Seemed to her the wrong time of the season for it, but who knew? Stranger things had happened.
Lorelei shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m not feeling achy and I don’t have a headache. It’s just my stomach.”
Huh. Maybe it was a virus. “How’s Mark been feeling?” she asked and scanned the field, looking for her brother. She found him on deck and about to bat. As she watched he strode up to the plate and prepared for the pitch.
Glancing back at Lorelei, Leslie found her staring at Mark with a silly grin on her face. “He’s been fine,” she said, her eyes glued on her husband. “Healthy as a horse.”
Thinking that her soda looked pretty darn good, Leslie nabbed it from her and stole a sip. “Thanks, love. I was parched,” she said as she handed it back.
“If I didn’t adore you so much I’d clock you for swiping my sugary caffeinated beverage.”
Leslie grinned at her, knowing the woman didn’t mean a word of her threat. “Wow. Somebody’s feeling a wee bit bitchy today too.”
Lorelei blew out a breath and slouched in her stadium seat, propping a foot on the empty one in front of her. “I know it. And I feel terrible about it too, but it just won’t stop. It’s like I have PMS on steroids.”
Leslie could relate. She was a monster every month for about a week. “No worries.”
Someone walking behind them whacked her on the back of the head. “I’m sorry!” the person exclaimed.
Whipping around in her seat, Leslie came up against a teenage girl holding a small mountain of hot dogs who was trying to make her way down the aisle. “It’s all right, hon.”
The girl smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”
Turning back around as the scent of ball field dogs hit her nose, Leslie tugged down her faded black Jack Johnson T-shirt and felt her mouth water. She sighed and looked at Lorelei. “Now I need a hot dog, damn it.”
Her sister-in-law laughed and said around her soda straw, “Normally I’d join you with a burger, but I believe I’ll abstain this time.”
Leslie froze.
Spinning in her seat until she was face-to-face with the brunette, she lowered her Ray-Bans and looked her over thoroughly. The early October sun was at an angle in the sky that made her squint against the glare. “You don’t want anything to eat?”
Lorelei shook her head, her green eyes confused. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I mean, I never turn down food. Especially not a cheeseburger.”
Leslie looked her dead in the eye. “You’ve never been pregnant before, either.”
Lorelei jolted and bobbled her cup of soda. “I’m not . . . I mean . . . I can’t be . . . he’s been so busy . . . we aren’t even trying yet!” she ended almost desperately, her face white and her eyes huge.
“That’s the funny thing about sex. You don’t even have to try.” She should know. She hadn’t been trying at seventeen, either.
Lorelei stared at her, eyes all shimmery. “You think I could be?”
Leslie snagged the soda again and took a good long slurp, staring at her hard. It was written all over her pasty face.
“Yup.”
LESLIE SET THE tray of drinks on the table and laughed at the sight that greeted her. About a dozen Rush players gathered around two tables shoved together, the men in various stages of intoxication. They’d come into Hotbox after the game to celebrate their victory against the Mets.
They did that once in a while. It boosted attendance every time they did, which was just one more reason why Peter playing in the club would be such a big deal. The famous Rush pitcher got attention.
Live music pumped through the state-of-the-art sound system as a local indie band rocked the house with their African-influenced breezy folk music. When they’d first come into the bar looking for a place to play and she’d heard their sound it had been a done deal. They were like Rusted Root and Jack Johnson combined and it was freaking awesome. It made her feel good to give the little guys some exposure too.
“Hey, sis, where’s my wife?” Mark had to nearly shout to be heard over the music. “I thought she was with you?”
Leslie handed outfielder Carl Brexler a nitro-tap microbrew and winked at him when he thanked her. “She’s passed out on the couch in my office.”
Instantly concerned, her brother began shoving away from the table to stand. “Is she okay?”
Leslie put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him and pushed him back down. “She’s fine, just tired. All the packing y’all have been doing has tuckered her clean out. Just sit back, enjoy yourself and let her rest.”
She left out the teensy bit about how his wife was probably pregnant. No way would she spoil that awesome surprise for him. Knowing Mark, he was going to flip when he found out. Having kids had always been something he’d secretly wanted. It had given her endless material for his torment as kids.
And she had used it. Oh my, how she had.
“Are you sure?” He looked dubious, his gray eyes filled with worry.
Leaning down, she pecked him on the cheek. “I’m sure. Just relax.” Pointing at the stage she added, “This band is terrific and they aren’t signed by a record label yet. Listen and see if you want to point them to your buddy at Delta Records.”
Mark loved music almost as much as she did. Settling back in his seat, her brother snagged a buffalo wing from the basket on the table and smiled. “Will do.” He took a bite and said around a mouthful of chicken, “What’s with the getup, by the way? You look extra dressed up tonight.”
She did?
Leslie looked down her body, taking in her black skinny jeans, snug black top, and bright red heels. Nothing was out of the ordinary. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the earrings and nail polish and other crap.”
She gave him a look, frowning. “I’m not wearing anything I don’t normally wear, Mark.” Maybe she’d taken a little extra care with her appearance today, but that was it.
Oh, there was that bit about a bet and all, but she wouldn’t flaunt her body just to drive a certain somebody crazy now, would she? That’d just be mean. And unlady-like. Bad manners all around.
Leslie grinned to herself. She
“I know that look,” Mark stated. “What are you up to now, sis?”
Brushing him aside, she replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Before he could probe any further, she slid around the table and deposited the rest of the drinks. When she was done, she crossed her arms, tray in hand, and watched the band on stage.
