I search for Mai—she’s not on the couch and neither is Anthony. I spot them outside, sitting around a table on the back patio.
“Come on, we’ll take the floor chairs,” Garrett says.
“They’re occupied.”
The brunette is still there, talking with a friend. Probably waiting for Garrett.
“I’ll introduce you. That’s Annette and Kim.”
“Your ex?”
He nods. “She’ll move. She doesn’t care about the game.”
“No, I’m not—”
But he grabs my hand, shocking me into silence. His fingers are warm, the palms calloused as he draws my hand in tighter. He does it so matter-of-factly, I let him. As if I need help climbing over a few legs. As if we hold hands all the time. As if he’s mine. And I’m his.
Oh, jeez.
I reel in my thoughts and drop his hand. He’s already making introductions.
“I don’t think you guys have met yet. Annette and Kim, this is Josie. Josie, this is Annette and Kim.”
“Hi.” I wipe my tingling palm against my leg.
“Hey,” they say in unison.
I give Kim a quick smile, but Annette is the one I want to study. She’s pretty but not all done up, which is what I pictured when Garrett said he’d had a girlfriend. Her brown hair is lighter than mine and tied back in a messy knot. She’s dressed almost exactly like I am, except her jeans are darker and her shirt is white. Now that we’re face-to-face, she does look a little familiar. “I think you had a locker near mine last year.”
“I’ve definitely seen you around.” Her smile is wide and friendly.
How did she and Garrett date for a year and stay friends? That almost never happens—not at our school. Another way Garrett doesn’t fit the mold of the ballplayers I grew up around. A lot of them were good-looking and charming but also self-centered assholes. Or maybe that’s just the guys Dad hung around. Guys like him.
“You don’t mind giving up your spots, do you?” he asks Annette. “D-Backs are about to go on a run, and I’ve got a bet with Josie. She’s my new color commentator for the contest.”
“What happened to Nathan?” Kim asks.
“Josie happened to Nathan.”
Annette rolls her eyes, but they both hold up a hand and Garrett pulls them to their feet. Annette’s legs seem to go on forever. It probably takes her an hour to shave them. I decide to feel sorry for her. All that time lost.
“What’s the bet?” one of the guys asks.
“She has to wash my car if we win.”
“I do not,” I say. “He’s lying.”
The guy laughs and shifts to make room for Annette and Kim on the couch. “I’m Cooper, by the way.”
“I know who you are. You’re the catcher.” His brown hair is wavy without a baseball hat on, but I recognize the scraggly fuzz on his chin. “That was a nice throw down you made Thursday.”
“Thanks. I heard you gave me some love on-air.” He grins. “My grandpa lives in Chicago and listens to the broadcasts. Says you guys are really in sync. You going to stick with it?”
“Yes, she’s sticking with it,” Garrett answers.
I’m introduced to Eddie and Tucker and Evan, along with two girls I think are part of the cheer squad, Steph and Cassie. My head is spinning with all the introductions and compliments. I wasn’t expecting everyone to be so nice.
Then the game is back on, and in a crazy string of plays, the D-Backs tie it up. There are cheers and claps and beefy boy bodies rising so everyone can high five everyone else. Optimism pulses through the room. The D-Backs weren’t expected to be good this year, and so far they’re playing like they are. But I’ve been around baseball long enough that I’ve seen this, too.
“Settle down, boys,” I say to the room in general. “They haven’t won yet.”
“Who is this girl?” Cooper says to Garrett. “What’s she doing with her mouth all over my team?”
“Watch it,” I say, “or I’ll broadcast the fact that you wink when you’re up to bat.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, you do,” Tucker says. He could be Cooper’s twin except he doesn’t have the chin fuzz.
“It’s cute.” Garrett makes a smoochy sound and everyone busts up.
I’m laughing, too, when my gaze meets Garrett’s. It’s a shared moment of fun—nothing more. Except…there’s a warm, tight feeling in my chest that says, you like these guys, Josie. You like this guy.
“You know who we could interview?” he says suddenly. I swear I can see the idea traveling from his brain to a grin as slow and sweet as the Manuka honey Mom adds to her tea.
My heart reacts without even knowing why. “Who?”
“Mai.”
“My Mai?”
He laughs. “Bet that was a fun name in middle school.”
“She didn’t get that evil glare without practice. But that’s a terrible idea. Mai knows nothing about baseball.”
“That’s the point.” He shifts his chair closer. The edge of his armrest bumps mine, and his shirt brushes against my shoulder. My shoulder wants more. I edge back. “I was thinking about what she said in the car the other day. About how it isn’t fair that pitchers stand on a mound. It got me thinking.”
“About dumb questions?”
“About dumb rules. Is there another sport with as many rules as baseball? And ones that seem random. Like the pitching mound. It’s ten inches higher than home plate, but it also has to be sixty feet and six inches from home plate. Who came up with that?”
I nod as his idea sparks my own. “We use Mai’s questions as a way to explain some of the arcane rules of baseball.”
“And do a little social commentary on recent rule changes.”
“Like the no-pitch intentional walk!” I swivel, crossing my legs as I face him. “It doesn’t have to be just Mai. We can find plenty of clueless kids—have them ask their question on video, then cut back to us for the answer and an explanation.”
Our eyes lock, and the tremors are back, sparking through nerve endings I didn’t even know I had.
“It
