Third Base (The Boys of Summer 1)

Having a nervous tick could be considered disastrous in the romance department. Anytime I’m nervous, it shows. And has been used against me before. Not to mention, the element of surprise is gone when I’m trying to do something romantic before my damn fingers move on their own accord. The only time they’re calm is when I’m up to bat.

Daisy picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder, the strap lying perfectly between her breasts. I shouldn’t stare, but they’re right there and it’s sort of hard not to. I swallow hard and try to think of granny panties and toothless women.

“Which door leads outside?” I look at her questioningly before pointing to the one on the right-hand side. How she knew there was a door that went directly outside is beyond me, unless she’s been up here before. If I get the opportunity, I’m going to ask her. Plus a slew of other things like: Why is the seat next to her always empty and does she have a boyfriend or not?

Daisy moves toward the door, and I reach out to push it open, allowing my arm to brush along her side. The hairs on my arm stand up, along with a set of goose bumps for good measure. I’ve only ever felt that once before, and that was with Sarah when we first started dating. Sarah was my high school sweetheart. I went to college in Corvallis, Oregon, she in Seattle, Washington. The distance was four hours, but that’s not what broke us up. It was her schedule and my baseball. Being a sports medicine student takes up a lot of time, and I was focused on baseball. We remain pretty close to this day and see each other when the team travels to Seattle for games.

When we get to the bottom of the stairs, Daisy pauses. I can’t tell if she’s thinking of an escape plan or thinking about what dinner would be like with me. For all I know, she’s planning dessert, and I have to admit that I wouldn’t be put off by the notion.

“Are you sure you want to go to dinner with me?”

I sort of blanch at her with furrowed brows. Did she really just ask that ludicrous question? I asked her to dinner. Clearly I want to go.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

As she looks down, I follow the general direction of her eyes. Her feet do this odd bendy thing two or three times then stop. She sighs and grabs the strap of her bag. “I’m dressed like a fan,” she says, as if this is an issue for me. I briefly appraise her attire: Skinny jeans, Chucks and a BoRe baseball tee. I happen to think chicks in jerseys or baseball tees are hot, and even more so if I’m interested in them and they’re wearing my name on their backs.

“I don’t care how you’re dressed. Look at me. My hair is wet and the neck of my shirt is soaked. I don’t have a jacket so I’m going to freeze, yet I really want to take you to dinner. That is, if you want to go.”

I have never in my life worked so hard for a dinner companion. I’m not saying I’m a smooth talker, but shit, getting her to agree is like taking candy from my three-year-old niece.

“I’ll go, but on two conditions.”

“What are those?” I ask, holding back a smile.

“That we go someplace casual because I look like this, and that we go Dutch. I don’t want this to seem like a date.”

I pretend to think about her conditions, even though I know I’ll agree to them. I’m not going to force anything on her. I want to spend some time with her so I can figure out why I’m so intent on looking at her during my games. I can’t help but smile, and seeing her smile in return even though she’s shy, gives me a surge of confidence.

“I have no problem meeting your conditions. Shall we?” I push the door open so she has no other choice but to brush by me. The same feeling I had before is back and I’m not sure how I feel about it. As soon as we’re outside, the cold April air hits me hard. I shiver and pull my phone out of my pocket, bringing up my restaurant app to find the nearest place with minimal waiting. I don’t want to embarrass her by using my status to get us a table, at least not tonight. I think back to her two conditions and settle on Tasty Burger. It’s casual, close and affordable.

“Do you need to move your car or anything?”

She shakes her head. “I took the T.”

I’d like to do that, especially with traffic, but I’d never make it to the ballpark with all the fans on the train. It’d be fun to ride for the day though.

It doesn’t take us long to get to where we’re going. Being the gentleman that I am, I open the door for her, this time standing back so she can walk in without touching me. I don’t want her to think I’m doing that on purpose, even though I am. I follow her to the counter and keep my head down slightly. She orders and pays, stepping aside for me to order. I never fully look at the cashier until it’s time to pay.

The cashier’s eyes gleam as she hangs on every word that I say. Her dream like state is comical and is the same expression she has when any of us walk in to order.

I reach into my back pocket, and then my other, feeling around for my wallet. Shit. I left it in my locker. I search my front pocket, hoping for a credit card or at least a twenty dollar bill. I have nothing.

“Shit,” I mumble, running my fingers through my now cold hair. “Um…” I look at Daisy, who is shaking her head. “I’ll be right back,” I tell her and the clerk. I can make it to the stadium and back in under ten minutes if I run.

“Wait.” Daisy reaches out and grabs a hold of my wrist. I freeze mid-step and look down at where her hand is gripping my arm. My arm turns warm and my heart speeds up. The longer I let her hold onto me, the warmer I get. The heat is radiating up my arm and weighing on me like a ton of bricks. I should pull away, but I’m enjoying the way I feel right now.

“I can pay for you,” she says, as if it’s no big deal. Except it is to me and I feel like a complete shit for forgetting my wallet.

“No, Daisy. I’ll be right back.”

“Ethan, please.” The way my name rolls off her lips sends shock-waves right to my groin. I moan internally, trying to keep the thoughts of her spread out on my blue sheets, out of my mind. I have to tell myself she’s not a conquest, but someone I’ve been eye-flirting with.

“Okay, but breakfast is on me.”

She narrows her eyes as she lets go of my arm and I realize my blunder almost immediately. I didn’t mean it like that although I’m not opposed to taking her back to my place. However, the look on her face tells me she’s on lock down and I just blew any chance I had.

I decide to let her wait for our food while I gather the necessities and find us a spot in the back. This isn’t a big place by any means, but sitting in the back makes me feel a bit more comfortable. It means there are less people to walk by and ask me for an autograph.