Quit Your Pitchin' (There's No Crying in Baseball 2)

I had a plan. A plan that consisted of quite a few parts.

The first part of my plan was to get her to attend a few baseball games. Then, once she came to them—which I knew her sister would force her to do after hearing her love of the game at our first meeting—I’d take the chance and ask her out on a date.

From there, I hoped it turned into a whole lot more.

But, it went from just an innocent invite to a game, to taking her home later that night.

Which I’d never planned on doing.

But, during the game, she hadn’t been herself. She’d been almost scared.

By the time the game ended, I’d worked up the nerve to ask her what was wrong.

And almost wished I hadn’t.

“Hey!” I ran up to the side wall and hung my fingers in the net. “You okay?”

She turned sluggishly and shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“Just okay?” I asked, concerned now.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’ve had a bad day.”

The fans started to disperse around us, but a few lingered, wanting signatures.

Signatures that I did not want to give right then.

But, to get them to leave, I held my hand out for the papers.

“Real quick,” I muttered to them.

Wrigley stepped back to the side and waited patiently while I signed the books, took a few pictures, and waved goodbye to them.

Then, when I turned my attention back to her, she looked even more tired.

“I’ve had a real bad fucking day,” she admitted. “But seeing you that way with your fans? That kinda makes me happy.”

I grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed softly.

“Do you want to go out to eat with me?” I blurted.

I hadn’t intended to make such a leap yet, but something told me that I should give it a try.

And, seconds later when she said what she said, I was glad that I had.

“I’d love to.”

***

She’d been waiting for me to get showered and dressed in a private waiting room for family, and I felt like a giddy ten-year-old as I pushed open the door looking for her.

I found her in the corner of the room that was almost filled to the brim with people. She was sitting on a chair, legs crossed, staring at her phone.

As I approached, I realized that she was reading.

Every few seconds her finger would swipe across the screen, and then her lip went between her teeth.

“Whatcha readin’?” I questioned.

She looked up with a start, and the smile she gave me damn near took me out at the knees.

“A romance,” she answered.

“Which one?” I offered her my hand.

She took it and waved her opposite hand holding her phone in my face, the words on the screen switching from landscape to portrait view.

“Ummm,” she hesitated. “Fifty Shades of Grey.”

I grinned. “You into that kinky stuff?”

She blushed profusely. “No, but I don’t mind reading it.”

The blush covered the tops of her cheeks and nose, turning it into an adorably kissable red.

“Ready?” I questioned.

Wrigley nodded her head, and I led her out of the family room.

I was stopped twice, but I only waved and kept going, knowing that if I did anything stupid such as stop to chat, I’d never get out of here.

“Wow,” Wrigley laughed as she came out of the room. “That place was packed.”

“It always is when we’re home,” I agreed. “And, especially after a win like today’s win, they stay a lot longer than usual.”

“That’s kind of nice that y’all have a place like that, though,” she said as she followed me down the hallway, her hand still in mine. “I like the setup of it.”

We walked the rest of the way out of the building in silence, exchanging covert glances with each other that both of us hoped the other wouldn’t see. Yet, each time we’d steal a glance, the other would look over, too. Causing us both to be smiling like loons the moment my car came into sight.

“So what made your day so bad?” I inquired as I held the door to my car open for her.

Wrigley slid into the seat and lifted her legs into the Camaro, and I slammed the door and hurried around the front side.

The moment I had the door open, she started to explain.

“Well,” she said. “You know I work for a non-profit women’s abuse fund, correct?”

I nodded.

It’d taken a friend about twenty minutes to look her up and compile every single thing that he could find on her. Her job, her parents’ names. Her social security number.

That last bit I’d shredded, not wanting to know that private of information, but the rest I’d kept.

“Yep,” I agreed. “I had a friend look you up. You’ve worked for the non-profit for two years?”

She nodded. “My mother started it after she divorced her husband. Her husband that wasn’t my father, but Diamond’s.”

“Okay,” I continued, nodding in understanding.

“Anyway.” She waved her hand in the air. “Long story short, my mother died and left the company to me, my brother, and sister. However, my grandmother is on the board and controls half of the board, meaning that she has a lot of say in how things are done around the organization.”