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

Rhys snorted. “I highly doubt it.”

Then he walked away, leaving us to stare at each other.

“How did you meet Rhys?” Wrigley tried to engage her in conversation.

Melanie twisted her fingers in her lap as she answered.

“Rhys and I met at the convention his sister hosted for the hearing impaired.”

“The hearing impaired?” Wrigley asked. “Are you a worker there?”

Melanie started to giggle. “No. I’m deaf.”

“But how are you…” Wrigley sounded about as confused as I was.

Melanie didn’t look offended, though.

She only lifted up her hair and showed us what had to be her hearing aids.

“Wow,” Wrigley said. “I never would’ve known.”

Melanie looked quite pleased with that. “That’s honestly my goal. I’ve spent years trying to be just like anybody else.”

“You are, girl,” Rhys spoke to Melanie as he walked up, handing her, her drink. “And don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

Rhys’ eyes met mine, and then Wrigley’s. His laid-back, good ol’ boy act was gone. In its place was the hunter I sometimes saw there when he thought no one was looking. The one that literally would slash your throat if he saw you do something to someone he loved.

I nodded once.

“Stop, Rhys,” Melanie laughed. “You’re sometimes too protective for your own good.”

He snorted. “I didn’t think too protective was a bad thing until you told me that eight hundred times tonight.”

“Whatever.”

Hancock and Sway, Hancock’s new wife, walked up moments later. Sway was in a floor-length gown like the rest of the ladies, but her dress was a deep scarlet. Paired with her milky white complexion, it was a startling contrast.

A beautiful one, but still startling nonetheless.

“Hancock.” I nodded my head. “Sway.”

Sway waved, her clutch in her hand nearly blinding me as it caught the lights from above. “Hi, George!”

Wrigley leaned a little away from me, and I turned to her with a frown.

“What?”

She shrugged.

And, since I was so focused on her, I was able to hear the words being said at the table behind us, instead of the conversation going on in front of us.

“Who’s the fat bitch with George Hoffman?” someone whispered behind us. “Is that the fat bitch table or something? How funny that whoever wrote the seating chart put them all there. I wonder if they’ll have any food left when they get to us.”

I went solid and turned to find two women sitting at the table directly behind us, and both of their eyes were on us.

I really shouldn’t say anything. Shouldn’t. Nope. Not a good idea.

I turned back around to see Wrigley’s face flaming.

“I need to use the restroom,” she replied, then stood up.

She was gone moments later, and I couldn’t help what happened next.

I turned back around and glared at the two ladies. If you could call them that after what they’d said.

“She’s not fat,” I said to them. “She’s beautiful and curvy. Two things that you’ll never have because you think men like the way you look. Let me tell you something, ladies. Men don’t find bones attractive. They prefer to have something to hold onto when they fuck. Tits, ass, and thighs.”

Hancock and Rhys grunted something behind me, but all of my attention was focused solely on the two ladies.

The two ladies that didn’t even look like they’d eat the meal if it was served to them anyway.

Two mouths dropped open in affront.

I turned my back on them and returned my gaze to the table.

Sway started to laugh.

Hancock’s grin was one of agreement.

“I’ll be back,” I muttered, buttoning my suit coat as I prowled out of the banquet hall.

The team had rented The Scales, an uptown, stuffy hall that only the richest in Longview used for their important events.

Personally, I’d have rather had this at IHOP. But whatever. Nobody asked me.

My dress shoe-clad feet slapped against the stained concrete floor as I walked toward the bathrooms with determination.

But, after ten minutes of waiting outside for her to come out, I realized that maybe she wasn’t going to come out.

So I decided to go on in.

Pushing the door open, I looked around and found her standing at the sinks.

She had both hands braced beside the bowl of the sink, and her eyes were on herself.

My eyes were on her, too.

And I wasn’t sure she was seeing what I saw.

“The first time I saw you, you were wearing a pair of white jean shorts, a black tank top stretched across your ample breasts, and a pair of flip-flops,” I shared.

Wrigley’s head whipped toward me.

“That day I thought you were so beautiful.”

She grimaced.

“I’ve gained weight,” she admitted.

I nodded. “You have, yes,” I agreed. “But you look no less beautiful now than you did back then. In fact, I would go out on a limb and say that you are even more beautiful.”

Wrigley laughed harshly.

“You can say that all you want…but I don’t believe you.”

I frowned. “You don’t think I know what I’m talking about?”