Right. That.
She slumped onto the bench next to Julie. “I don’t think it’s working.”
“Are you kidding?” Emma said. “The man’s been burning you up with his eyes since the second he arrived on the field.”
“Only because he wants to strangle me for being a brat.”
“Oh come on,” Julie said. “That’s crazy.”
Riley pivoted her head to give her friend a long look. “He told me that.”
“Of course he did,” Emma said calmly. “He has to say something to keep himself from dragging you under the bleachers to make out.”
Grace stepped out of the dugout but remained close to the fence as she gave a “practice swing” that resembled something between a golf swing and a yoga stretch.
“Looking good, sweetheart!” Jake called.
They all ignored him.
“Look, I say just keep doing what you’re doing,” Grace said.
Riley started to glance toward third, where Sam had been stranded as Jake pitched his way toward the third out.
“Don’t!” all three of her friends commanded at the same time.
“What?”
“You have hump eyes when you look at him.”
“Hump eyes? That is not a thing,” Riley said.
Julie pointedly pivoted toward the spot where Mitchell stood talking with some of the Oxford guys and stared at her fiancé. It took Riley only four seconds to get it. Everything about Julie changed when she looked at Mitchell. Her body language, her mouth, and yup … those were definitely hump eyes.
“I look like that?” she asked, incredulous, pointing at Julie. “She looks ridiculous.”
Emma patted her knee. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the same affliction Grace has when she looks at Jake. You’re in good company.”
“Hey, I think Alex is trying to get our attention,” Julie said, jerking her chin toward the opposite dugout where Oxford’s editor in chief was giving his team a pep talk.
Emma turned to look at Cassidy, but Riley, Julie, and Grace all watched Emma.
“You see?” Grace said smugly, holding up a hand toward Emma. “Hump eyes case study number four.”
Emma’s head whipped around. “What just happened?”
“You tell us,” Julie said, studying her nails.
Emma was saved by loud cheering coming from the Oxford dugout as Jake struck Oliver out in a horrifically short at bat.
“It’s not my fault your guy looks so good in jeans,” Oliver muttered at Grace as he carefully removed his helmet so as not to muss his hair.
Riley sighed as Emma snapped a glove across her chest. It was their team’s turn in the field. “I hate this part.”
“Maybe if you spent more time watching the batter and less time flirting with the center field guy, you’d be more into the fielding part of the game.”
Fat chance.
Riley told herself to get going, but she lingered as Sam ran in from third.