It’s endearing to see just how much Knox’s mom loves him, a pure, genuine, unconditional love. I consider my own feelings as I watch him get into position for every pitch.
Do I love him?
I think about him every moment I get a chance. I crave his touch, his voice, his hands dancing through my hair. I crave his warmth and his charm, his teasing and his sweet kisses. There are moments when he walks into my dorm and my breath catches in my throat from the mere sight of him, and when we part, it feels like a piece of me is leaving with him.
Is this what I felt for Neil? That I hated his absence, but loved every minute with him? No. This feeling is very different than what I felt with Neil.
I wear the necklace Knox gave me every day, and I remember what he said when he gave it to me every day too. I know I’m his. So, that begs the question, do I love Knox Gentry?
I think I might be too scared to admit it to him, but, yeah . . . I think—
“This season is going to be so much fun with you coming to the games. The parents are nice and all, but I enjoy some younger company.” Mama G nudges my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “You don’t talk about things like hip replacements and hemorrhoids.”
“Hemorrhoids?” I quiver. “Have some of the parents really talked about that?”
“Oh yeah, it’s retched.” She shivers. “But now I have a girlfriend I can watch the games with.”
Hannigan strikes out the batter, gathering a big cheer from the fans, while the boys jog off the field. Knox ducks into the dugout and then quickly reappears with his bat, batting gloves, and helmet. With every pull of his batting gloves on his hands, his forearms ripple, and his jersey emphasizes his strong shoulder blades, and pulls on the front revealing his prominent pecs.
Yup, a huge fan of baseball.
“Let’s go, Knox,” Mama G yells, startling me in my chair. She chuckles and clutches my hand with hers. “Sorry about that, dear, I have a bit of a megaphone mouth. You’ll get used to it.”
“It’s okay, I’m ready for everything now.”
The catcher throws the ball down to second as Knox steps up to the batter’s box. He stares at his bat for a few beats, then looks over at Coach Disik who does some fancy signaling with his hands, finishing it off with a clap. Large paw to the top of his helmet, Knox takes one step into the batter’s box, swings his bat around, and then sets up for the pitch.
“Does he always bat first?” I ask.
“Yes. In high school, he dabbled as the second hitter, but because he’s a contact hitter and has incredible speed, he’s usually number one.”
The first pitch is thrown and it’s high. Knox holds back.
“That’s it, Knox, let him pitch to you. Don’t hit that crap.”
I hold back the chuckle that wants to pop out. She’s so serious, I love it.
Knox resets and waits for the next pitch. I’m holding Mama G’s hand. It’s a game that doesn’t matter, but as Knox said, to Mama G it means everything.
The pitcher winds up his arm, delivers the pitch, and Knox swings, connecting with the ball and sending it into right center. Like a bolt of lightning, he’s out of the box and rounding first. Mama G is bouncing up and down and cheering as the rest of the crowd erupts as well. He hits second but doesn’t stop, instead, he flies to third as the ball is being thrown into the infield. I hold my breath, the play close as Knox slides into third and the third baseman delivers the tag.
Bent into position, the umpire waves his arms out to the side, calling safe. I jump out of my seat, screaming and clapping with Mama G.
“That’s my boy,” she calls out.
“Good job, Knox,” I say, feeling slightly out of place, but wanting to cheer him on. Either he doesn’t hear me or he’s really good at staying focused, because he doesn’t acknowledge my cheer. It doesn’t matter. Watching him in his element, seeing how intensely inserted into the game he is amazes me.
Holt steps up to the plate and instead of patting his helmet while he gets into the batter’s box, he holds it up to the umpire while slowly bringing his bat up to his shoulder after Coach Disik does his dance of hands.
“Oh, I think they’re going to squeeze.”
“Squeeze? What does that mean?”
Whispering, Mama G says, “That’s when Knox runs on the pitch and Holt bunt’s the ball, squeezing Knox in across the plate.”
“What if he doesn’t bunt the ball? Whatever that means?”
“Then Knox will be caught at home. That’s why it’s imperative Holt gets the bunt down.”
Sitting taller in her chair and a little more forward, she watches on bated breath as the pitcher winds up and just when he starts to release the ball, Knox takes off from third and sprints toward home.
“Ah, he’s going for it.”
The opposing team screams “squeeze” just as Holt lays down the bunt and knocks the ball toward the first baseman. The other team has no chance at getting an out as both Holt and Knox are lightning fast. Knox dives head first into home only to pop up and jog toward the dugout . . . but not before looking up at me in the stands and giving me a wink.
I swear to the Lord Himself, I nearly faint.
Feeling wobbly, I take a seat, unable to believe just how sexy this entire sport is. Diving men, rippling muscles, the element of surprise. How have I never spent any time watching baseball before?
Maybe because I wasn’t personally invested in it until recently. Now that my boyfriend plays, I’m already starting to work out ways to clear my schedule so I’m at every home game.
“Oh bless my romantic heart,” Mama G coos. “He winked at you.”
“He did, didn’t he?”
“He really did.” Mama G snuggles in closer, and I feel a sense of euphoria wash over me. I love everything about this: the feeling I get seeing my man play, Mama G at my side, the tight pants . . . it’s perfect. “I can feel it, this is going to be the best season, yet. The perfect way to end his college career and go on to the big leagues.”
Errr . . . what?
End his college career? As in . . . not this year, right?
“You mean, next year,” I say. I’m surprised she’s confused. My mind’s in overdrive right now too.
“No, this year.”
What? Not wanting to put Mama G on the spot, but needing some clarification, I say, “Oh yeah, this year . . .” What has Knox not told me?
“You know, when Knox told me he was entering the draft after his junior year, I was a little apprehensive because I really want him to finish his degree. But after his talk with Coach Disik, I can see this is the best move for him.”
What is she talking about?
I’ve just been sucker-punched in the stomach by Mama G—like a hit and run—but the culprit sits in the dugout twenty feet away.
Knox is entering the draft after this semester? Was he planning on telling me that at any point in time? What does the draft even entail? Does that mean any team could pick him up? What does that mean for us? I have at least three more years at Brentwood until I earn my master’s in library science, so there’s no way I can move around to wherever he’ll be.
Not wanting to make Mama G feel bad for completely dropping a bomb on me, I play it cool, needing a little more information. “Yeah, it’s such a huge opportunity for him. Do you know who might be interested in him right now?”