“Aw, you miss the wave, don’t you?”
“So badly.” She suddenly sits straighter in her seat and lifts a hand, wiggling her fingers. Out on the field, one of the ballplayers waves back. I squint, looking for Luca, and I can’t find him.
Uh-oh.
Did something bad happen? Was it because of The Eye? Did he trip over something? Or get hit wrong with a ball during batting practice?
Mackenzie nudges me. “Luca’s waving at us.”
I squint harder. “That’s not Brooks?”
She gives me a funny look. “If it was Brooks, I’d be blowing kisses. Eight, to be exact, because that’s his number.”
“Ohmygosh, that’s adorable!” I fake a bright smile and wave in the direction she’s pointing.
She reaches behind me and moves my hand so that I’m waving to the outfield.
Probably I need to see an eye doctor. Or maybe I need to not spend nine straight hours on the computer.
But even though I couldn’t immediately pick Luca out under his ball cap and in his uniform pants—let’s be real, all baseball players look awesome in those uniform pants—I can clearly see the man out there swiping a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to hide a smile.
Or a grimace.
It could be either, especially after our short text exchange when I told him Mackenzie had invited me to the game.
Great. Have fun. Whatever she tells you, do NOT bring live goldfish into the stadium. Also, DO run to the bathroom, do the Hokey Pokey, or eat whatever she tells you is good luck once you’re in your seats.
I texted him that I loved him, that he was my pumpkin pie, and that I couldn’t wait for him to get home tonight, and he replied with a reminder that the team is leaving for Florida as soon as the game’s over, but he’d text me from the road.
“Are you traveling with the team?” I ask Mackenzie. Also, what number is Luca? I’m his girlfriend. I should know this. Isn’t there a program somewhere?
“Nope. Day job. Not enough vacation time. Plus, I haven’t yet, and they’re playing really well, and I don’t want to mess with their streak by changing whatever it is they’re doing. The Lady Fireballs have made a pact—no changing any routines. If any of us wives, girlfriends, and fiancées started the season by traveling with the team, they keep traveling. If they didn’t, they don’t. Consistency is very important. With an exception for Tanesha, since she and Darren just had a baby, which changed their routine by default.”
“How did you meet Brooks?”
“I stole the meatball mascot costume and cock-blocked him a bunch of times during spring training.”
“You stole the—wait. That meatball costume?” I point to the field—close to us, right on the third base line—where a giant flaming meatball is having a pool noodle sword fight with a firefly with the largest ball of ass I’ve ever seen.
“This whole mascot contest that the new owners are running is so dumb. Can you see the other two over there? The duck and the echidna?”
I squint at the opposite baseline and nod. They’re blurry, but I can see them. Who knew writing that many words would short-circuit my eyeballs today? “Why an echidna? I didn’t know what an echidna was until I stumbled over it while researching different cool animals for shifter ideas. Are the new owners Australian?”
“No, they’re evil.” She sighs. “And friends of mine, so I shouldn’t call them evil, but on this, they’re definitely so wrong. I’m almost positive they picked the echidna because people wouldn’t know what it was, and then they’d spend more time thinking about the Fireballs and their new mascot options while they researched why there are such odd choices, which is unfortunately brilliant and also working, even if I will die a little inside if they don’t bring back Fiery the Dragon. And speaking of, here. I brought you a Fiery Forever button.”
A large, muscled man in the row behind us sticks his head between us. “Got any spares, Mackenzie?”
“Of course, I—oh! Hey, Tyler. And Duncan! And—wow. All of you.”
I look back, and an entire row of large muscled men are beaming at my blond companion.
“Training camp starts tomorrow,” one tells her. “Gotta support our weenie counterparts before we head off to be men.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing as she passes an entire bag of Fiery Forever buttons up to them. “Gentlemen, meet Henri Bacon. Henri, meet the Copper Valley Thrusters hockey team.”
Wow. Wow. This is like a research dream come true. Not that I put hockey players in my paranormal romances, but I could.
Couldn’t I? “Ohmygosh, what if they had fangs that got knocked out by pucks?” I whisper to myself.
Mackenzie shoves a button at me. “No. Nuh-uh. You want to put a sports team in a book, you’re writing a baseball book first. Luca would never forgive you if you didn’t.”
“Dude, Luca has a sister?” one of the hockey players says. “He didn’t tell me that.”
“Henri’s dating Luca, goofball. And you’re married.”
“Not to my sister. I didn’t know Luca was into kinky stuff like kissing his cousins and sisters.”
They’re all grinning like they know they’re being funny, but Mackenzie squints her eyeballs at them and points at them individually. “Do not get on my bad side unless you want your team to make the most epic fall from grace ever seen in professional sports.”
Wow again.
She made an entire row of hockey players squirm.
And the ones that weren’t initially squirming start when she adds, “Also, I know how to get in touch with all of your wives and girlfriends. Don’t tempt me.”
I beam at her. “I think you’re my new hero.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. Here. Your button is crooked. Also, get out your phone so you can vote for a mascot. We’re all voting for Meaty, because I have video of him defacing public property and doing something unspeakable to the Thrusters’ mascot statue outside Mink Arena, and also of him being led away from my dads’ lounge in handcuffs, plus his mugshot, and so we need Meaty to win so that I can drop that bomb two days later and make the owners bring Fiery back.”
“Your brain is amazing.”
She blushes. “I probably need therapy.”
“You have a cause. That’s so admirable.”
“Enough about me. What are you getting out of fake-dating Luca?”
I choke on air and my eyes fly out to the grassy outfield, where there are now two men with their backs to us, and they’re both number eight.
No, wait. One’s eight. One’s three.
“He’s not going to answer for you,” Mackenzie tells me.
“It’s not fake.”
“You write romance novels and just had a bad break-up. His Nonna put The Eye on him and he’s a self-professed love-hater. I can put the bacon and the Nutella together here.”
“Shh.”
“Don’t worry, I’m all for this plan,” she whispers. “No good comes of people being forced to hook up. It’s a recipe for disaster. Especially when his grandmother is screwing with the best season the Fireballs have had in decades.”