Chapter 26

JOEY

"Come on, guys! Run faster!" Lynn shouts, both hands cupped around her mouth, as one Bulls player advances to second while the batter outruns the first baseman to safety on first. I don't even try suppressing my grin.

Turns out that Lynn has been watching baseball all wrong. And when I say that, I mean she's only seen it on TV.

When she catches me smiling at her, she smacks my good arm. "Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing at you; I'm enjoying your company."

Heat rises to her cheeks, and it's not from the sunny afternoon. "Okay, you were right. Baseball is pretty fun."

"The beer doesn't hurt either," I say, reaching down to snag the plastic cup resting at my feet. We're sitting in the stands here at Durham Bulls Athletic Park. We scored good seats behind the visitors' dugout, and it's the ideal place to catch all the action. The Bulls aren't an Arrows' farm team, but I follow them more closely than most other minors teams since they're sort of local. They've got some good talent, and I imagine I'll end up playing against some of these guys at some point or another.

"No, it does not," Lynn agrees, taking a sip of her beer. "But don't tell my brothers I'm drinking mainstream light beer. Their pride will be wounded to the point where it will never recover."

"Consider it our secret."

"So, I've been watching the shortstop." Lynn props her sunglasses on top of her head and eyes me. "That does not look like an easy job at all."

"Nope. But I enjoy a challenge."

"No kidding, Ace." She rolls her eyes on a grin, and I wink at her. Her meaning didn't get past me.

"As much as I love earning a nickname from you, I feel it's my duty to tell you Ace is reserved for pitchers, not shortstops."

She turns back to me with narrowed eyes. "I've already got too many baseball rules filling up my brain for one day, so you're gonna have to let that one go."

I chuckle and give her a pass. "So, are you going to become an Arrows fan now?"

"Possibly. Although I work during all the home games, so…"

Time to test the waters and see if they're shark-infested or not. "Maybe I'll have to fly you out for an away game then."

Instead of scolding me for laying it on too thick, she shrugs and turns her eyes back to the field. "Maybe."

Fuck, yes! I'm thinking I can bid farewell to the friend zone pretty damn soon. Maybe even today.

When we hit the seventh inning stretch, Lynn belts out "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" louder than anyone in our section, even throwing her arm around my waist and making me sway with her and the rest of the crowd. I could get used to this—afternoons at the ballpark with Lynn Brooks? That wouldn't suck.

"I'll be right back," Lynn says before taking off for the bathroom. While she's gone, I take a shot of the mascot running around on the field and text it to Gunner.

Me:

I might be able to live with this bum wrist after all.

Gunner:

Is that the Bulls? You're an ass.

Me:

Hey, it's not my fault I can't play. Blame it on Niederman.

Gunner:

Enjoy yourself while you can, buddy. There will be no time to rest when you're off the IL.

Me:

How's Colorado?

Gunner:

Cold. Like your heart.

My lips curve as I shove my phone back into my pocket and the players retake the field.

Lynn is gone for a while but reappears at the top of the eighth with an armful of nachos and a Durham Bulls ball cap on her head. Fuck, why is that so hot? I'll need to get her an Arrows cap to amp up the look.

"You just couldn't stay away from the nacho cheese, could you?"

"Sauce, remember? There's no cheese in here. Only delicious chemicals." She smiles as she settles in next to me again and hands me a container of nachos. I dip a chip into the sauce, careful to catch a jalape?o slice before crunching it in my mouth. "I don't care what's in them. They taste amazing."

She giggles, and it hits me in the solar plexus. "I know, right?" When she shoves a stacked nacho in her mouth and snorts at the sauce dribbling down her chin, I'm pretty sure I fall in love.

At several points during the game, Lynn pulls her phone out to check for any sign of G. Taylor, but his number never appears. Not that it affects Lynn's enjoyment of the game. She watches each play like someone's life depends on it and cheers at the Bulls' every success. There are lots of times where I have to explain what's happening or tell her why someone is called out, but it only fuels her interest.

When the last out is called, the Bulls have won 9 to 4, and we both stand to clap for the team. I consider heading down to chat with some of the players, but I'd rather spend my time alone with Lynn.

"What next?" I ask when we're walking through the parking lot to my truck. Lynn's shoulders are sun-kissed in the snug tank top she's paired with her pink shorts and sneakers. She wore a more conservative skirt and short-sleeved sweater for our visit to the gallery but swapped it out in the stadium bathroom as soon as we arrived. I've noticed her preference for more casual attire, and it only makes me more confident in our compatibility.

I'm unsure what Lynn wants to do about Larry at this point, so I throw an offer out. "If you want, we can head home, and you can keep trying this Taylor guy by phone. Or if you'd rather hold out for a face-to-face, we can always grab a hotel and hope to set something up tomorrow."

Lynn's teeth tug at her bottom lip as she thinks it over. Part of me was worried she might read into my hotel suggestion and tell me to back off. Not that I don't have plenty of ideas of how to entertain ourselves in a hotel room, but I've already vowed not to push it until I get the green light.

She glances down at her watch and asks, "Can we maybe grab dinner and play it by ear? I'm hoping he'll call, and I'd hate to miss my chance."

"You sure you can eat after those nachos?"

"Those, sir, were an appetizer at best," she declares, hands on her hips beside my truck. The fact that she doesn't hide her enjoyment of food is an absolute turn-on. It tells me she's not concealing her true self from me like so many women I've known. There's no fa?ade, just Lynn, and that's hot as hell—as are the hips that curve out so nicely from her waist.

I open the passenger door for her. "By all means, then, take me to dinner, madam."

We end up at a burger place near the stadium, where we eat until our stomachs hurt. I stick to water since I'm driving, but Lynn orders a wheat beer, claiming she needs to redeem herself in the eyes of the craft-beer gods.

"Ow." Lynn sinks down into her chair, one hand resting on her stomach. "I'm afraid that was a horrible mistake. But it was so good." She groans and shifts her eyes around the pub. "Would it be rude of me to unbutton my shorts in the middle of a restaurant?"

I narrowly avoid choking on my water. "I'm always in favor of clothing removal, no matter the venue. Have at it."

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" She grins on a sigh. "I'm thinking Mr. Taylor isn't going to be calling me back tonight."

"Why don't you try him one more time?"

"You don't think he'll find it a little stalkerish?"

"Nah. Go ahead."

As she"s dialing, the waiter comes with our bill, and I hand him my credit card.

Lynn scowls silently with the phone pressed to her ear, mouthing, "I was going to get that."

"You paid for the nachos," I whisper back in exaggerated fashion, making her wave me off in a gesture I peg as half amused and half irritated. I just smile to myself.

She pulls the phone from her ear and jabs the end-call button. "Voicemail again. Damn."

Since she knows I'm up for staying the night, I don't say anything, instead waiting for her to suggest it. Which she finally does after some hemming and hawing.

"If you're sure you're okay with it, let's get a hotel and try hunting this guy down tomorrow. I don't feel right leaving town with Larry so close."

"Sounds like a plan," I agree, hoping whatever hotel we choose only has one room left. A guy can wish, right?

Twenty minutes later, I use a keycard to open the door of a room on the tenth floor of a downtown Hilton. If I thought winning a game against the Devils was a battle, I've been proven wrong by the war I just waged at the front desk with Lynn.

There's a convention in town that's jacked up all the hotel rates, so despite Lynn's insistence that she'd pay for a room of her own, she wasn't prepared for the price tag. Her face went a bit ashen, in fact. When I offered to pick up the tab for her room, she balked, as expected. We ended up arguing back and forth for a good five minutes in the lobby before she finally relented, satisfying herself that she could live with me paying for one room with two queen beds where we'd each take one bed. Good Christ. But it was all worth it because now we're sharing a room, just as I'd hoped.

Did my man, Justin Verlander, have to work this hard to win over Kate Upton?

The light automatically turns on when we enter the room, sans luggage but with a set of toothbrushes from the front desk. Since I normally sleep in just my boxers, I'm good. Lynn, on the other hand, I suspect will be sleeping fully clothed and maybe with a partition from maintenance erected between our beds.

"Thanks again," she says, setting her giant handbag on the closest bed and looking at her shoes. "We probably should have just gone home, huh?"

Hell no. "No." I shake my head. "I told you before, I get paid well—and I'm not saying that to brag; it's just a fact—so this is no skin off my nose. And I would have been happy to pay for a second room." When she tries to interrupt and start another battle, I put my hand up. "But I understand you don't want handouts, and I'm good with it."

She closes her mouth and nods before sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at her phone screen again. It remains blank. "Thanks for understanding."

The last thing I want is for her to feel guilty for standing up for herself. "No problem. I actually prefer sharing a room. Other people's snoring helps me sleep."

She bites back a laugh. "That might be the weirdest thing I've heard. But you're out of luck because I don't snore."

"Damn." I snap my fingers in an awshucks gesture. "Well, in that case, let's ditch this place and head back to Asheville."

She smiles and watches me for a few seconds, her posture relaxing and her eyes going soft in a way I haven't seen before. "You're a really good guy, Joey Martel. Do you know that?"

Not sure what to say in return, I simply shrug and respond, "I try." Then, wanting to get us out of both her guilt spiral and the serious mood permeating the room, I draw in a breath and throw my arms out. "So! What should we do first? Raid the minibar or read the Bible?" I head for the overpriced minibar to examine its contents, but when I turn around to share our options, Lynn is standing right in front of me.

"Oh. Hey." I look down at her. "What'll it be? Smirnoff or Jack Daniels? I don't really see you as a whiskey kind of—" Lynn's lips cut off my words as she boosts herself up to her tiptoes and plants a kiss on my surprised mouth.

Hell. Yes.