Chapter 32

Brooks

My teammates giveme shit through the whole pick-up game against the mascots, Mackenzie, Tripp, and random fans who happen to be in the park at the right place and right time. We're playing modified back yard rules, which means the pros get three at-bats at the top of the inning, then we let the mascots bat in the bottom of the inning until they score.

And I love every damn minute of it.

Especially since Max took the mound, lobbed a soft one to Meaty that hit the meatball right in the flames—automatic walk right there—and then kept pitching to Mackenzie until she got a dribbler down the third-base line that I fumbled so bad, she got a double off my mis-throw to first.

Totally worth it to watch her pump a fist as she jumped on the bag, then stare at me in horror, like she thought I truly fumbled the ball.

Had to stop play for five minutes while I tried to pick myself up off the ground and failed from laughing so hard.

"You still know how to hit a ball?" Rossi asks before I step up to the plate at the top of the third inning.

I flex my grip on the bat and take an easy practice swing. "Nope. Muscle memory's gone. Forgot what the ball looks like, so I can't keep my eye on it. Pitcher's unpredictable. Maybe I'll stand there and hope I get a walk."

Cooper snorts. He was late because he stayed out in Shipwreck last night, so he's playing coach for us. "Go hit the ball, dumbass. Two points if you nail that duck between the eyes."

I head to the plate, and Tripp straightens from his spot playing second. "Hold up. Pitcher change." He points to the third center fielder. "Mackenzie. Get up here."

Yes, third center fielder.

The mascots have nineteen people on the field instead of the usual nine.

"Not fair to put her in without a warm-up, coach," I call.

There's a snort from Spike the Echidna, who's playing catcher, which really means he's letting the ball bounce off him and then turns in circles trying to find it while one of the security guards from Duggan Field who came with them jogs over to toss the ball back.

The cameras love it.

"Problem, Spike?"

"Pretty sure you warmed her up plenty, Elliott." His voice is decidedly feminine, and it sounds like the big boss lady. "Hit her with a line drive, and that's all on you."

Oh, shit.

I look back at the infield.

Mackenzie's arguing with Tripp and the current pitcher, a walk-on fan who played softball through college and brings the heat, and it's very clear that neither woman wants to switch up.

I swing my bat up onto my shoulders and loop my arms over it, getting in a good back stretch while I twist back and forth. "C'mon, Kenz. Make him regret it."

She glares at me. "I'm going to hit you with a ball because I can't throw."

"Then it won't hurt."

Her you shut your mouth right now glare is adorable, and I duck my head, but I know she can still see me laughing, so I step back from the plate. "Take a warm-up throw. And don't worry. I have good reflexes."

Tripp says something else to the two women, and the pitcher nods and hands Mackenzie the baseball.

I know it's not the first time she's touched a baseball.

And she's wrong. She can throw.

Maybe not pitch, but she can throw. She manages to get Spike right in the gut.

"You okay?" I ask Lila, who oofed inside the costume.

"Quit smiling, Elliott."

"That looked like it hurt. Like maybe you should've let Fiery catch today."

"I'd fire you if this game hadn't been your idea."

"Your fiancé's the one who put Mackenzie on the mound. Take it up with him."

"Ready," Mackenzie calls. "Batter up! And if you don't hit this ball…"

I square up to the plate and dig in, which isn't as easy without cleats on, but I'm not going to hit this ball.

Not hard, anyway.

She winds up in an impressive imitation of Max's pitching stance, and when that ball leaves her hands, it's on a straight trajectory to somewhere at least six feet outside the batter's box on the other side of home plate.

"Strike one!" Cooper yells.

I look at him. "Dude. Same team."

"She's prettier."

I'd flip him off, but there are three camera crews capturing the game, and also, yeah, we can totally call that a strike.

"Go easier on the next one," I call to her.

Her nose crinkles.

Ah, that nose. I want to kiss her nose. Her cheeks. The corners of her eyes. That little mole in front of her left ear.

Her left ear.

Her right ear.

Shit, I'm not wearing a cup.

Think about Knox's nana. Think about Knox's nana.

Picturing the ancient old bird chatting about alien penises shaped like evergreen trees—complete with pinecones—and vaginas with teeth definitely helps.

Mackenzie misses the ball when the security guy throws it back to her.

The main pitcher retrieves it for her and slaps her on the butt. "You got this, kid. Aim for his head."

"I don't want to hit his head."

"Trust me."

Mackenzie locks eyes with me.

I tap my noggin, then square up in my batter's stance.

She squeezes her eyes shut and lets the ball fly.

"Strike two!" Cooper yells.

Lopez mutters something in Spanish that roughly translates to, "It went into the dugout, idiot."

But a little more colorful.

Cooper shrugs. "No take-backs."

Mackenzie jogs over to her own dugout and fishes out the ball herself, then trots back to the mound.

She's in stilettos.

She's playing baseball in work pants, a white blouse that's dusted brown from the dirt kicking up all over the field, and stilettos.

I'm going to marry this woman.

"I'm going to roll this one," she calls to me.

"Let it fly, baby."

"Don't call the opposing team baby. It's bad luck," Max yells from our bench.

Cooper points at him. "Hey, hey, there's no superstitions in park ball. You're grounded. Jarvis, think you can pitch? Stafford, you're at third. Elliott, right field."

We all stare at him.

"Go! Go!" He flaps his arms at us. "Inning's over. Mackenzie struck everyone out."

"She's thrown two pitches, and Elliott's our first batter."

"Yeah, and you saw those pitches. She's gonna strike all of you losers out. You want me to forfeit the game, or you want to try to make up some runs from the outfield?"

"I'm not done!"

We all look back at the mound, where Mackenzie stomped her foot so hard, her stiletto got stuck in the ground, and she's struggling to pull it out of the dirt.

Cooper holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. You can embarrass us. Simmons. Get out there and help the lady before she falls."

Too late. I'm already on my way.

"Quit laughing," she says as I make her lean on me while I pluck her shoe—foot and all—out of the dirt.

"You're magnificent. And I can't remember the last time I had this much fun." I tilt my head as I straighten, making sure she's back on solid footing. "Maybe that time I helped Rhett take down a few commandos when Eloise was in trouble, but in a different kind of way."

She blinks like she's trying to decide if I'm serious or not.

I decide she probably doesn't want to know, and instead, distract her with something else. "Lila's in the Spike costume. This is your only chance to show her how you really feel about this mascot contest. I know you can throw a real strike."

"I will not strike you out."

"It's for fun, Kenz. You have to. And then tomorrow, I'm gonna whoop some San Francisco ass."

"I also can't actually throw a ball at Lila. That's mean."

"Yeah, and killing Fiery wasn't mean at all."

Irritation lights her eyes.

"Elliott! Get your hands off the pitcher. This isn't flirt ball. It's baseball!"

We both look at Cooper, and we're not the only two people on this field silently calling him two-faced.

In the friendly way, of course.

The mascot team's real pitcher smacks her fist in her glove. "Get back to the plate, Elliott. We need to finish you off."

I step away from Mackenzie and nod to the other woman. "You got it, boss."

"And can you sign a ball for me before you go?"

"Absolutely."

"Ohmygod, thank you so much. My grandma is like your biggest fan. She's gonna sleep with it."

"So you know," Spike-Lila says as I square up at the plate for my third pitch, "if you hurt Mackenzie, they won't ever find your body."

Considering what I know about Lila's connections, I believe that.

Mackenzie lifts her glove and peers over it, and for the love of all that's holy, the sight of her in those stilettos, holding a baseball glove and peering at me with raw determination flashing in her baby blues, is going to fuel every last one of my spank bank fantasies for the rest of my life.

Her eyes shift from me to Spike, and I see the exact moment she makes up her mind.

She drops her glove, winds up, and lets that ball fly.

It hits the dirt three feet in front of her and rolls slowly the rest of the way to the plate while we all watch.

"Strike three!" Cooper crows. "Elliott, get your butt back here for remedial batting practice."

"Nice pitching, Ms. Cy Young," I call as I head back to the dugout, kicking the dirt for extra effect.

"I expect my trophy delivered by tomorrow," she calls back.

Everyone in a six-block radius cracks up, and she curtsies before handing the ball back to the pitcher.

Cooper slaps me on the shoulder as I make my way past. "Hurt her and die, dude."

Luca shakes his head. "Dying's too good for him. Plucking his toenails out and permanently tattooing hearts on his face first."

"Doesn't anybody care that they're both smiling for the first time in forever?" Robinson asks.

I fist-bump him.

"Ah, to be young and idealistic," Cooper sighs.

Fuck, I love these guys. "Don't you have a goat to torture?"

"No, the goat and I are planning a bachelor party. Big difference. Get your glove. Darren and Francisco are about to strike out too. And I meant it. Right field for you. You can pitch in the fifth."

An hour later, the mascots have whomped us seventeen to nine, and my face hurts from laughing so much. We all sign autographs—including Mackenzie and the pitcher—until Tripp and Lila and security order us all to get out of the park.

The local news picked up the story, and the crowds are getting a little too big.

I snag Mackenzie and drag her and Coco Puff back to my SUV. "You need to go back to work?"

She frowns at me. "I struck you out."

"That was rigged. My game is fine. Better than fine. The best." I kiss her nose, because I can. "Keep the belief, Kenz. Keep the belief."