Felix (The Ninth Inning #1) (4 page)

Is he serious? This is becoming a bit childish. LA shoves my shoulder.

“Yes,” I say back and he tosses the ball. Like last time, I catch with one hand.

“Didn’t spill your beer either.”

I laugh at this game. “I’m a pro,” I say like the time and he winks heading into the dugout.

“Oh shit, this is great!” LA squeals. She actually squeals with delight. I roll my eyes and drink more beer.

Felix isn’t pitching, but I can see him across the field in the bullpen. Well, I can somewhat see him since he’s clear on the other side, but I know that he’s watching me.

Each inning, I pray that the Angels will lose. However, no one seems to be listening to me because at the beginning of the ninth, we’re up...by six. I drop my head in my hands and groan.

“This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.” LA is shaking me again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be saying that about your wedding day?”

“Fuck that. We’re going to win the championship at this rate. Aren’t you happy?”

I look at her with the meanest eyes. “Do I look it?”

“Yep, you looked thrilled.” She laughs and I hear the crowd cheer.

The Angels won.

“Son of a—” I growl with my jaw clenched tight. “Let’s get out of here.” I grab her arm and drag her out of the stadium.

I KNOCK ON Abigail’s door. A few seconds later, she opens it. Once again, she’s wearing shorts and a tank top with her hair thrown up in a bun. She looks good, that’s for sure.

“So? Do you believe me now? You’re my good luck charm, Abigail,” I say, folding my arms over my chest and leaning against her doorframe.

“You are so full of it. I’m not a good luck charm.”

“How are you still in denial? You came again and we won again. There’s no room for denial when all the facts are there.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, you’ll be happy to know my brother-in-law, who is now your number one fan, told me tonight that he’s giving up his season ticket to me
if
you sign a baseball for him. I told him you’re probably too busy.”

“I’m never too busy to sign my name, especially if it helps get my good luck charm to the games. I’ll sign a ball for him.”

“And what do I get?” She folds her arms over her chest as if the defensive posture will come in handy with our apparent negotiations. “I’m going to have to rearrange my schedule. I’m sure as hell not going on any road games. So, what do I get?”

“What do you want? Name it and I’ll see what I can do.” I’m willing to give her whatever she wants because I want to see more of her, especially at my games.

“This is your superstition. I wouldn’t want to break any of your invisible rules of baseball good luck charms.”

I laugh. “I’m sure whatever you ask for wouldn’t interfere with the rules. Do you want free food at the games? Do you want a signed baseball, too? Do you want a signed book by an author you like? What do you want?”

“Hmm...free food is out because I have to have LA buy the beer and hot dog because of the
good luck
routine.” She rolls her eyes. “Plus, you’ll throw me a ball every time I’m there, so I don’t need any more of those. I have all my favorite books already signed. I guess that leaves,” she taps her finger on her chin and says, “You being my driver while you’re in town until the semester is over.”

I think about it for only a moment. “Okay, I can do that. Do you want to catch a dinner and a movie sometime?”

“Wait...are you asking me out?” Her lips part in shock and her eyes widen.

“Don’t seem so surprised. Yes, I’m asking you out.”

“Oh...well...um...sure, okay, we can do that, I guess,” she stammers over words, but she almost looks upset or disgusted I asked. What the hell?

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. Don’t say yes, if you really mean no.”

“I’m sorry. No, no, I do. I’m just a little thrown off. Come on, you’re Felix Hernandez and I’m Abigail Harris. I see you with more of the supermodel-type girl and I’m nothing like that. I much better prefer to stay home on Saturday night and read then go off to some celebrity party.”

I laugh. The only other people I know in Memphis are my teammates and now Abigail and LA. What celebrity party does she think I’ll be going to? Where are the supermodels I’m supposed to be dating instead of her? I haven’t seen any. “You know, I never took you as the type to make stereotypical assumptions. But I’ll forgive you this time. Does Saturday at six work for you?”

“That’s fine, but you have to realize that you’re you and it’s not assumption. I know how to Google too and I’ve seen you on the arms of much prettier women than me.”

I smirk, imagining her hunched over a laptop, searching my name. “You’ve Googled me? I feel very honored to have such a beautiful woman search me on the internet.”

“I Googled you once and that’s it. I was actually trying to see if you were listed as the master of horrible pickup lines. Sad to say, I think I may have seen that listed in one of the high-end girly magazines.” Abigail shakes her head. “I guess my good luck only goes so far.”

“Maybe I should add that to my official bio. So, Saturday at six?”

“Fine. I’ll be ready.”

“Great.” I add in my goodbye and walk back to my apartment with a grin on my face. Memphis is getting better and better by the minute.

WITH EVERYONE BEING pretty new, we’ve done a lot of team-building type of exercises. It’s been helpful and fun. However, if there’s one guy I can never get a read on, it’s Blake Foster. As long as I can read him while we’re on the field, I guess it’s not a big deal. He’s a moody guy sometimes, though. Like today. He looks pissed.

I take a seat next to him and ask, “Hey, you all right, Blake?”

“Fucking peachy,” he answers without looking my way.

I leave it at that because I’m not about to piss him off further. Hector turns around from his seat in front of us.

“I think he prefers to be called Grumpy.”

“Turn around and shut up,” Blake snaps, sending him a glare.

Hector laughs and looks at me. “He’ll be better in a few hours. Right, Grumpy?” Blake flips him off, not fazing him in the least. “Hey, Felix. Who’s the girl at the game you keep throwing your balls at?” He grins and chuckles at his joke.

“She’s the reason we keep winning.”

“I thought it was because of my mad throwing skills?”

“That’s helpful, but having her there was more helpful. She doesn’t believe in good luck charms, though.”

This kind of conversation apparently engages Blake. “Seriously?” He turns to look at me. “Like not at all or she just doesn’t believe she is one?”

“She doesn’t think she is one. Do y’all have one?”

Hector pulls a silver necklace from under his shirt, a cross hanging from it. We glance at Blake.

“I don’t have one,” he answers. “I can’t keep anything long enough to have a good luck charm,” he finishes, gazing back out the window.

Hector returns to sitting the right way, and we’re relatively quiet for the rest of the plane ride. It’s not until warm-ups that Blake seems to be in a good mood again. Or at least as good of a mood as he can be. Focusing on the upcoming game, I take a deep breath.

The usual pre-game nerves bounce off the walls of my stomach. I always thought it would go away, being anxious before a game, but it never has. I’m almost thankful for it because it keeps me on my toes. Before I know it, the national anthem is being sung and a ball game has started.

I’ve always loved the sport. My mom used to say I was obsessed. Somewhere along the way, I lost it. When I got the sport back, I became obsessed again. I cherished the game and the opportunity to play. That’s what fuels me every time I step onto the mound to do my best and sort of give my life to baseball.

My mind has a one-track mind to the sport. It’s all about how I throw the ball. The way it feels when I bring my arm back and then fling it forward. My favorite sound in the world is a ball smacking into the catcher’s glove and the following, “Strike!”

Unfortunately, the bases are loaded and I’ve recorded two balls with this batter. I need one more out desperately or there’s a very good chance we lose this game. I inhale the heady clay aroma, briefly close my eyes, and picture Abigail. Maybe she can help from afar. A picture of her flashes in my mind. Brown hair up in messy bun, shorts, and a tank top that showcases a body I wouldn’t mind putting my hands on.

Blake gives me his signal after my eyes open. I adjust my hat, take another deep breath, and pitch the ball.

“Strike!”

Thank you, Abigail.

This time, I quickly picture her wearing her Angels t-shirt, sitting in the stands next to her sister. She watches me a lot. I know it’s because I’m playing in the game she’s watching, but her eyes are on me more than anyone else. Blake gives me the same signal. I pitch and hear, “Strike!”

Repressing a smile, I picture Abigail one more time, of how she looked when I first met her. My last throw is a strike. There’s no doubt in my mind, that woman is my good luck charm. I can’t say so for the rest of the team, though. We lose the game.

If I have a crutch, it’s that I hate losing and the days after a loss equate to me being caught up in focusing on baseball one hundred percent. I know losing comes with the territory. I mean, there’s a fifty-fifty chance with every game that we’ll come out on the losing end. Still, a loss makes me analyze my game and try to correct my mistakes. Or at least, work on improving myself.

It’s no surprise I spend Saturday engaged in that loss ritual. Then, I head to the batting cage for an hour before pitching for a while. After that, I hit the gym. I run five miles, and lastly, I head to my favorite masseuse for a massage to help my muscles after such a long day. When I finally make it home, I’m starving.

There’s plenty of food in the fridge; none of it looks appetizing. Salad, leftovers, thawed chicken that’s ready to be cooked. Maybe I should allow myself the guilty pleasure of eating out tonight. With that thought, I grab my keys and head to my favorite fast food restaurant with the plan to bring it back to my apartment and watch whatever’s on the History channel.

I SLAM THE plate into the sink and for a second, I think I may have broken it. I didn’t, but I’m so pissed off. I waited and waited and waited for Felix to show up for the stupid date he made sure I went on with him and the ass didn’t even show up! The sad fact is I saw his car in the lot and I know he’s been home.

All right, I know it sounds like I was being a stalker and I know I should just text him...wait...no, I shouldn’t. He wants this stupid deal, then he should have remembered.

I check my phone for the thousandth time and there’s nothing from him. Only from Annie saying that she’ll be here in ten minutes for us to go to lunch together. I
may have
called her last night and spilled my guts and
some
emotions to her. If I’d called LA, she would have gone to his apartment and kicked his door down. I almost wished I had now.

Why do I even care? It’s not like I know the guy, or really like him. Well, I like him because he looks hot in baseball pants, and he knows who James Diamond is, but that’s it. I give up on the dishes and grab my purse to wait for Annie outside.