by Mj Fields
“Next time we’re racing, how about a heads-up so I have a chance?”
I lift a shoulder. “Maybe.”
“Oh, I see how this is gonna go.” He smirks, shaking his head.
“How the heck did you even see me with your hat pulled down over your eyes?”
“I see what I wanna see.” He links his fingers through mine, and it feels … so weird to be holding his hand, walking through the busy hotel lobby.
I hear his name whispered several times from behind us as he leads us through the lobby and out to the front doors.
“Did you hear them?” I ask.
“I hear what I wanna hear, and I hear you.”
Dear Lord.
He walks us toward a bench and sits down. “So, tell me, Ellis. What did you drag me out at”—he looks at his watch—“seven o’clock at night for?”
I let go of his hand and reach in my purse for my phone. “It’s a surprise.”
He leans forward and looks at my screen then takes my phone. “We’re not doing Uber. I have a rental.”
I look at him, his blue green eyes sparkling, not the least bit menacing. His smirk, cocky, but sincere and kind. His lips, kissable. I mean, his lips haven’t lied to me, that I know of.
“You don’t trust my driving?”
I push my hair back behind my ear. “I, um, I had an accident.”
“Something else we have in common, yeah?”
“I guess I never thought about that, but yes. Georgie’s father was driving, and I was pregnant, and he didn’t want me to be. He, um, well, he was engaged, and I didn’t know he was. I was under the impression we were exclusive. He wanted me to have an abortion, and I couldn’t because, like, my mom either died after trying to abort me, or killed herself after my bio father left her late in her preg —”
“Jesus Christ, Ellis,” he growls standing up so quickly it startles me.
I step back and hold my hand up to stop him from advancing on me, afraid I will fall the hell apart. No one, not one person, knows any of what I just shared with him, except for Lily.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I have no idea why I word-vomited all that.”
He wraps his arms around me, and even though at first I didn’t think I wanted him to… I do, I absolutely do.
“Don’t you ever be sorry for telling me anything, yeah?” He hugs me tighter. “I mean it, Ellis, not fucking ever.”
“Yeah, well, I was supposed to take that all back to Jersey, I guess, but it kind of fell out and—”
“Fell out because it’s a fear weighing on you, and something inside told you I was safe to tell.” He steps back just enough to look down at me. “You get you’re even more unreal to me now than before, right? You get that you’re a miracle and that—”
“I’m not a miracle. She messed up; killed just herself instead of—”
“Sweets, shut your mouth before I kiss you quiet. And I’m not thinking that’s what you need right now.”
Hugs, big hugs like this, I haven’t felt in a very long time, maybe not ever.
“Yeah.”
After a bit, I feel his chin against the top of my head and hear him inhale.
“You smell like coconut and sunshine.”
“I took Georgie to the beach today.”
“And you got your toes and nails all painted up.”
“Like the color?”
“Yeah, Doc, I absolutely do.”
I step back and look up at him. “Georgie wanted us to match her new jaguar.”
“You have a cool kid.”
“She’s a handful sometimes, too .”
“And you’ve done one hell of a job with her; believe it.”
He reaches in his shorts pocket and holds out his keys. “You can drive.”
I should tell him no, allow myself to trust him, and it’s messed up that I trust random Uber drivers but not the guy who just gave me big hugs.
“I have issues.”
“You and me both, but neither of ours are bigger than we are. Julia Michaels, she wrote a song about hers.”
Okay, and he’s funny.
It isn’t until we’re halfway to our destination, which is only five minutes away from the hotel, that I realize he’s not once let go of the oh-shit handle.
“I’m an idiot.”
“You have a piece of paper saying otherwise,” he jokes.
“You’re uncomfortable with someone else driving.”
“Little bit, yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I should have thought—”
“Gotta change the way you think sometimes, Doc. If I don’t trust you enough to get me from point A to point B, how the hell am I supposed to not lock you up in a tower to keep you safe until”—he pauses—“October 20th?”
Oh my God, he’s nailed down the due date.
“Just putting it out there that it’s postseason, so yet another miracle.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re insane.”
“Florida Amias is chill. Wait until we take it back to Jersey.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Not gonna lie to you, Ellis; a little bit, yeah.”
Yet, for some reason, with each moment I spend with him, I become less and less worried.
When I put the SUV in park, he unbuckles and sits forward. “You brought me to a batting cage?”
“I know you said you haven’t hit since before the accident, and I totally understand you may have a reason for holding out until tomorrow’s exhibition game, but I thought it would be cool to at least watch me swing a bat, maybe tell me what I’m doing wrong, maybe even hold a bat outside the cage while I hit a few, and … I don’t know … just be in the presence of—”
He opens the door. “I like the way you think. Let’s do it.”
Standing at the cashier window, attempting to pay, Amias steps in front of me.
“I got this.”
“Um, no, sir. My invitation, I’m paying.” I try to squeeze in front of him.
He wraps an arm around me and pulls me tightly against his side. “Not happening.”
“Do not take his money,” I say to the older woman in the booth.
“Miss, this is our first official date, and if she pays, I’m probably not gonna get a second date. And if I don’t get a second, that third date promise, you know the one good girls hold onto until that third date, is never gonna happen.”
“What is wrong with you?” I laugh.
“And if date three never happens, I might as well hang up my hat and join a monastery, because look at her. She’s fire and nothing’s ever going to compare.”
“You can’t let him—”
“If a man this fine was insisting on paying for my game, doll, and he was saying all those things he just said about you about me, I’d let him pay, and I certainly wouldn’t be waiting for date number three.”
“Women should stick together,” I argue my case.
“And they should damn sure let a man be a man when he steps up. That will be twenty-two dollars, you fine, fine young man.”
“Much appreciation.” He releases me and pays the traitorous woman.
After he pays, he turns to me, a smug grin on his face.
“Not fair on so many levels, Amias Steel.”
“I play to win, Ellis Stavros.” He places his hand on my back, gently guiding me to the bat rack, and while we pick out my bat, I notice his body is turned completely toward me.
Standing inside the cage, helmet on, bat in my hand, I call back to him, “Give me some tips, Coach.”
“Step out of the box and find your focal point, off in the distance. On the field, it would be the three forty-five sign in right center, or for a righty, the right field foul pole. Here, just pick something in the distance.”
“Got it.”
“As you step into the box, hold your bat up and focus on the label. Keep your eyes on it, breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. No quick glances. Find your
focal point in the distance and right back at your bat’s label. Do it again. Back to your focal point in the distance and back to the bat’s label.”
“Why do I do that?”
“You taught your eyes to focus on something in the distance, and then quickly back on something right in front of you. It trains your eyes to focus on something far away and quickly switch its focus to something close, mimicking the pitch and preparing you to quickly switch focus.”
“Got it. What next?”
“In a game, a lot of guys then stare at the pitcher, totally voiding what they just did.”
“Trained their eyes.” I nod.
“Exactly. By the time you load and stride, and the pitch is coming, your eyes are already tired.”
“How do we fix that?”
“Once you’re inside the box, you switch to soft focus, gazing around in his general direction, but not looking at his release point or staring at his hat. Your vision should be cloudy, keeping yourself relaxed. You shift to a hard focus when he starts his movement. Focus on his release point, then shift your focus to the ball as it gets closer.”
“That’s it?”
He laughs. “That’s it. You need to see the ball.”
“You sure?”
“Stop stalling and tell me to start it up.” He chuckles.
“Start it up.”
The first ball comes, and I swing. I tap it.
“Foul ball!” he yells.
“I know that’s not exciting to you, but I’m as happy as a clam that I even touched it.”
“Get ready.”
The ball comes, and I swing again, this time missing completely.
“Gotta keep your elbow up.”
“I thought I just had to focus?” I laugh.
“Yeah, well, if you were focused, you wouldn’t have missed.”
The next ball comes, and I hit it, but it doesn’t go far.
“You’re not chopping wood, Doc.”
“I hit it!” I call back.
“You did, and on your way to first. The pitcher threw you out.”
“So give me more tips then; you’re the professional.”
“Arch your back and push your ass out a bit.”
“Like this?”
“Fucking perfect.”
The ball comes, and I swing and miss.
“That didn’t help at all!”
“But it sure looked good from here.” He laughs.
“You’re such an ass,” I call back.
“Sweets, you have the best ass on the planet.”
“Whatever. Focus. Tell me what to do.”
“Keep doing that, and you’ll be barefoot and pregnant forever, and never have to work a day in your life.”
I turn around and point the bat at him. “I like to work.”
“And I like that you like to work, but damn, Doc … just … damn.”
Eye on the Prize
Felt good to hold the bat, felt good to swing, and it felt really good that she seemed to understand that it’s my choice not to hit a ball until I’m on the field for my first game since the accident. I loved that she didn’t push but understood that it was kind of one of those things I was tripping on.
“I know I’m new to this, but I promise I’m here for you and this team.”
“Glad you’re here for me, and thank you for dragging me out here.”
“Oh, yes, dragging you out here, kicking and screaming. I remember it like it was.” She giggles. “An hour ago, you made such a scene.”
I look from her to my other side. “She’s sexy, beautiful, athletic, funny, has the best ass east of Fresno, and is sarcastic as fuck. She’s everything I ever wanted in a woman.”
She elbows me and laughs, and I take that opportunity to take her hand. With my other hand, I scratch my head and keep talking to absolutely no one.
“I wonder how stuck on that three-date rule she is.”
“That three-date rule that you invented?”
“So, what I’m hearing is that you’re down for whatever?” I quickly snap back to her.
“No, wise guy, what you’re hearing is that, even though I’m not pushing, and even though I’m not telling you to fix the one thing I’ve noticed from the one workout I observed, you need more—”
“Yogurt. I’m more an ice cream kind of guy. We should go get some.”
She ignores my interruption and continues, “Aside from you needing a lot more stretching before you work out then running for forty minutes to loosen up your muscles, I see the issue. You’re not worried about your knee. You’ve done the work, and you know it’s healed nicely. You’re not worried about your shoulder for the same reason. You’re worried about seeing the ball.”
“You got that from an hour in the cage?”
“You didn’t tell me how to change my stance. You only gave me a few tweaks on my swing. I’m guessing you’re worried about seeing the ball, because the only lingering issue is your right eye.”
“Yeah, but—”
“What are you doing to strengthen that muscle, the one they fixed in surgery?”
“I’m—”
“Babying it, because that’s what you’ve been told to do. So, we’re going to work on exactly what you had me working on—seeing the ball.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Ten minutes, three times a day, focusing on what I’m guessing is the only weak muscle you have.”
“Makes sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense is that no one else saw it.” Then she mumbles, “Idiots should have been having you work on that, and then you wouldn’t be worried so much about it.”
“Good thing I have you, yeah?”
She shrugs and smiles a bit as she reaches in her purse and grabs the keys, tossing them to me. “You drive.”
I hit the unlock button then open the passenger side door. “I got you, too, Ellis.”
She nods once and slides in.
Feeling good, really damn good about her and me, but I remind myself that we’re supposed to be taking all this back to Jersey, per my request. But I also realize that we’ve both been unpacking the contents of that bag a little at a time. All very naturally, unforced. And although I want to kill a dead guy, it’s been easy for her to open up, as easy as it’s been for me to see this as it is. This is that feeling that I’ve never felt but have been surrounded by my entire life, yet I still didn’t believe it was going to happen to me until I was much, much older, if ever. This is what it feels like sliding into home on clouds not the hard ground.
I slide into the SUV and start it up. Out of habit, I turn on the radio and can’t hold back my laugh when 50 Cent’s “Candy Shop” fills the airwaves.
She covers her face with both hands. “Dear Lord, shut it off.”
“What’s that, Sweets? You ask for an encore?”
“No, I did not!” She tries to sound stern, but laughs through it.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. This song—our song—is too damn loud.”
“Our song!” she gasps, looking at me and shaking her head back and forth so fast that I laugh harder. “Um, no.”
“Fine.” I reach up and turn it down. “Next song is definitely our song then.”
“Do you have songs with all your one-night stands?” She’s dipping her toes in to feel out the temperature. What she still doesn’t get is that I dove in headfirst—face-first, actually—and I’m in it.
“No, Ellis. Never once. So you get what that means, right?”
“It means …” Her jaw drops when the next song comes on. “What the heck is this station? 99 point porn?” Then she covers her face again.
Laughing, I put the vehicle in drive, take her hand, and admit, “It’s connected to my phone. My Ellis Playlist must have popped—”
“Your what?” She laughs.
Unashamed, I answer, “I make playlists for pretty much everything.”
“You’re nuts, you know.”
“Yeah, well, maybe.
It’s genetic. Another thing we’ll save for Jersey.”
“Should I be mildly nervous or straight-up terrified?”
“Just buckle up and enjoy the ride. I know I’m going to.”
I stop the car before pulling onto the highway and glance over at her. Her blue eyes are wide as she looks back at me.
“Sweets, your seat belt.”
She lets go of my hand and nods. “Right. Of course.” She buckles quickly and sits back.
I hold out my hand, and she closes her eyes, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she gives me her hand.
“Easy, yeah?”
She turns her head and rests her cheek on the leather seat, looking at me like she expects anything but easy.
I pull her hand up and rub my lips across her knuckles. “Trust me, Doc.”
“I’m trying.”
“Good start. Push past trying and get to doing.”
We drive for a bit hand in hand, and in silence. It’s nice, real nice.
“Often” by Sickick ends and “Take You Dancing” by Jason Derulo begins.
I glance over, and she’s silently laughing. I squeeze her hand, and she gives mine a squeeze back.
Nice.
Walking into the hotel with a bag containing ice cream, she’s looking down at her phone, text messaging someone.
Rubs me the wrong way. Another new feeling that I have to compartmentalize.
“Georgie okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That Bella?”
“No, a friend from school.”
“This how a date ends?” I force a laugh in an attempt to keep it light.
She looks up at me, her eyes squinting a bit, and cocks her head. “What?”
“Nothing, Doc.” I force another short laugh.
“Are you, like, upset?”
“No, of course not.” That would be crazy.
“Amias, the truth,” she says, acting amused now. It’s annoying. She holds up her phone. “I’m bouncing an idea off one of my peers.”
I don’t look at it, because that would also be crazy, right?
“No big thing.”
“But lies are.” She uses a mom voice. Annoying, but because it’s her, it’s hot, too.
I look down at her as I hold the elevator door. “Yeah, of course.”
