by Mary Beesley
“I was just warming up.”
“George the monkey and the man with the yellow hat. That’s at least better.” Leo sighed. “Why did I think this was a good idea? Who wants to look like an idiot on their second date?”
“Take her out tonight. Then you’re good. Anything goes by the third date.”
“Should I be taking advice from the man who’s never been on a third date?”
“Hardy har har.” Dean took the paper out of Leo’s hand. “What about you be the miner, and she’s the diamonds? You could have her wear a dress all made of gemstones. That would dazzle her.” He chuckled. He was always laughing at his own jokes. The opposite of Tempest.
Leo sank to his seat. Should he cancel? But he couldn’t wait to see her again. He had to force himself not to text her every second. Maybe he should call her tonight. She wouldn’t be working late. Thanks to him. He slumped lower. He could take her to that little Italian place no one knew about. Nope. The owner always called him Mr. Allred, even after Leo had insisted otherwise. He’d have to take her somewhere where paying in cash and wearing a baseball cap was normal. Baseball. No one would recognize him at a sporting event. It was baseball season, right? He hadn’t been to a Rangers game since Grandpa Duke had last taken him and Zena twelve years ago.
Leo clicked open his internet browser. Rangers had a home game tonight. It felt like fate. He looked up at his assistant, who was still listing off famous couples he’d clearly copied from a Google search.
“Get me two tickets to tonight’s Rangers game.”
Dean looked momentarily caught off guard. Then he smiled. “Perfect second date. I give such good advice.”
Leo pulled a face.
“Behind home plate? Or commissioner’s box seats?”
“Hmm.” Both of those sounded fancy enough that she might ask pointed questions about work. “What tickets would you buy for a date?”
Dean scrunched his lips. “I’d scalp or look at discount sites.”
“Seriously?”
“You don’t pay me enough.”
“Those designer shoes beg to differ.”
“You testing this woman’s motives or something?”
Leo let out a dark laugh. “Just get us something in the middle-ish section.”
“Middle-ish. That’s exactly what I’ll ask the ticket office.”
“Also get me a Rangers hat.”
“Will do.” Dean turned to leave, then twisted back and lifted the paper in his hand. “So do you want me to get the Caesar and Cleopatra costumes?”
Leo shrugged. “That’s not bad, but not good. Seems a little cliché.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What would Tempest not hate? “I have an idea.”
****
Parked outside the Red Rocco office building, Tempest and Blair sat in Tempest’s Audi A3. They’d been “scouting” for nearly an hour, a.k.a. watching strangers go in and out of the front doors. No Leonard Allred sightings. Blair popped another potato chip into her mouth. Crunch. Crunch. Tempest gave her the side-eye.
“I’m not spilling.” Blair lifted the bag, showing her clean thighs, the short shorts scrunched so they’d nearly disappeared into the bend of her hips. “I promise.”
“You can’t eat that whole bag without getting grease crumbs on the seat.”
Blair crunched another chip. “Wanna bet?”
Tempest chuckled. “No. I’m still regretting this bet.”
“Aw. Is little Stormie giving up? Maybe we should put this sucker in gear and head for the paint store right now.”
“Um. I still have nine days. Hold your horses, Sticks.” She didn’t use the nickname much, usually only when Blair was being a big stick.
Blair leaned back and put her foot—socks, no shoes—on the dashboard. “Holding them.” Crunch. Crunch.
The bravado drained from Tempest. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had ninety days. She wasn’t going to find Leonard Allred and get him to ask her out.
Today was Tuesday, her second weekday of unemployment. It didn’t suit her. She’d done all the laundry yesterday, including Blair’s bedding. This morning after her daily yoga flow, she’d gone to a movie. A movie. In the morning. She and a geriatric couple had been the only ones in the theater. She’d left feeling nauseous and slightly hungover. Blair didn’t work tonight—no one catered parties on Tuesdays. So here they were, at five twenty-two p.m., sitting in a parked car outside her enemy’s office.
I am such a loser.
Her phone vibrated with a new text message from Arty. She flickered back to life. Something good from this dreadful day.
—What size pants do you wear?—
She giggled.
“What is it?” Blair asked.
Another text from Arty appeared. —So that sounded super sketch, didn’t it?—
Tempest chewed on her lips as she replied. —I’m just glad to hear I’ll have pants to wear.—
Blair leaned over the console, and Tempest shifted the screen so she could see. Blair made the sound of a rubber ducky being squeezed. “The mystery man?”
Tempest nodded.
“You could have thought of a better reply than that.”
“But I actually want to wear pants, not some themed lingerie.”
“I’m so sad I don’t get to wear a costume.” Yesterday, her boss had asked her and a few others from her crew to work the Thanes’ event.
“You get to dress up as a caterer.”
“I’m considering dropping a chip in the seat crack right now.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Blair looked through the window to the tall building. “Maybe you should ask Arty to set you up with Leonard Allred. They live in the same place. You said they were talking to each other before you crashed my bike. They must know each other.”
Tempest didn’t dignify that with a response. She turned the engine on and drove away, hating that she was giving Leonard Allred another thought.
“Eek,” Blair said, looking at Tempest’s phone. “And you’ve got a date tonight.”
Heart pitter-pattering, Tempest reached over, groping for the phone.
Blair held it out of range. “Nope. No texting and driving. Safety first.”
Tempest’s eyebrows lowered. “You’re not even wearing a seatbelt.”
“I’ll take care of this.” Blair’s greasy fingers flew over the screen. “Come over, and I’ll let you get a good look at the size of my pants.”
“Stop. What are you saying? Blair!” Tempest pulled over and snatched the phone from her giggling friend.
Arty had written —I have two tickets to the Rangers game tonight. Can I pick you up at six thirty?—
Blair had responded —Is that baseball?—
Tempest exhaled relief. “You’re such a butthead.” Three dots showed Arty was responding. She typed out a quick —Just kidding.—
They both sat watching the waving dots.
“He’s trying to think of something clever,” Blair said.
Finally Arty’s next text came through. —LOL. I’m mostly in it for the Belgium beer and hot dog.—
“Please tell him you’re mostly in it for the players’ tight pants.”
Tempest rolled her eyes at Blair.
“Come on. It’s funny, and we’ve got to see if he’s cool.”
“Fine.” Tempest relinquished her phone back to her bossy friend. She bit her tongue as she looked out the window, giddiness swelling.
“Oh yes, now I’m in love with him too,” Blair said.
Tempest snapped back to face Blair, who held up the phone.
“He said he’ll bring binoculars.”
****
At home, Tempest double-checked the Rangers’ colors. Blue and red. Blue jeans were an easy choice, but she didn’t wear a lot of red, so she went for a simple white V-neck. She cranked up pop music as she did her face and hair and readied her jacket and purse.
Blair poked her head through the bedroom door and sighed wis
tfully. “Ah, young love.”
“Stop it,” Tempest said, failing to sound sincere.
“I wish I could stay and meet Beardy, but I’m meeting up with peeps, so I’m out. Have fun.”
“Love ya.”
Blair ducked out, and Tempest turned down the music so she wouldn’t worry about missing the doorbell.
She was ready twelve minutes early, and Arty was a cool thirteen minutes late.
“Hey,” he said at the door, looking adorable with his blue Rangers hat brightening his eyes. He pointed to her white T-shirt and jeans and then his own. “Costume party’s not until Saturday, but I see we’re getting a jump on the matching theme.”
“If Blair were here, she’d tell us who wore it best.”
“I don’t need her to tell me the answer to that.” He stepped over the threshold and drew her into a warm hug before stepping back and motioning her out to the pickup truck at the curb. “You look beautiful.”
It was such an obvious compliment, but still it warmed her core nearly as much as his hug had.
“How’s your ankle?”
“It’s fine. Just a little bruising at this point.” She glanced over at him as they walked. “Must have been the top-notch post-accident treatment I received.”
“Obviously.” Steely blue eyes flashed sidelong at her. “Thanks for coming with me last minute.”
“Your other date bailed?”
He opened the passenger door for her. “I’m trying to decide if I’d sound cooler if I said yes.”
The side of her lip curved up.
“But no. I just thought it sounded like fun. I needed to get out of the office today.” He cringed.
“Trouble at work?” She didn’t even know what he did.
His eyes went wide. “Oh no. Everything is good.” He shut the door so hard she startled. “Sorry,” he said, his voice muffled by the window and his face panicked.
She grimaced. Clearly work was a touchy subject. Do not bring that up tonight. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, she lifted binoculars from the center cupholder and raised an eyebrow.
He grinned. “I’ve got to make sure my date is satisfied at the end of the evening.”
Her brows rose to their highest position.
He winked. “And it’s been a long time since I’ve been to a baseball game. I’m hoping they took my suggestion letter seriously and got themselves some cheerleaders.” He pulled away from the curb.
“You didn’t.”
He smiled. It was aimed at the windshield, but that almost made it easier to enjoy. He had a very nice mouth hidden in that beard. His side teeth were as white as the front ones—a sign of good hygiene and proper personal care. He glanced over at her, and her skin heated at the realization he’d surely caught her staring.
“I did. I was fourteen. My grandpa took me and my sister to games once in a while. I loved going, but the games dragged on too long. In the fifth inning of a boring game against the Mariners, I started to whine. Where were the runs? Where was the band? Where were the dancing girls? Why weren’t the players at least getting in fights? My grandpa had shrugged and told me if I wanted to complain, to do it to someone who might at least have a chance to do something about it, but harping to him was poor manners and frankly rude.”
“Whoa. Go, Grandpa.”
Arty nodded, making a left turn. “He was the best. I miss him. But at the time, I was insulted. So I decided to show him. I went up to the shops and got a piece of paper from customer service. For the rest of the game, I crafted a letter to Major League Baseball outlining how the NFL was outdoing them in so many ways and they needed to step it up. Naturally adding cheerleaders was my chief argument.”
“Naturally,” she said, voice dry, but inside she was thinking he sounded like a pretty interesting kid.
“I mean there is so much downtime for them to entertain between innings.”
“Beer sales might go down because people don’t want to get up from their seats.”
“Not if the cheerleaders were selling the drinks.”
“Did you include that in your letter?”
His face fell. “No. I thought of that later.”
“Probably better. Not sure Major League Baseball wants to turn into Hooters.”
He laughed. “Oh man, I sound like I was the creepiest kid ever.”
“Nah. I started it when I said I was only coming to check out the baseball players’ butts.”
She decided right there that she really liked the sound of his low rolling chuckle.
“At least I can blame it on being a hormonal teenager. What’s your excuse?”
“I was joking.”
“I see,” he said, voice drawn out and sarcastic.
Conversation stalled as they neared the stadium, and Arty’s focus shifted to following the cone-marked lanes and finding the parking lot that matched his pass. Tempest half expected him to leave the binoculars, but he put them in his jacket pocket before closing the door and locking the truck. They met at the front of the car.
“I don’t think our seats are very good.”
“Seems like something that should have been disclosed upon invitation.” She put on her jacket.
He looked her over, his eyes dancing. “You are…”
Her core heated. When he didn’t finish, she couldn’t help asking, “What?”
Pink lips turned up. “Just perfect.”
Fire licked along her nerves. Sweet tea, that was the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to her. She bit her lip, and his warm gaze dropped to her mouth.
“I think the game is about to start.” He took her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and together they walked across the parking lot.
They didn’t talk. She didn’t think she could have heard his voice over the blare of his touch anyway. Tingles skittered over her hand and up her arm. She was seriously twenty-eight going on twelve right now. Get a grip. But it felt so good. He felt so good. Who was this guy, and how had he hijacked her senses so quickly?
They found their seats halfway up the lower bowl behind first base.
“These seats are great,” she said, hoping he knew she really didn’t care where they sat. “Best place to catch a foul ball.”
“We definitely want to do that.”
She eyed the many hopeful fans holding mitts in their laps. “Highly unlikely.”
“Good. I don’t want to get hit by a baseball.” He sat down.
She sat next to him, disappointed he didn’t immediately try to hold her hand again. The game was in the bottom of the fourth. Rangers were up on the Astros five to two. “I see you solved the problem of the games being too long.”
“If only all problems were so easily solved.”
She chuckled. “Or is it that you didn’t want to commit to nine whole innings on a first date?”
“Um, I bought you dinner on Saturday. This is date number two.”
“Important distinction, Your Honor.”
He nodded and turned to the game, never answering her question. She wouldn’t have minded sitting for twelve innings with this guy, enjoying the fluttering in her belly and rush of pleasure through her veins. Strike three. End of the inning.
He stood. “Well, that’s made me hungry. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“The pressure is on.” He turned and wormed back down the row.
Her attention drifted from texting Blair, to people watching, to following the game.
Arty returned with a beer, a soda, a water, nachos, kettle corn, a hot dog, sunflower seeds, and licorice. “The gunshot approach.” He carefully sat down with his balancing act.
“Mitigate the risk. Smart.” She took a sip from the soda straw as he started shuffling things over. “Thanks for dinner…again.”
“Not exactly what my mom would call a real meal.” He stuck a red licorice between his teeth.
“Calories don’t count at baseball games.”
“I think I saw a sign up there that said the same thing.”
“In that case, pass the popcorn.”
After they’d picked at the treats for a while, Arty pulled out the binoculars. He didn’t spend much time with them aimed at the diamond. Was he stargazing? With so much ambient light, she could see only a few twinkles in the dark sky.
“What are you looking at?”
He passed the binoculars to her and pointed to the sponsor signs. “Look just above the O in Cola.”
The sleek binoculars were so small she couldn’t imagine they would be any good, but when she put them to her eyes and focused the knob, the faraway world came into stark detail. These were really nice. Like sneaky fancy. Who was this guy? She really wanted to ask him what he did for work, but she bit her tongue. If he’d had a rough day at the office, she wasn’t going to blight the date with it. She scanned the billboards, surprised to see cracks and bird-poop splatters.
“These binoculars are amazing.”
“Do you see the nest?”
She lifted the scope to the cola sign, and there it was, a bird’s nest housing four brown birds with yellow beaks sitting in it. She let out a whispered chuckle. “They’re watching the game.”
“Pretty cool, right?”
“Very rad.” She lowered the focus to the players, getting a major close-up on sweaty faces, mouths bulging with chew, and dirt-stained jerseys. “It’s like watching in high definition.”
“Yeah. Except you aren’t home on your comfy couch, and you can’t follow the action watching through a pinhole.”
“What action?”
He chuckled as they watched the next hitter amble to the plate. She traded him the binoculars for his bag of sunflower seeds and settled against her seatback, completely content. The Astros came back to tie it in the eighth. They were sitting by a large vocal group from Houston. As the ninth inning started, Arty and Tempest found themselves suddenly super Rangers fans, standing up and cheering for their hometown heroes. The Rangers lost. She was shockingly disappointed, but by the time she was back in his truck, she’d shaken off the inconsequential loss. She turned giddy with the thought of closing her date more successfully than the Rangers had ended their game.
