by Holly Kerr
An image of Flora above me, my hands cupping the body part in question, flashes through my mind and I take a mouthful of beer. “I’m not talking about her tits,” I say after several swallows. “Her breasts. Her body in general.”
“So what colour are her eyes?”
“Green. The same green as the grass on the infield.”
Clay looks impressed. “You’re a better man than I am. Look, they’re here.” Clay jumps to his feet. I stand and he elbows me. “I’ll tell you one thing, Deano, I’m looking for more than friendship with that one,” he says in a low voice.
I frown. Flora had sounded protective of her friend. “Clay, maybe…you know, take it easy on her? Lay off the full-court press? She seems nice. They both do.”
Flora’s smile lights up her face when she catches sight of me across the restaurant.
“Are you kidding? A week ago, I thought I’d never see this girl again, and I still can’t get her off my mind. She better take it easy on me.”
“Hi!” Flora stops before the table. “Sorry we’re late. Actually, M.K. was on time— FYI, she’s always on time—but I don’t always have the same punctual prowess, so this is my bad. And then we couldn’t decide whose car to take because we live close, but in the opposite direction from each other.”
She’s nervous. The knowledge widens my smile even more. “Hi, Flora,” I say when she pauses for breath.
“Hi.” She’d changed from the shorts she had been wearing earlier into jeans and a white sleeveless shirt with purple flowers. It shows off the muscle tone in her arms as well as the two body parts that I can’t get out of my mind.
Maybe being friends is overrated.
I skim the rest of her as she greets Clay. “How many pairs of those shoes do you have?” I wonder aloud. She’d swapped the red high-tops she had been wearing that morning for a pair of black Converse sneakers.
She catches her tongue between her teeth when she grins. It makes her look mischievous. “I’ve actually lost count.”
“You notice shoes?” M.K. asks with a raised eyebrow. “Impressive.”
“Your shoes are lovely,” Clay enthuses, gesturing to M.K.’s basic black flats. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
M.K.’s laugh breaks any awkwardness and we sit down only to have the waitress appear.
“You brought friends this time,” she says to M.K. and Flora.
“You a regular?” I ask.
“They make great fajitas, so yeah. But not for tonight,” she adds. “Just drinks. Could I have a Corona, please?”
Clay raises an eyebrow when M.K. orders a Guinness. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a beer drinker. And not that beer.”
“It’s the best.” I raise my glass to M.K. with a grin. “At least you have good taste in something.”
“Hey,” Clay protests.
Flora laughs loudly, but when I glance over with a smile, she claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m loud.”
“I like loud.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that, because her cheeks turn pink as both of us remember our night in Las Vegas.
This friend stuff is going to suck.
Chapter Fifteen
Flora
I wrench my gaze away from Dean with difficulty. Why did I agree to be just friends? He smiles at me with a mouth that is begging to be kissed, and then he makes the, “I like it loud” remark that almost sends me across the table at him.
It’s really not fair.
“We were here last Monday,” I say to fill the sudden quiet. Or maybe it wasn’t quiet and I didn’t notice that everyone was talking because I was too busy thinking about when I had been loud with Dean.
Is it hot in here?
Clay frowns. “I was in here last Monday.” He gestures at Dean with his chin. “After the ball game. You should have been too but that’s right after we got back…you must have been jet-lagged.”
“Jet-lagged. Let’s call it that,” Dean says ruefully.
“You were the obnoxious ballplayers that they warned us about?” M.K. demands.
Clay puts a hand on his chest. “I am never obnoxious.”
I roll my eyes. “Ballplayers can be very obnoxious.”
“So, we could have been doing this for a week if you hadn’t gotten a warning,” Clay says with disbelief. “If I’d come in and you’d been here—?”
“What would you have done if you’d come in and seen me?” M.K. asks, fisting her chin.
It’s a good flirt move for her. I’m impressed.
And Clay takes perfect advantage. “What I’ve wanted to do since I first laid eyes on you.” He leans over and kisses her. It starts off as sweet and chaste but then M.K. snakes a hand around Clay’s head and it becomes something more.
I turn to Dean. “Oh, boy.”
“Is this why we need to be friends?” His gaze holds mine and I wonder if he can tell that I want to be kissing him now too.
“It was sort of inevitable,” I admit.
“Them or us?”
“Are we an us?” Dean’s gaze flicks to my mouth, and then to his beer. “Right. Not a good idea.”
I didn’t think I could sound so bitter.
“Flora, do you honestly think you could handle being in a relationship?” Dean asks seriously. “How long were you with him?”
“Eight years.”
“You need time to find yourself again.” He glances over at Clay and M.K. who have broken apart with a great deal of smiles. “It won’t be forever.”
What won’t be forever? Clay and M.K. or us being friends? But before I can ask, Kelsey brings our drinks and I’m left more confused that I was before I got here.
“What I need to know,” Clay begins, with an earnest glance at M.K., “is maybe what I should have asked before that, was how come you stood us up in Vegas?”
M.K. grimaces. “I will never forgive her for this.”
“Those dancers that Ruthie dragged us to see? We ended up getting arrested,” I explain.
“Ruthie was the tall one,” Dean says, probably sensing that Clay had no more than a vague memory of her. “Tall and Braided.”
“Is that what you called her?” M.K. laughs. “The braids are probably gone by now. She changes her hair about as often as Flora changes her shoes.”
“I like shoes,” I protest. “But not the girly, pointy-toed ones. I like comfort on my feet.”
“Tell us about your arrest,” Clay prompts.
I let M.K. tell the story, injecting occasionally only so I can have a reason to look at Dean without seeming like I’m staring at him. His attention is divided between M.K. and the TVs above the bar showing the Jays game.
I grin as he does a little arm pump when Pillar scores. “I’m glad they’re playing better than the other day. We were there on Sunday and—”
“You were at the game on Sunday?” Dean interrupts. “We were there.”
“Were you on the JumboTron?” Clay demands. “Because I think I saw you!”
“Every time Flora wears that shirt we end up on it,” M.K. says with exasperation.
“But you were there?” Dean repeats.
I nod slowly. “Kind of strange, isn’t it? At the same bar, but miss each other. At the same game. And you pick my flower store out of all the stores in Toronto to come into.”
“Makes you wonder about fate. Or destiny.”
“Or serendipity.”
“Do you think it’s fate that the two of you met?” M.K. demands. “Is that what you’re getting at?”
“Who says it’s us? Maybe it’s the two of you. Maybe we had to come together for you to meet Clay?” I shrug. “If you believe in that. Which I know you don’t.”
“I don’t,” M.K. agrees. She gives Clay a sideways glance. “But it is strange.”
“In a really nice, great kind of way,” Clay says quickly. “I believe in destiny. And this is destiny we’re talking about. Fate is the life you lead when you never put yourself on the path of grea
tness. Destiny is your potential waiting to happen. It’s predetermined.”
“What’s serendipity then?” I ask, amazed at the words coming from Clay. I wrote him off as a player back in Las Vegas, but I have to admit, the more intelligent he sounds, the more his stock rises. Not for me, but M.K.
“Serendipity is events that happen in a good way.”
“So this is serendipity,” I say happily.
“Wasn’t that a movie?” Dean asks. “I think I had to sit through it once—with Kate somebody or other? The sexy vampire? Or vampire killer?”
“Kate Beckinsale,” M.K. says. “That was a great movie.”
“The vampire one or the sappy one?” Dean asks.
The abrupt change of topic sets me back in my chair. When I glance over, I see Clay has a similar reaction. Inexplicably, we both burst out laughing.
“I guess we were getting a little too deep,” Clay says under his breath as M.K. and Dean continue to discuss the better Kate Beckinsale movie.
Whatever this is, fate or destiny or even serendipity, it works for me.
“So, Deano?” Clay cuts in when the movie talk is fading. “That Jays game tomorrow night? I might have to take a pass.”
Dean frowns. “What’s going on? We’ve had these tickets for weeks.”
“Yeah, but something’s come up.”
“What?” Dean seems oblivious to Clay’s focus on M.K. until Clay smiles and jerks his chin towards M.K. “Oh.”
Clay’s smile oozes ‘aw sucks’ charm. “I just found her. No offense, bro, but I might want to get to know her without an audience. I’ve got a friend who works in that new place in the Distillery district, and he says Tuesdays are a good night to go.”
“Oh, no, you go to the game with Dean,” M.K. protests, her cheeks pink. “We can do something another night.”
“I thought it’d be okay if you had someone to go with you. I’ll still pay for the ticket. Hey, why don’t you go with him, Flora?”
Dean rolls his eyes and I grin.
“Have you ever taken a woman to a baseball game?” Clay continues. “Evelyn hated the sport.”
“She didn’t hate it.”
“Dude. She did.”
“How could she hate baseball, especially if you play?” I wonder.
“Do you think Thomas loved baseball?” M.K. asks. “Or flowers, for that matter. He forgot your bouquet, remember? I don’t think it’s required to have the same interests as your significant other.”
“But you should at least try to…at least I did.”
“Did Thomas?” M.K. demands.
“Well…I guess not.”
“But we don’t have to talk about significant ex-others,” Clay says smoothly. “Since it’s so serendipitous that we’ve come together, they don’t really matter.”
Score another point for Clay.
The rest of the night moves fast. Clay and M.K. seem absolutely fascinated with each other, and I focus on Clay almost as much as Dean, because M.K. is my girl and I have to watch out for her. But Clay seems like a good guy.
We’re left alone at the end of the evening when Dean and M.K. both excuse themselves to go to the washroom.
“So.” Clay begins with a knowing expression. “You and Dean.”
“What about me and Dean?” I snap, my heart sinking. Did Dean say something to Clay about the night in Las Vegas?
But Clay looks chagrined. “I have no idea. He hasn’t said anything except that the two of you are friends.”
I nod slowly. “We are friends. At least, I hope we will be.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you’ll push for something else. I think it’ll be the only way he’ll get over Evelyn.”
“He’s not over Evelyn?” My throat is suddenly dry. “Of course he’s not over her.”
“He will be. Soon, I hope. She wasn’t good for him. It would have been a huge mistake if they’d actually gone through with it.”
“I only met her for a sec but I have to agree.”
“He’s a great guy,” Clay says, leaning forward conversationally. “But I think she messed him up. That and the not playing ball.”
I glance over my shoulder to make sure Dean’s not coming back. “Is he—how is his arm?”
“I’m no doctor, but I’d say he’s as good as new. I’ve never seen him pitch, but everything else is amazing. I’m a pretty good player, but Dean…” Clay shakes his head. “He’s amazing. It’s a shame that he’s not playing professionally. And I think it was Evelyn that kept him from it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t know him then. But I have to say, it’ll be a nice change for him hanging out with someone that cares about ball. At least, you seem to.”
“I used to play.” I have no idea why I admit that to Clay. “I was on the Canadian team. Women’s softball, so a little different.”
“Really?” Admiration blooms in Clay’s gaze. “That’s pretty cool. What happened?”
“Long story and one that would need another drink. But it’s late and I think we’re heading out of here.” I catch sight of a smiling M.K. returning. “She really likes you.”
Clay can’t take his eyes off M.K. walking across the restaurant. “I really like her too.”
“Don’t ever hurt her,” I say in a low voice. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thrown out someone stealing second from home plate, but I threw hard and fast. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of it.”
Clay turns to me with amazement. “Did you just threaten me?”
“I did,” I say with a grin. “Hope you’re not offended.”
He laughs. “I like you, Flora. So, same goes for me. Don’t mess up my bro. And don’t let him wait too long for you.”
“I don’t plan on it.”
Dean
“These seats are amazing.” Flora leans her arms on top of the visitor dugout. “We usually sit up in the nosebleeds.”
“I got them from a friend of a friend,” I say. Then after a pause, “Evelyn’s boss.”
“Ah.” She glances warily at me.
“Yeah.” I hope she can sense that I don’t want to talk about Evelyn. I’ve had enough trouble pushing any thoughts of her out of my head, only to have them slide in, like a runner stealing second.
“I can see right into their dugout,” Flora says, and I smile at her attempt to change the subject. “Look, there’s Smoak! Justin Smoak!” She stands up as the tall first baseman lopes out onto the field at the start of the second inning. “And Pillar! Kevin Pillar, you’re the best centre-fielder ever! Mike Trout sucks!”
Flora has a loud voice and she doesn’t need any sequined T-shirt to get attention. At her scream, Kevin Pillar turns in our direction and gives her a wave. Then he notices me and does a double take.
“Coulson,” Pillar mouths as he nods a greeting.
Flora’s mouth hangs open with awe as she stares at me. “We came up together,” I say with a sheepish shrug. “He’s a good guy.”
“You played with those guys,” she breathes. “I know that, but I only just realized how cool it is. Do you keep in touch?”
“Not enough to get you in the dugout,” I tease. Then my face falls. “Not at all actually. Let’s just say Evelyn wasn’t the only bad breakup I’ve had.”
The inning begins and my attention is claimed by the pitcher, watching his every move, muttering under my breath as the first pitch is called high and away. “This must be so hard for you,” Flora says softly.
I shrug without turning away. “It’s my own fault.”
“You didn’t ask to get hurt.”
“But I could have asked to play again.” Flora looks confused. “Do you know what happened?”
“I know you hurt your arm because of overuse, but you got it fixed, didn’t you?”
“Surgery and a season worth of rehab and I was given the green light to play again. But when I was good to go, the team wanted to send me down to Single-A. And from the sounds of things, at leas
t what I understood, there wouldn’t be room for me to come back up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I had my shot in the majors and I blew it. I didn’t handle it well. I didn’t like being told that was it.” I can hear the bitterness in my voice, no matter how I try to spin it. “They told me I had a place with the Lansing Lugnuts but that was it. I said no, in no uncertain terms. They paid out my contract and I was no longer part of the Blue Jays franchise. End of story.”
“Wow.” Flora brushes the hair off her face. “I can’t see you doing that. I don’t know you very well yet, but that doesn’t sound like something you would do.”
“I don’t know why I told you.” I drain my can of beer and squeeze the can before setting it under my seat. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”
“How much of it was Evelyn?”
I’m surprised with the question. “It’s not anyone’s fault but mine,” I say firmly. “I was the asshole.”
“I think you’re a nice guy. And I think the franchise would be happy to have you back.”
I stare moodily into the outfield.
“I’m getting us beer.” Trev stands up, bringing a welcome release to the seriousness of my conversation with Flora. He sits on the other side of Flora, with Imad beside him. “The guy here is taking too long. Do you drink beer, Flora, or are you one of these girls who won’t touch the stuff because they’re afraid of getting fat?”
“I love beer,” she says enthusiastically. “But what I really love is popcorn. Do you think you could get some? I’ll share.” She digs in her bag for her wallet, but Trev waves it away.
“I’ve got this. You get the next round.”
“Thanks!” I slide my legs to the side to let Trevor and Imad out into the aisle. Trevor is tall and blond and muscular with shoulders so wide that Flora must be squished sitting between us.
“So have you talked to Evelyn since yesterday?” Flora asks cheerfully, watching Trev and Imad make the long trek up the stairs. “I thought it would be best not to bring her up, but then it’s like she’s the elephant in the room, both of us dancing around her, and I’m not that good of a dancer. I think it’s best if we get all the negative stuff out in the open so we can enjoy the rest of the night. After all, that’s what friends do. Talk about things.”
