Chapter 5
“I’m hot.”
“You’re fine.”
“This seat’s uncomfortable.”
“You’re fine.”
“I’m bored.”
“You’re fine.”
“I can’t believe I paid for this.”
“You didn’t!” he says rather loudly, making me laugh. Then it dawns on him and he points at me. “I see what you’re doing.”
“You do?” I feign innocence.
“You’re mimicking me.”
“Would I do that?” I ask, putting my hand on my chest in mock disbelief.
“You would and often do.”
“Hmm… I find that hard to believe.”
“And now you think you’re being witty.”
“Oh, I am being witty,” I say, draping my legs over the empty chair in front of me. Since I’m wearing shorts for the second time all summer, I figure I might as well get a little sun.
“You can’t sit like that,” he screeches out.
I look over at him. “Why not?”
He looks at my legs as he speaks. “That’s somebody’s seat.”
“And when the owner of the seat gets here, I’ll gladly move my feet from it, but for now, I’m working on my tan.”
He looks up at my face and smirks. “You don’t have a tan.”
“Thank you. I’m aware,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him.
“I’m just saying.”
“If I didn’t have to work such horrendous hours, I’d have a tan.”
He laughs at me. “No you wouldn’t.”
My mouth drops open in shock. He’s correct, but still. “We have an hour and twenty minutes before the game starts, Josh. I think this seat’s going to be empty for a while.”
“Batting practice starts in twenty minutes. I’m sure they’ll be here for that.” He leans back in his seat and props his feet up on the chair back in front of him. He’s allowed, I guess. I don’t complain because although he needs sun almost as badly as I do, he has rather nice legs.
“Because batting practice is a must,” I say, repeating his earlier words.
He nods. “Yes.”
“For what reason, exactly?”
“Because.”
“Ah… thanks for clearing that up.”
He lets his head hang. “Because that’s what you do. You get here when the gates open and buy the program so you can keep track of the game play by play. You wear your mitt, you drink beer from the ‘cold beer here’ guy, you sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seventh inning stretch and you eat hotdogs. It’s what you do.”
I smile softly at him. “That’s what you and your dad did?”
He doesn't answer for a few seconds, then nods, looking very far away. “Yeah,” he says quietly.
It's quiet again after that. “See, that clears it up,” I finally say with a smile while nudging him slightly.
“We came twice every summer when I was a kid. He always bought me a pennant,” he says, looking out at the field.
“How ‘bout I buy you a pennant today?”
He looks over at me and gets a huge smile on his face. “It has to be a Mets one.”
I fight the urge to initiate another accident and say, “Really? I never would’ve guessed.”
**********
“Shortstop is the greatest of all baseball positions,” he leans over and says to me, stealing some of my cracker jacks after the shortstop makes a double play in the bottom of the first.
I lean in to him. “Why?”
“Because he gets to cover shortstop, second base, third base and pitcher’s mound,” he tells me, pointing around the field as if I have no idea where those positions are.
“So... he’s like the go-to guy.”
He puts his arm on to the back of my chair. “Yes.”
“And before you realized last year that you were never going to play professional baseball, you wanted to be shortstop?”
He smiles but continues watching the game. “Yes.”
“And would you have had a nick-name?” I ask, smiling. I love to tease him about this amazing baseball career he believes he should’ve had.
“Of course,” he says with a smirk. “All the best players have nick-names.”
“Yours would’ve been what? Lucky Lyman?”
“Josh the jet Lyman,” he says while clapping at the strike the pitcher throws then putting his arm back.
I laugh. “You actually planned your nick-name?”
He shrugs. “All guys know their baseball nick-name.”
“All guys?” I ask doubtfully.
He looks at me and starts to say something, but then turns to the guy behind him. “If you played professional baseball, what would your nick-name be?”
“Stealy Steve Robertson,” the guy answers without hesitation never taking his eye off the field.
“And what position would you play?”
“Shortstop,” he says with a ‘duh’ voice. Josh turns to me and smirks. He’s too damn cute for his own good.
**********
“Where are you going?”
“The restroom.”
“In the middle of the game?”
“Is there a half-time?” For the record, I know the answer to that question; I’m just proving a point.
“What? No.”
“Then I’m going now,” I say matter-of-factly.
I hear him mumble, “Women,” as I walk up the aisle.
**********
“Cold beer here,” the guy yells, walking down the steps.
“Two!” Josh yells and raises his left, gloved hand. He hasn’t taken it off the entire game. His right hand is around my chair again, and I can feel his fingers toying with my hair a bit and occasionally brushing my shoulder. I don’t think he even realizes it and I’m not going to say anything for three reasons. One - I don’t want him to think I’m reading anything into it after our earlier accident. Two - I don’t want us to feel like we have to watch ourselves now just because we had a moment of… weakness. Three - I don’t really want him to stop.
“Two?” I raise my eyebrows at him.
“One’s for you,” he says defensively. We have a deal. He gets two beers. An entire inning must occur between finishing the first and ordering the second, and both must be finished before the seventh inning stretch. Also, he must eat one thing between the two.
“Ok, just remember….”
“I know the rules,” he whispers, cutting me off. “Don’t bring them up, you’ll make me look like a pansy in front of the guys.”
“What guys?”
He looks around and gestures. “The guys.”
**********
“Where are you going?”
“The restroom.”
“Again?” he screeches.
“You act like I went fifteen minutes ago. It’s been two and half hours.”
“Are you flirting with one of the concession guys up there or something?”
“Yes Joshua, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Because I’m looking rather sexy what with all the sweat that’s covering my body on this 98 degree day.” His eyes get huge but he doesn’t say anything.
“Sounds sexy to me,” Stealy Steve says from behind us, earning himself a glare from Josh.
“I’ll walk you,” he grumbles, getting up while I smile brilliantly at Stealy Steve. “And stop smiling at him,” he says, putting his hand on my back possessively.
**********
“Why are they walking this guy? He’s not a big hitter.”
“There’s a man on second and third with one out. They want to load the bases,” he says, eyes on the field.
“Why?”
“So there’s a force out on every base and they can get the double play.”
I feel something moving on my thigh and I look down to see Josh’s hand on it a few inches above my knee drawing little patterns on me with his thumb. I gawk at it for several seconds, not breathing so well. How long has that been there?
“But what if the next guy gets a base hit? Then we score,” I ask, trying to stay calm but staring down at his hand on my leg.
“He’s 0 for 2, they don’t think that’s gonna happen,” he says distractedly.
“Right,” I say slowly.
He leans in a bit closer. “But if he strikes out, we’ll have another chance and our next batter…” he trails off and I glance up at him. He’s looking down at my hand, which is wrapped around his arm. My fingernails are skimming up and down his forearm. How long have we been like this?
“Oops,” I say quietly, pulling my hand away from his arm, which draws attention to his hand, and he notices it I think for the first time, because he makes some weird noise and rips his arm off me like my leg’s on fire.
“Oops,” he repeats, still looking at my lap.
It’s quiet for a minute and I feel awkwardness peeking back in so I go for banter. “Well, look at it this way, at least I’m not off doing that with the concession guy.”
He laughs but doesn’t say anything.
“Joshua,” I finally say, nudging him. “You just gonna stare at my legs the rest of the game?”
He doesn’t look up. “Just to be safe, I don’t think I should look at your face right now.”
What? “Why?”
“Because your lips are on it,” he says quietly.
“What does that…oh.” I raise my eyebrows in interest. “You think we might have another…” I gesture at nothing.
He takes a deep breath and nods. “I can pretty much guarantee it, in fact.”
I bite my lip to keep from telling him I wouldn’t mind. “Well, you should probably just stare at my legs for a few more minutes then.” Well, that just sounded… wrong.
And once again he laughs, sending awkwardness far away from us. “An invitation to stare at a woman’s legs. This is a first.”
“You should feel privileged. That’s an invitation not every man receives.”
“Not even the concession guy?” he asks with a smirk as he focuses once again on the field.
I smile and turn my attention to the field as well. “Well yeah, him. But not Stealy Steve.”