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A nickname for Major League Baseball.
SYDNEY
“We call him The Show,” another baseball player tells me. I recognize him as the one at the coffee stand with him last week.
“You’ve literallynevercalled me that before.” Cason pushes his friend on the shoulder. “You can leave now.”
The bass of the music vibrates the stool I’m sitting on. Look at me. I’m seated right there next to Cason at the table, Nahla, Sadie with us, and a handful of baseball players trying their luck too. “Why do you call him that?” I ask, curious as to why they call Cason The Show.
The one with dark hair and even darker eyes presses his chest to my side and leans in to tell me, “Because he threw 105 mph fastball tonight.”
“Holy shit, that was you?” I stare at him and fight the urge to take another whiff of his delicious scent. I wonder what kind of deodorant he uses. Maybe they make it in an air freshener.
His facial expression falters, as if he doesn’t want to give himself away. He nods though.
“I think I need proof this actually happened and that it’s not a college rumor.”
Cason shakes his head, smiling as if he’s not surprised by my hesitation to believe him. “Uh-huh.”
His teammates show me a video. I still don’t believe them. I have trust issues.
Nahla downs the remainder of her martini and stares at the player who’s wearing his baseball hat backward and trying to get her to dance with him. “Son, I’m old enough to be your mom.”
“Not likely. I’m twenty-one. What are you, like thirty-five?”
This backward-hat-wearing kid might die a painful death tonight. “I’m thirty.”
“Unless you had me at fourteen, you ain’t my mom.” He holds his hand out to her. “And my name is Forest.”
Nahla’s not impressed and shows him her perfected resting bitch face. “I could be your aunt,Forest.”
“But we’re not related, so I’ve got no problems if you want to teach me a thing or two, I’m game.” Reaching out, he touches her shoulder. “I’m digging the pants suit.”
“It’s not a pants suit.” Nahla yanks her white shirt from her pants. “It’s a shirt, and pants. I’m a lawyer and married.” She holds up her left hand. “Go away.”
Forest rolls his eyes but doesn’t give up. “I don’t have any problems with you being married. I won’t tell anyone.”
Nahla laughs. “They’re witnesses everywhere.”
“Fine.” He tries again, sitting next to her. “What does your husband do?”
Cason leans into me, shaking his head. “Forest can debate better than anyone I know. If there’s ever a play in question, he’s the first to add his two cents.”
“And Nahla is feisty.” I close the distance between us, our ears practically touching, heads tipped together. I can feel his warmth radiating through him and into me. “She’ll put him in his place.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His terrified eyes find mine. “She scares me.”
I search the depth of his stare. And he’s drunk. That much is clear, but you know what I do see? Unguarded. Honesty. Truth. You get my point. I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed around a man. “Do I scare you?”
There’s a slow shake of his head and the softest of smiles. “No, you intrigue me.”
Intrigue. Huh. That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I don’t break eye contact, and he smiles crookedly. Don’t be fooled by his adorableness. He’s trying to steal first base.
The clinking of glasses draws my attention to the table. I look down at Cason’s hand casually wrapped around his third beer. “I want to see you throw that fast. Or I don’t believe it. The world record is 105 in a game. You’ll have to excuse me if I have my doubts.”
Cason shakes his head. “I’m not surprised you have doubts.”
Ez, the one trying to convince me, pulls up the news from the college. It’s true. He did. In a game. Hell, it’s all over ESPN right now, and Cason’s phone has been ringing so much he turned it off.