Page 56 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

SCOTTIE

There’s no convenient time for morning sickness, and apparently, there’s no convenient time for intense baseball games either.

Not that I’m the one with morning sickness—Kayla is. She’s been a queasy mess since the second inning, even though she’s trying to hide it from everyone. It’s like watching someone try to keep a volcano from erupting by putting a cute bow on top.

Me? I’m fine.

Mostly.

Lucas Fischer is eight innings and ninety-something pitches into an almost flawless game so far, and the whole stadium is holding its breath. The Mudflaps fans are on their feet, and we’re all dancing around the term “no-hitter” like we’re not sure if it’s a prayer or a curse.

Them, I mean. They’re not sure.

It’s silly how baseball fans treat games like they’re life or death. I grew up in Philly with Jake Rodgers—you know, the big third baseman the Firebirds acquired just before the trade deadline. He was tight with my older brother (and no, this isn’t some ”brother’s best friend” romcom situation).

His superstition around every game bordered on hokey mysticism. Not changing his socks when his team was on a winning streak, and only eating crunchy taco supremes from Taco Bell before baseball games.

Dumb, right?

Yet watching Lucas on that mound with his easy grin and golden-boy glow, I can’t help noticing that I’ve been standing with my hands in the pockets of my cigarette pants this entire inning, and no batter has made contact.

So I keep my hands in my pockets.

Not because I care about Lucas, but because I work for the Mudflaps, and I owe it to my boss to help the team.

I keep myself from pacing as I watch the inning unfold.

Kayla’s white-knuckling Sean’s hand, Bruce Fischer—Lucas’s MLB umpire dad—looks like he’s ready to jump in and call the pitches himself.

And Lucas’s sister, Liesel, is explaining pitching mechanics to Cooper Freaking Kellogg, as if he’s not the best hitter in MLB.

(Also hot. Sorry, not sorry, Liesel, but I had the biggest crush on your boyfriend when I was a teen.)

Meanwhile, Lucas looks calm as a summer’s morning, like he’s not about to throw his hundredth pitch. He even winks at the catcher between batters. Who does that?

“He’s incredible,” I hear myself whisper.

I clamp my lips shut immediately. Great. Now I’m part of the Lucas Fischer fan club.

Kayla glances back at me, grinning like she knows. “I told you,” she mouths.

I roll my eyes and pretend not to care, pretend not to notice the weird flutter in my chest.

The first batter strikes out swinging. Lucas bounces back up from throwing a hundred mile an hour fast ball like it’s his first of the day, but, then, he started the day throwing one-oh-four.

He’s on the extended roster for the Firebirds and he could get called up at any second, so they’re being ultra strict about pitch counts.

A hundred pitches. That’s all he’s going to get.

But he’s barely slowing down. He looks fresh and like he wants to finish it.

I bring my hand up to my mouth and put my thumbnail between two teeth, and a batter smacks the first pitch high to right field. My stomach flips. I moved my hands! I was supposed to keep them in my pockets! Did I just jinx him?

I jam my hands back in my pockets as the ball soars up and up, flying toward the foul pole!

I can’t tell if it’s fair or not, but?—

Is it curving??

YES!

It curves right before it reaches the pole and drops harmlessly into foul territory.

The whole suite exhales. But no one more than me.

“You okay?” Kayla asks, side-eyeing me like she’s trying to see through my head.

“Sure,” I say, even though my nails are digging through my pants into my hips.

Kayla smirks.

I lean toward her. “How’s that morning sickness you’re pretending doesn’t exist?”

She glowers, but that smirk doesn’t quite fade.

Lucas steps back on the mound. Ninety-seven pitches. Three more to hit a hundred. Three more before Fletch has to pull him, no matter how close he is to history.

I wonder if he’ll fight them.

I wonder if it’ll bother him to have to hand it over to Logan, who’s warming up in the bullpen.

Kayla is practically vibrating out of her seat. Cooper’s got an arm slung around Liesel, calm and casual.

And I’m trying not to look at Lucas too closely.

Trying not to admit that there’s something about him—that mix of brash confidence and warm, puppy dog energy—that’s starting to get under my skin.

The second pitch comes in hot. A ball.

I think I’m going to throw up.

Another pitch, and the batter swings.

Makes contact.

Fouls it back.

(My hands are in my pockets, thank you very much.)

And I keep them there, just in case.

Because Lucas is at ninety-nine pitches.

One more.

One more before he has to let it go.

I can’t decide if I’d rather him keep it for himself or share it with his brother.

I can’t decide if I’d like him more if he fought to be the hero or shared the spotlight with someone else.

Either way, my chest is tight. And as Lucas winds up for his final pitch of the night, looking graceful and powerful and maybe even a little tempting, I can’t pretend I’m above it all.

No matter how hard I try to shut it out.

Scottie won’t make it easy for Lucas, but The Setup Man , their black cat/golden retriever forbidden dating love story, is coming in 2026!