Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Cracking up, I shake my head. This guy. He kills me. “Yes, I want all your sex plans, but I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Troy wrote another piece.”
“He sure did,” Grant says, and he’s all sunshine and good spirits. He’s not bent out of shape.
Interesting. “And you’re good with it?”
“I am. Want to know why?”
“I do.”
“Someone told me to tune it out. And I listened to that someone,” Grant says, sounding pleased as punch with himself.
“Well, look at you,” I say with a low whistle.
“I don’t give a fuck what he says about me. You did that for me. So . . . thank you.”
A grin spreads across my face. “You did it, Grant. But I’m happy I could help.”
“Me too. But I do have to hit the field in a minute. Good luck with Stockman today.”
“You’re not going to give me any hitting tips, are you?”
“You wish. If you wind up in the World Series playing against Stockman, that’s when I’ll give you tips. Not now. Not while we’re both in contention for the playoffs. Want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because if I give you a tip and you win, that means I might have to face you in the World Series, and can you imagine how devastated you’ll be when I beat you? I don’t know how I’d console you.”
“Stab a knife in my chest, why don’t you? You’re the cruelest.”
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way. When it comes to baseball, you want to beat me, and I want to beat you. And that’s the way it should be.”
I do love his competitive fire. It matches mine. “We are birds of a feather. Like herons.”
Grant snort-laughs. “Bang me like a heron, Declan.”
“I will go horny heron on you this weekend.”
“Mmm. You almost make me want to tell you how to hit Stockman with that sweet nothing. Love you.”
“Love you. Also,” I say, slowing down, taking a breath. “Grant?”
“Yes, Deck?”
“Thanks again. For being patient. For waiting for me.” I hope he knows what I mean.
Grant’s quiet at first. “You were always worth waiting for, Declan,” he says, in a tender voice that makes it clear he knows what I’m saying.
And that’s another reason I want to find my answer soon.
So I don’t make him wait any longer for me.
Right now, though, I need to find the answer to an immediate dilemma. I drive to the ballpark, formulating a plan for Stockman.
One that doesn’t rely on my boyfriend’s hitting tips, or my dad’s, or anyone else’s.
One that relies on me.
After I arrive, I march straight to the locker room to find Gunnar. My teammate has a crummy batting average against Stockman this year too. “I know what to do,” I announce to the third baseman, then we gather by our lockers, search past video for our at-bats against the leftie, and nod sagely at the same time once we spot the issue. “Stockman started jamming us this year. He’s all up and in,” I say, tapping the screen like I’ve found the buried treasure.
Gunnar’s eyes spark with a plan. “We need to crowd the plate. He won’t be able to jam us so much.”
“We’ll jam him instead,” I say, and we smack palms. Then he tells me something very interesting indeed about the night we were at the dance club earlier in the season. That night, we both homer off Stockman and win the game.
We win the Saturday game too, pulling us even closer to a playoff spot. I meet Mom outside the ballpark, then we head to the noodle shop in the marina, and I wish the answer to wanting kids was as easy as researching at-bats.
I wish I had an answer for Grant, since he deserves to know where I stand. But I wish I had it for me too. I desperately want the answer and I want to know how to find it.
As we head to the restaurant, a bird squawks overhead. Looks like a falcon. If memory serves, I spotted a falcon the first time I went for a run with Grant in spring training way back when.
Mom cranes her neck to the darkening sky. “Remember when you used to go bird watching as a young teen?”
“I do remember. I wanted to be a bird and fly away,” I say, drily. She knows about my bird fascination, where and what it came from.
She squeezes my shoulder. “Well, I’m sure glad you stayed, sweetie.”
Laughing I say, “Yeah, me too.”
Once inside the noodle shop, we grab a table and order, and then Mom gives me that it’s time to talk face.
I hold my hands out wide. “What do I do?”
She smiles gently. “I can’t make that decision for you. But I want to help you figure out how to make the decision that works for you.”