Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
So for Tamara, I would go do a couple of the touristy things that I had either done long before moving to the city or had avoided doing specifically because I didn’t want to look like a tourist. One of those was to go to one of the most iconic ballparks in the country and watch the boys in pinstripes play. The fact that Graham was scheduled to pitch that day was entirely coincidental.
Sort of.
I had mentioned him one day while we were at a bar in Brooklyn. A TV on the wall was playing highlights of a game he’d pitched, and I had muttered something about him being a great kisser. Tamara heard me and to say she asked me to elaborate would be an understatement. She was willing and prepared to waterboard me for information if necessary.
I told her about my crush on him in high school and how that had bubbled over a few years ago at the chance meeting in Murdock. With that knowledge, Tamara had just so happened to decide that this specific game was a non-negotiable item for her birthday bucket list. It would be the first time I had seen him play since those games in high school. And if I was going to go, I might as well go all out.
I hit the button with just seconds left on the buying clock. I was going to go see Graham Miller play live. If I didn’t chicken out at the last second.
A few weeks went by, and I found myself waking up the day of the game dreading the entire experience. Everything had seemed so simple last night. Tamara and our group had all stumbled back to my apartment and crashed wherever we fell. Since Tamara’s birthday was at midnight on a Saturday, we’d decided to stretch the entire thing into the whole weekend, and Friday night was filled with statue tours, museums, and then drinking at every bar within a five-mile radius of the apartment.
I woke up feeling a little queasy, but shockingly without a headache. My last-minute approach of downing what had to be a gallon of water before bed had helped that, but I still felt like I had been hit by a bus along with having to pee for much longer than I usually do in the morning. Thankfully, the game was an evening one, which meant I had time to have a decent lunch, get a shower, get dressed, and try to ward off any impending return of what I had imbibed the night before.
Hopping in the shower, I stood under the hot water, letting it run over me for a good ten minutes before I heard the door open. Startled, I pulled the curtain back a little to stick my head out. I relaxed when I saw it was Tamara, her head in her hands with her elbows propped on her knees as she sat on the toilet.
“Jesus, Tamara, you scared me,” I said.
“Sorry, boo,” she groaned. “I didn’t have time to make an announcement or ask for permission. You know how it is.”
“I do,” I said.
“What time is this game again?” she asked.
“The first pitch is at seven, but we should get there at about six, I think,” I said.
“All right,” she said from the other side of the curtain as I finally got around to shampooing my hair. “The boys left to go home. If it’s alright with you, I think I’m going to take a nap here.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Put on some pajamas. Get comfy. It’s your birthday.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. A flushing sound accompanied it and the sudden loss of hot water in my shower made me jump back.
“Dammit!”
“Sorry, boo,” she said, shutting the door and heading into my bedroom.
I finished my shower once the water got warm again and headed into the bedroom in a towel. Tamara was lying in the bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt I knew she must have grabbed from my drawer, and her mouth was wide open as she snored. I shook my head. I loved her to death, but she was something else.
I opened my closet and took a look inside. I wanted to look cute at the game. Whatever I picked had to be kind of sexy but also casual and not at all looking for attention. It was a tightrope to walk, but one that I knew a push-up bra would be involved with.
After a good twenty minutes going through clothes on the hangers, then the clothes in the little drawer I had in the back of the closet, and then through the totes I had stacked in the closet where I kept all my Christmas decorations, I was nearly ready to quit and just not go at all. At some point, I had put on clothes in pieces, slipping on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. Fluffy, oversized novelty socks fulfilled their dual role as slippers as well, and I looked like someone who was a carton of ice cream away from becoming a sad, crazy cat lady. Just without the cats.