“Get to work, old man,” Levi says from behind me.

This is why I wasn’t ready to go out.

This.

I have no idea what crazy thought or whim had me thinking this would be a good idea. Especially when I didn’t clarify with Levi or even myself that this wasn’t a date.

It feels like a date.

It looks like a date.

I want to talk with him and learn about his life, his experiences, his family, even his future goals, and what’s even crazier is I want to divulge these things about me and my life as well. I don’t feel the need to dodge questions or provide half answers, because something about him is easy and somehow doesn’t feel judgmental or demanding.

Maybe that’s because I had known this wasn’t a date? Because I wasn’t trying to impress him?

I silence the milling thoughts and grab my purse off the back of the chair and reach for my wallet.

Levi places his hand on top of my open wallet. “This experience is my treat.”

His face is impassive, yet I still feel like a jerk.

Were my words rude? Insensitive? Was I channeling Catherine?

Objections bubble in my thoughts, but Levi drops a twenty on the bar before I can voice any of them. “Say a prayer for my Sox,” he says to Jerry.

Jerry shakes his head. “They don’t need it. They’ve got this season in the bag.” He takes our empty glasses, depositing them behind the bar. “And I’ll see you later, Brooke.”

I smile, keeping my mouth shut to actually filter my words and thoughts this time. “It was nice meeting you, Jerry.”

“Don’t get formal on me now,” he says, eyeing me carefully. His stare isn’t as heavy or prodding as Levi’s, but it’s nearly as intense. Like he recognizes there’s a level of uncertainty and regret currently feeding on my insecurities. “Make sure the White Sox give those Cubbies hell.” A slight nod, and his scrutinizing gaze drops to the bar where Levi and I sat, and he cleans it for a second time.

Levi’s hand brushes the middle of my back as he guides me through the throngs of people toward the front door. More have come. Some have their faces painted, looking surprisingly intimidating; others look comfortable and at ease, as though they’re returning home. The table of women with deep-cut shirts and perfect hair has grown into two tables, and while I chastise myself for looking at them more closely, I do. They appear ageless, their darkly shadowed eyes and highlighted cheekbones somehow teasing at them being underage, yet the way they’re poised as though completely self-assured makes them seem older than my twenty-nine years.

I turn my attention away, hating that another person—a stranger—has me reconsidering so much about my relationship with Gabe and why someone as good looking as Levi would be willing to bring me here. Insecurities don’t go away when you graduate high school—some days, like today, they hardly even seem different. I’m still comparing my bra size to theirs and the gaps between their thighs to my lack of one. Just now those same insecurities come with more guilt. Guilt that I’m judging others. Guilt that I’m judging myself. Guilt because I know what it’s like when someone wrongfully judges you.

The wind blows my hair across my face like a sheet, bringing me back to the present. An hour of doing my hair becomes wasted as I fist the strands and tie them up into an elastic and look toward Levi.

“Would you mind if we walk the couple of blocks to the stadium?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’d like that.” Regardless of the wind. Somehow, the fresh air makes the cars and people and noise all feel less restrictive and demanding.

“All right, so White Sox, culinary school, a dishwasher, and now management at a club.”

Levi’s face is painted with a grin as he turns and looks at me. “I’m at the disadvantage. I don’t know if I just talk too much or you’re better at asking questions.”

“You know I’m blogging.”

Levi nods, his head swinging widely as though pronouncing the fact. “And that you grew up with your grandma and brother on a farm.” He smiles as he says it, as though waiting for me to argue. I don’t. “And that you’re a vegetarian. That last one might have been my biggest surprise.”

“So far.” My voice nearly sings the borderline-flirting words, shocking me and making Levi’s constant grin grow into a smile. We separate to pass around a large crowd, and then our steps find the same rhythm once more. “Why was the vegetarian part the biggest shock?”

He shrugs. “I think if I tell you, you’ll think I’m a judgmental asshole.”

“In addition to your cockiness? Yikes.”

His blue eyes dance with amusement. “The only vegetarians I’ve ever met don’t wear shoes or shower.”

“Are you sure they were vegetarian? Because you’re describing my best friend’s children.” I laugh.

“They’re the new-age hippies. You know who I’m talking about!”

I shrug, knowing exactly whom he’s referring to. I catered a wedding last summer that had an all too real Hobbit-esque feel to it with lots of grass and rocks, bare feet, and a complete lack of undergarments. It was initially really hard not to find the bride and groom and their ideas bizarre, even off-putting, but they’d turned out to be some of the kindest—albeit strangest—clients I’ve worked with. “Anyone who walks around Chicago without shoes has to be crazy. Can you imagine what one steps on every day?” I shudder.

Levi kicks a rusted nail to the side; our pace—which has been established by the crowds behind us—is too quick for either of us to try to retrieve it. “I think the universe is agreeing with you,” he tells me.

At the crosswalk, a police officer stands with a whistle between his lips, a palm facing our large group attempting to cross the street. The energy is ratcheting higher with the stadium now in view. People in cars are honking. Cheers and jeers are being yelled. The energy is nearly visible it’s so strong.

Levi stands straighter; his shoulders somehow seem to become wider with his stance, and he places a hand gingerly on my back. It’s not intimate, but his intention to shield and ward off the man behind me who is close enough to smell the beer on his breath makes my stomach do somersaults.

We cross the street at a fast clip, the noise from our surrounding crowd growing even louder, as though moving has unchained the final harness.

“Just wait,” Levi says into my ear, his lips so close they graze my hair when I turn too fast. “This is calm. It will get even louder.”

Louder?

A dozen seconds pass before his words register and another dozen for them to make sense. The heat from him being so close. The scent of his cologne mixed with soap. Those damn parentheses around both corners of his mouth. And those eyes—those eyes make me feel like he’s looking past whatever I’m saying, whatever I’m thinking, whatever I’m feeling—straight into my soul and what makes me who I am. It’s crazy and impossible, and yet as his blue eyes lock on mine once more, I’m nearly certain of the fact.

We pass through security, where the crowds once again pull my attention in a dozen directions. More face and body paint, huge homemade signs, shirts decorated with clever uses of words and numbers, jerseys, and silly hats are donned by people of all ages, but they are only a brief thought because it’s then that I realize the Cubs fans are streaming through the same gates, equally excited and dressed to show off their team pride.

“Will this be an issue?” I ask Levi.

He shakes his head. “Not yet it won’t. Once we start winning, though, all bets are off.” He winks, flashing a smile I haven’t seen him try on yet. It’s wider—more mischievous and distracting as all hell.

Levi’s hand returns to my back as we begin milling forward in the crowds, following the paths and numbers until he stops, directing me down a flight of steps. We make it inside, and though it’s nearly ninety minutes before the first pitch, the seats are surprisingly full. Concession people are walking the ends of each aisle, yelling about cotton candy, beer, and popcorn. The stairs are steep. I grip the handrail tighter, following Levi down several rows and then in front of several seated fans before stopping in front of a few empty red seats. I’m flushed from the long walk and nerves as I set my purse down and take a seat. The field is so close I can read the many billboards that surround the pristinely cut grass, making my thoughts wander to what Levi does. I make a decent living with my job, but affording rent on my single income in Chicago would be a near-impossible struggle, and though I know little about sports and the rules, I’m positive there’s no way I could even dream of affording season tickets that were this close.

“These seats are amazing.”

Levi looks at me, his gaze once again penetrating.

Does he realize I’m wondering if he’s possibly a drug dealer in his spare time? Or if he has rooms where he pimps out women?

He nods. “They’ve been in my family for years. My grandfather was a huge Sox fan.”

My shoulders fall with a silent sigh of relief. “You mentioned he used to bring you.”

Levi nods. “He came and watched every single game up until he passed away.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

He pulls his lips into a polite smile. “I appreciate it.” He rubs his hands together and sits back in his seat. “I have to admit I’m kind of honored to make a spot on your blog.”

I laugh, and it sounds like a guffaw—too loud and throaty. “I just started the blog yesterday,” I admit.

One large shoulder lifts, his slight shift allowing the wind to brush his scent toward me again, tickling my nose and preventing me from noticing much else. “But you started,” he says. “That’s always the hardest part.”

I think back to the blog entry I wrote. Just let go. I did let go, and in doing so, I started something new.

“So, will this be your first blog entry?”

I shake my head. “I actually wrote about another first I had last weekend.”

“What was that?”

“My best friend—the one I went to the club with—she and I went rock climbing.”

His chin tilts, and his eyes glimmer as though reflecting interest, like he wants to hear more. It feels like support. It also feels completely unfamiliar to be coming from a man. Felicity has always been supportive, even when it comes to random whims; she never hesitates throwing a log into the flue, stoking my ideas—even the crazy ones.

The thought has me sitting back in my seat, my thoughts once again gravitating toward Gabe. We spoke so little about our jobs and interests and so much about what our friends and people we knew were doing. Talking about their achievements and their struggles rather than our own.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks.

I nod, thinking about how doing so helped me be brave and reach out to him and how it’s why I’m here. “My shoulders were embarrassingly sore, but it was surprisingly really fun.”

He chuckles. “Surprisingly? It wasn’t what you expected?”

“I’m trying to reserve my expectations.”

He dips his chin with interest. His attentiveness nearly has me blushing. This is a simple conversation, and yet in just the few minutes we’ve been sitting here, I’m reminded of how closely he listened to me on Friday, and I realize maybe it wasn’t just for show.

“Reserving expectations for what?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m working on not making assumptions or passing judgment about situations, people, or ideas, because if nothing else, these past couple of months have taught me that change is inevitable. And in order to make the most out of life and situations, I can’t continue to do the same thing day in and day out. The whole purpose of this blog is to experience things I haven’t before while learning what it’s like to be single again.”

“Hey, Levi!” A man says from behind me. I don’t see him, though, because Levi is staring at me once more, and the intensity and intent behind it serves like a spell, binding my attention to only him.

“You fascinate me,” he says.

And for the hundredth time, I wish I hadn’t proclaimed we weren’t on a date, because I really want to know what it would be like to kiss him.