“That was the second out!”

Jordan Douglas nearly dropped her hot dog.

“Jesus, Ben!” she mumbled under the bun she brought back to her mouth.

“Sorry,” her cousin muttered.

She gave him a wary look as she bit off the end and chewed. He was going to ask her to get up again, she knew it.

Ben stared at her, his lips contorted in a mixture of impatience and guilt.

He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. “It’s just that…one more out and Carter’s up at bat!”

“I just got this thing,” she reminded him, lifting the hot dog, extra mustard.

There had finally been a wonderful window of opportunity, where the guy selling hot dogs had actually been in the vicinity of their seats, and Carter wasn’t about to take the bat. Jordan had seized the moment. Then, bam, the Rockies had managed to get two outs, quick as lightning.

“But it’s a draw, 4-4. This could be the last inning, especially if he hits a home run!” Ben pleaded.

“Can I just finish it first? I’m starving!” she pleaded.

Her 12-year-old cousin pressed his lips together, torn between not wanting to be a nuisance and his desire for the thing he wanted even more: one of Carter Fox’s home run baseballs.

She gave him as much of a glare as she could muster, hoping it might help him decide.

He shot right back with those puppy dog eyes. She knew for a fact they had materialized just to guilt-trip her into putting on his mitt and heading down to the bottom of the stands in their section yet again. It was a battle of stares.

Jordan couldn’t help herself any longer and began to laugh, punching him lightly in the arm. She took another quick bite of the dog and handed it to Ben, switching it out for the catcher’s mitt in his lap.

“Don’t get your hopes up, kiddo,” she mumbled with her mouth full. She stood up to go down as she fitted the mitt to her hand.

“Jordan!” he called out.

What now? She turned around, one hand on her hip.

“You have some mustard on your upper lip.” He pointed to his face to show her where it was, holding back a smile.

“Thanks a lot, cuz,” she said, running her tongue over her upper lip to lap up the tangy smear. “At least now when I miss catching that ball, I won’t look like a complete idiot.”

She could see he wanted to laugh, but thought better of it. No sense in pressing his luck.

Smart kid.

Considering how often she had done this, it was a good thing they were sitting on the end of the row, mostly because of Ben’s condition. He had been hit by a drunk driver while riding his bike a while ago, which had shattered his left leg, leaving him in a full leg cast.

Ben patently refused to sit in the special needs area, even though it offered a much better view of the game. After all, that section was not between second and third, where Carter Fox’s home runs usually ended up. That just wouldn’t do, especially when Ben had an older cousin to pop out of her seat every other inning to try and catch one of those balls.

Smart kid. Maybe too smart.

This would be the fifth time today Jordan had left her seat, hand securely mitted, to head down to the bottom of their section with the other hopeful fans.

She frowned, just as she had each time she made her way down. Carter Fox had been known to pay a hefty sum for his home run balls, so the crowd was substantial, and very agitated. This was bound to be as unpleasant as the last few times.

Even though she had almost twelve years on him, she and Ben got along as really good friends. So when he wanted, more than anything, to go to the Houston Sluggers game, she offered to take him, even though she had zero interest in the sport.

Ben practically idolized Carter Fox, who had almost single-handedly brought notoriety to the fairly new National League upstart ballclub thanks to his home run streak. In fact, everyone in Houston seemed to have Slugger Fever, which was unfortunate for the other home team, the Astros.

If her cousin wanted that home run ball, she would make a valiant, if statistically futile, attempt to catch it for him. Even if it meant dealing with the worst attendees of the game.

“Back again?”

It was the same obnoxious man with a tiny, douche-patch right below his bottom lip, who spent less time looking out for the ball than he did eyeing Jordan’s legs or trying to look down the front of her tank top, despite her meager offerings up there.

Jordan wished she had worn something that covered her up a bit more, especially since the Sluggers’ stadium was covered, complete with air conditioning. To hold a game any other way in the middle of summer in Houston would have been suicide in terms of ticket sales, even for the most hard core fan.

Ben had decked himself out in Sluggers’ gear in honor of his favorite team. Jordan’s royal blue tank top, that fit perhaps a bit too snugly against her chest, was the only piece of clothing she had brought with her from law school this summer that matched his gung-ho team spirit.

“Just make sure you stay out of my way,” he continued, a leery smile appearing between those ruddy cheeks. “This may be his last hit of the game and that ball is mine.”

Jordan just ignored him. All the same, she took a few steps back up the stairs so that she was away from the bulk of the crowd. It probably meant she wouldn’t get the ball, since Carter Fox had never hit a home run this far up into the stands. This was evidenced by the complete lack of hopefuls around her. She tempered her mild guilt by reminding herself that she had a better chance of being hit by an asteroid than catching that ball. Seriously, who could predict exactly where it would land anyway?

She crossed one arm over her stomach and dangled the other one, which felt heavy with the mitt on it. With her hair up in a ponytail, the cool air of the stadium hit her neck. During the summer it was impossible to keep her relaxed hair straight. Instead, she would wash it, braid it, and let the resulting wavy curls do their thing. In some ways, she preferred it like that, since it suited her heart-shaped face and the deep dimples she sometimes found a bit too precious. It made her feel like a less cool version of Donna Summer.

She looked out on the field as the players just stood there waiting for the play to begin.

Why couldn’t Ben be into something that moved a bit faster, like basketball or football? Baseball had far too many lulls to hold Jordan’s interest. But he loved the stats, he said. Baseball was a “thinking man’s game,” whatever that meant.

Jordan just wanted to get back to her hot dog. That was the one good thing about coming to a baseball game.

Finally, a player for the Rockies was tagged out at second and Jordan perked up, trying to at least make an attempt to seem ready for action. The teams switched out as Jordan stifled a yawn.

The Rockies took the field, and the first batter up for the Sluggers headed out of the dugout. Ben’s favorite player:

#47, Carter Fox.

Jordan watched with sudden interest as his muscular physique walked toward home base while the other team took their places on the field. The crowd went crazy with anticipation as he gave a few test swings away from the plate. Even Jordan could feel herself getting a tiny, adrenaline-fueled buzz as she watched him in action. Maybe baseball wasn’t entirely boring.

The huge screen at the end of the field zoomed in on Carter as he finally took up position at home plate. He removed his batting helmet to wipe his forehead with one very nicely developed forearm. His wavy, blond hair was a tousled mess that she had an urge to reach out and run her fingers through. Perhaps hot dogs weren’t the only good thing about baseball.

He placed his helmet back on his head and got back into position. The camera focused on his face again. A brief sizzle of pleasure went through Jordan, just as it had the last few times she saw that face up close. The green eyes blazed with intense determination. His strong jaw looked so taut, she wouldn’t have been surprised if a few of his teeth were currently being crushed. She noted the arm and shoulder that faced the field. The man was huge!

Looking at the package as a whole, it was no wonder Carter Fox got so much play off the field. Jordan was well aware of his reputation. You didn’t spend even a little time in Houston and not know about the Sluggers’ star player, no matter how indifferent you were to the sport. One had to wonder how he even had time to practice, when he seemed to spend most of it hosting parties at his River Oaks mansion or out on the town with the flavor of the week.

She snapped to attention when she felt the hush of the crowd. Carter Fox was poised and ready. The pitcher was taking his signals from the catcher.

A shake of the head. No.

Another shake of the head. No.

Finally, there was a nod and he threw his arm back to pitch the ball.

He didn’t stand a chance.

Carter hit it with a smack that she was positive she could hear even this far up in the stands. She braced herself as she saw it heading toward the usual area between second and third base. It didn’t hurt to be prepared…just in case.

Her eyes widened and then began to blink rapidly as she saw the trajectory.

Oh no.

Oh, no, no… NO!

* * *

The arc was way too high for the crowd below her to have any hope of being where it landed. In fact, it looked as though the ball was heading straight up to her. Jordan’s breath caught in her throat as she thrust her gloved hand into the air. She wasn’t sure if she was more terrified of the ball spiraling toward her head, or the horde below her that had just discovered they were standing at the incorrect latitude to catch it.

She focused on the approaching baseball, angling her arm, mostly to prevent getting knocked in the head. Before the throng of people below her could clamor up the steps in a stampede, she felt the thunk as the ball actually fell into her glove. Despite the protective mitt, her palm immediately began to sting.

“Oww!” she yelped, wincing.

Then her eyes grew wide as she realized what had just happened. Despite the soreness radiating through her hand, an amazed smile grew on her face as she pressed the precious ball to her chest and jumped up and down. She saw herself on the jumbo screen, giddy with excitement as her face beamed with joy. The next moment it was on Carter Fox’s face as his lips formed an O of appreciation, then mouthed the words, very nice.

Jordan had only a moment to get a bit feverish over that, before she was knocked straight on her ass by the crowd from below. The very man she had been trying to avoid earlier was front and center. Jordan protectively hugged the mitt holding the ball to her chest as she was crushed into the steps from his huge body slamming down on top of her. He was followed by a few more who couldn’t stop their momentum.

She felt the breath rush out of her lungs as the mass of people scrambling on top of her compressed her chest. The edge of the stair dug into her back and she began to panic.

Oh my God, I’m going to die holding one of Carter Fox’s balls in my hand.

Hands grabbed at her glove, and arm, and pretty much everywhere. She felt a fist hit her jaw, but still she held on to the ball for dear life. Just as the hands of the man on top of her were about to pry her glove open, she felt him being lifted off her.

As the pressure eased off her body, she gasped for precious air. She saw that security and a few people from the stands had come in to break up the pile-up. Mr. Douche-Patch swung a fist at one of the men holding him back, and the man swung right back at him. Jordan scrambled up the steps like a crab, still holding on to the ball. By now, there were at least ten people punching and yelling. Thankfully, most of them had forgotten about her and the home run ball.

Jordan made it back to her seat to find Ben looking at her the way a 5-year-old would if they had just discovered Santa Claus emerging from the fireplace.

“I hope you appreciate this,” she said, removing the offending glove and ball and placing it in his lap.

“That. Was. Awesome!” Ben wheezed, barely able to catch his breath.

He grabbed the ball and looked at it with a mixture of joy and awe.

“Says the guy who didn’t just get trampled by about twenty people,” she said with a touch of snark, but couldn’t stop the smile that came to her face as she saw how ecstatic her cousin was. Frankly, she was a bit heady with elation herself. What were the odds she’d actually catch that ball?

“Jeez, they’re still at it!” he said shifting his focus to the brawl below them. “Leave it to my cousin to cause a riot at a baseball game,” he laughed.

“Ha, ha,” she retorted. “Let me see that thing.”

Ben instinctively put a protective hand over the ball, worried that his cousin would do something drastic.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to lose it. Though, I should throw it back down there considering how much sympathy and thanks I’m getting from you.”

Appropriately chastised, he ceded the ball. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Are you okay?”

Jordan touched the side of her jaw that was already feeling tender. “Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. Who knew baseball was such a violent sport?”

Ben looked at her with a guilty frown on his face. She didn’t want to ruin what was probably the best moment in his life with the little scuffle she had just been involved in.

“Really, I’m fine, Ben.”

He gave her a smile. “Oh, and by the way, Jordan. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

Jordan laughed at his excitement, then threw an arm around his shoulders with the idea that sprung to her head. “Hey, how’d you like me to get him to sign it for you?”

She laughed even harder as she saw his expression, thinking that his eyes couldn’t have grown any bigger. God, she loved this guy.

“I’m going to try and get him to come meet you too, maybe take a few photos. After what I just went through, I think it’s the least he can do.”

“You know what?” Ben said, looking at her with adoration, “You’re pretty cool,”

“You know what? I am pretty cool,” she said with a faux air of importance, then she laughed. “Now where’s the rest of my hot dog?”