Chapter 2
Our dinner reservations weren’t until eight-thirty, but Derrick wanted to pick me up at five, because he had somewhere he wanted to take me first. It annoyed me that he wouldn’t tell me where we were going.
I spent the entire afternoon, when I should have been composing, fretting over what I should wear. I kept telling myself to keep it simple. If I went all out, and Derrick flaked on me again, it would be that much worse. I settled on my royal blue suit with a super cute bow tie. It was a little loud for Chez Roux, but the color did wonders for my eyes. An ill-timed pimple on my chin sent me into a concealer and powder tailspin. Before I knew it, my face looked like a walking Instagram filter. I dabbed on some lip gloss and a bit of eyeliner and snapped a selfie. #wokeupthisway
Derrick’s vehicle pulled into my driveway at two minutes to five.
I opened the door for him. “Thank you for showing up. And right on time at that.”
His mouth fell open as his gaze took me in. “Wow. You look amazing.”
He looked effortlessly handsome in dark jeans, a dark gray button-down shirt and a black sport coat. In lieu of a neck tie, he left the top two buttons undone, revealing a distracting view of his neck.
“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”
I leaned in to his neck to take a deep breath of his cologne. “My god, you smell good enough to eat.”
Just then my framed print of Galatea of the Spheres fell from the wall, cracking the glass.
“Sorry!” Derrick exclaimed.
“For what?” I stopped to pick the picture up by the frame. “You were like five feet away. You didn’t break it.” I set it down face up on the dining table. “This is an old house that rattles every time a truck goes down the street. I’m sure it’s been working itself off that nail for a long time. I’ll just have to get the glass replaced. Let’s go. I’m excited to see where you’re taking me.”
♥ ♥ ♥
“The batting cages? You brought me to the batting cages on Valentine’s Day?”
My face screwed up in confusion. I thought it was weird when we pulled into the massive, indoor recreation complex across from the mall. I’d driven past the place a million times, but had never been inside, so I wasn’t sure what he planned until he bought some tokens and steered me into a large, warehouse-like room. On the front wall, bats were lined up on hooks beside a row of helmets.
Derrick’s forehead wrinkled, and he stroked his beard. “I thought it would be fun. You hate it, don’t you?”
The poor guy looked crushed. Everything about the room brought back memories of my father forcing me to play tee-ball as a kid. I hated every minute of it, especially when the other children made fun of me for not being able to hit a stationary ball on top of the tee. But that wasn’t Derrick’s fault, and anyway, it was a long time ago. I’m a man now. I wasn’t exactly athletic, but I did have a certain measure of dexterity. Enough that I should be able to hit a stupid baseball.
“It’s fine,” I assured him. “You just surprised me that’s all. I’ve never been to a batting cage. What made you think of it for our date?”
“This is where my friend’s boyfriend brought her for their first date. It worked out well for them. I thought it might bring us luck if we followed what they did.”
“Ah, I see. And how long have they been together?”
“Since high school.”
Well, that explained it. As much as I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of him, the thought of patterning their date after another successful relationship was really sweet. “Okay, then. What do I do?”
Derrick fitted us with plastic helmets and handed me a bat. I was sure the helmet would squish my hair into a gelatinous lump on my head by the time we were done, but hey, I could always duck into the restroom to salvage what I could. As mad as I had been at Derrick over the past couple of weeks, I still really wanted this to work.
We hung our suit jackets on the bat hooks and entered one of the cages. Down the line, there were a few more batters, but luckily, none close enough to witness my humiliation.
“You see how it’s done, right?” Derrick asked. “The machine will pitch to you, and you just hit the ball. Easy.”
“Got it.”
Derrick started feeding tokens to the machine. “You ready?”
I picked the bat up and looked at the machine. “Ready.”
The last token dropped into the slot. I set my bat on my shoulder in the same place I usually held my violin. The machine made a couple of clicking noises and then a ball fired directly at my head. I barely jumped out of the way and into Derrick’s arms before it pummeled me. My ear-splitting screech sent every head in the place swiveling to in my direction. So much for no witnesses to my humiliation.
“Are you okay?”
“Okay? That thing tried to kill me!”
“Sorry. I assumed you knew where the batter’s box was. Here, let me show you how it works.”
I couldn’t answer with my heart in my throat, so I nodded.
He stepped up to the square marked on the ground and held the bat above his shoulder. The ball spit out, and Derrick cracked it into the far net. He made it look easy.
I eyed the machine skeptically. It was rhythmically shooting balls out, and Derrick hit every one of them. Yes, the balls had a rhythm. I counted the beats. Simple four/four time. From the time the machine clicked initiating a throw, there were three beats before the ball crossed the square on the ground. All I needed to do was wait for the click, count off three beats and then swing. Or rather, I should begin swinging on the half beat, so my bat would meet it in the air. I could do this.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Derrick stepped out of the way, and I got in my stance.
Click.
Beat.
Beat.
Swing!
And I missed. Damn.
Click. Beat. Beat. Swing.
Missed. Shit!
“You’re holding the bat wrong,” Derrick said. “Do you mind if I show you?”
“Be my guest.”
Derrick slid up behind me, re-positioning my hips and moving my hands a few inches down the bat. “You don’t rest it on your shoulder. You need to be ready to swing, so you hold it up here. See?”
Click. Beat. Beat.
With his hands still next to mine, we swung, hitting the ball and sending it skittering off.
Derrick’s body heat and scent surrounded me deliciously.
Click. Beat. Beat. Swing.
This time the ball flew a bit further before bouncing to the ground.
My mind was no longer on hitting the ball. I was only interested in this macho man wrapped around me. I backed my ass up into his groin and gave it a little wiggle.
Derrick leaped back, and the pitching machine malfunctioned, losing its rhythm and spitting balls out as fast as it could. I screamed and crouched low, covering my head like they taught us to do in tornado drills at school, while balls bounced around me.
Big hands pulled me out of the way, and the machine, now empty of balls, continued clicking away. An attendant went out and manually switched it off.
“Oh, my god!” I exclaimed, clinging to Derrick’s rock-hard chest. “What happened?”
“It’s okay now. Maybe batting cages are just not our thing. Let’s go try the mini-golf.”
Great. More balls.