Layne
AS GRACIE AND I make our way down to our seats, I scan the field for any sign of Bryant, but come up empty. It took us twice as long as usual to get here and get through the security gates, and we even left home an hour earlier than we usually do, knowing the traffic would be bad.
I’d texted Bryant this morning after breakfast to wish him good luck again and sent him a selfie of Gracie and me in our Nash and McLoughney jerseys. He didn’t respond, but I didn’t expect him too. He’s focusing, which is exactly what he should be doing. I wanted him to know I was thinking about him and how excited we are to be coming to watch the game today.
Within fifteen minutes of sitting down, the announcer starts his spiel and the teams come out. The stadium is normally loud during home games, but the decibels coming from this stadium right now makes me worry about Gracie’s head. Garrett had sense enough to purchase sound-canceling earmuffs for her. I swing my attention to her and see she’s bouncing around like normal, a huge smile plastered on her face, not even a flinch from the noise.
By the time the national anthem is sung and the first pitch is thrown out, we’re all bouncing in our seats and ready to get the show on the road.
I keep my eyes on Bryant through the entire first inning, trying to gage how his shoulder is doing. He’s not favoring it at all, so it must be holding up well.
The first four innings fly by, with no one getting on base, but by the bottom of the sixth inning, the score is tied one to one.
As Bryant steps up to the plate, his focus solely on the pitcher, the guy in front of me stands, blocking my view. Jumping to my feet, I look around the guy just in time to see Bryant connect with the ball and the crowd goes wild. Bryant makes it safely to first, while Rutger rounds third, heading for home. Everybody jumps to their feet as he slides into home plate.
Safe. Two to one.
When the seventh inning stretch arrives, a lot of people flock to the bathrooms and concession stand, but Gracie and I stay in our seats. I took her to the bathroom right before the sixth inning so we wouldn’t get stuck in the hordes of people trying to use the restroom during the quick break.
“Mama, this is so cool,” she tells me while pulling the earmuffs off. The noise has quieted a tad. She sets them on her lap and rubs her ears.
“How’s your head, baby?” I ask her.
“It’s fine. No pain,” she replies quickly with a little smile. “Do you think they’re gonna win?”
“I sure hope so,” I chuckle.
“Me too. I’ll feel bad for them if they lose,” she tells me.
“I know, honey. But somebody has to lose.”
“I hope it’s not the Smoke,” she booms, causing me to laugh.
We take a quick selfie and send it to Garrett and Chrissy as people start filing back into their seats.
Over the next hour, the score stays the same, and at the last out of the ninth inning, we are still ahead by one.
Game one to the Smoke.
GRACIE FELL ASLEEP before we even made it out of the parking lot and it took more than two hours to get home. I understand now why the GM chose to put the players up in a hotel near the stadium.
Once she’s in bed and back asleep, I text Bryant to congratulate him. I doubt he’ll see it until this morning. It’s already late and he’s got to be beat.
Me: Congratulations! You guys played great. One down, three to go. See you tomorrow night.
I grab the cup off my nightstand and head to the kitchen to refill it. I can’t stand waking up with a dry throat and having to get up and traipse across the house to get something to drink in the middle of the night. I plug my phone in and check it for a response, surprised to see he’s already responded.
Bryant: Thanks. A little surreal. I’m glad you guys could come. I really liked seeing you up in the stands cheering for us.
Me: I bet it is surreal. It’s not every day you get to play in the World Series. How’s the shoulder?
The conversation seems to have gone quiet, and I’m about to tell him good night when another text comes in from him.
Bryant: Can you call me?
He’s not a huge fan of texting, and I’m okay with that. His voice is way better than any damn text message.
“Hi, beautiful. Thanks for calling,” he rumbles.
“Hey,” I reply. “You didn’t answer me. How’s your shoulder?”
“It’s been better, but it handled today pretty well I think.” His voice is deeper, almost like he’d been asleep already.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Nah, but I’m exhausted. Between the little brunette running around in my dreams last night and the game today, I’m spent.”
I feel my cheeks turning red, which is stupid since he can’t see me.
“Do I know her?” I joke.
“You know you do,” he murmurs.
“What was the brunette doing in your dreams?” I tease.
“I’ll make you a deal. You tell me what you’re wearing right now, and I’ll tell you what you were doing in my dream.”
“Well, do you want the truth or do you want me to keep up this flirty game?” I ask him.
“The truth. Always the truth.”
“I’m wearing sweats and a T-shirt that says Hot Mess on it.” I laugh.
“And I bet you look damn sexy in it.”
“I do. Especially with the hydration mask covering my face and my hair slicked back and piled on top of my head. I bet you can barely keep your hands out of your pants right now, huh?”
“Damn, I miss that sassy mouth,” he groans through his laughter.
“All right, spill it. I told you how sexy I look right now. Tell me what the dream was about.”
“Well, you were wearing this short, white, see-through nightgown, and you were doing this naughty thing with your…,” he starts.
“Slow down, speedy,” I interrupt him, my voice dropping lower. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
“I wish I could show you,” he growls into the phone.
“Me too,” I reply without hesitation.
“Well, we should revisit this conversation again in about a week and a half,” he retorts, disappointment lacing his words.
“The least you can do is tell me if I’m good at whatever naughty thing you said I was doing,” I tease.
“Oh, you’re good at it. Don’t you worry,” he says, laughing.
“We should probably go to bed. Long day. Another big day tomorrow.”
“You’re probably right,” he gripes. “Damn voice of reason.”
“Good night, Mr. Nash,” I add, trying to make my voice sultry. I’m a little rusty on the seduction thing. Been a long time since I pulled out all the stops in the flirting department.
He groans before responding. “Good night, beautiful.”