“Hey,” she says, her voice warm and perfect and God I want to kiss her mouth. But I don’t, because her father is right there, looking at me, like fathers do. And he should. Because I am the guy—the one who did things to his daughter last night. I’m so going to f**k this up.
“Hey, thanks for coming,” I say, catching her in an awkward hug as she leans over the wall to kiss me. We end up in some weird half-embrace, kissing each other’s cheeks like we’re French. I feel pretty lame, and it just gets worse when I catch her mom chuckling.
“Nate, nice to meet you son. I’m Tom Stanton, and this is my wife, Karen,” her dad reaches out to shake my hand. I’m sure to grip him hard, but not too hard, and after we shake, I feel relief that at least I passed one tiny stupid test. Only a million more to go.
“Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming out today.” I’m squinting a little because the morning sun is behind them still. It’s hot for late October—and I’m already feeling the weight of the gear.
“Pleasure’s all ours, Nate. I’m excited to see what you can do out here. I’ve heard great things about you,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about things he’s heard from Rowe or just baseball in general. I’m just glad he used the word great, though, so I move on.
“I hope I can deliver. I’ll try to hit you a foul ball,” I laugh, lightly and nervously, while inside I kick myself for being such an idiot.
“Oh, that’d be exciting. Do we get to keep those?” Rowe’s mom says, and I smile, stifling my laugh, when I notice Rowe rolling her eyes behind her.
“Yes, ma’am. Part of the payoff for getting hit with a ball, I suppose.” Karen just nods, and I stand there while the rest of the conversation dives into a really uncomfortable silence.
“Right, well, I better get back to the bullpen. I’ve got a pitcher to warm,” I say, turning to look at Rowe and give her a look that hopefully conveys I’m sorry I’m such a tool wagon.
“Pitchers are prima donnas, Nate. You walk slowly. It’s good for them to realize they can’t throw until someone’s there to make them look good.” I like Rowe’s dad. “We’ll see you again for dinner, okay?”
I turn around to walk backward to answer him, doing my best to fall somewhere between fast and slow with my walk because, hell, I don’t want my pitchers hating me. “Looking forward to it, Tom. I’ll see you at sex.”
Motherfucker. I just said sex. I said sex…to Rowe’s dad! And there is no mistaking it, and he knows it’s what I said, and Rowe’s eyebrows could not possibly be any higher on her forehead. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I pull the mask down—thank god I’m a catcher—and turn around like I did nothing wrong. Maybe he’ll think it’s all in his head. Either way, that was easily the worst win-over-the-dad move ever. I better play well today for this man, otherwise I might as well just hand over the bat and let him hit me with it at our sex-o’clock dinner.
One walk and three doubles against one of the best teams in the country is a pretty decent showing—I just hope it was good enough to erase my blunder. We lost by two, but Florida State is coming off of a College World Series year, so I feel pretty satisfied.
I shower and pack up my stuff, then head out to catch up with Ty. My only saving grace is the fact that he wasn’t there to witness while I put my foot in my mouth.
“Nice game, yo. Burgers? Sally’s?” he asks.
I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time and notice a message from Rowe. “Yeah, that works. I wanna eat light though. I’m going to dinner with Rowe’s parents tonight,” I say, keeping my phone in my hand so I can remember to read Rowe’s text.
“So, what does light mean? You gonna order some salad or shit?” Ty asks; his brow all furrowed like I just told him I wanted to eat dirt.
“No, I’m just saying let’s eat now, early. And I’ll skip the fries,” I say, shaking my head at him.
“Ah, okay. Order fries anyway. I’ll eat your fries,” he says, pushing ahead of me to the crosswalk. “Oh, and hey. What’s this shit?”
Ty hands me his phone while we cross the street, and I swipe the message screen open to see a picture of Cookie with a ransom message. I almost bust a gut with laughter right then and there, but I manage to hold it together.
It reads: If you want to see me ever again, you’ll be sure to wear the tutu waiting for you in your mailbox on Halloween.
Rowe…is a genius. What she doesn’t know, though, is that my brother will totally wear that tutu. He’ll f**king own that tutu and rock it with a full on ballerina leotard to prove a point. But either way, I’m going to love watching it all play out.