Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I grinned like a madman. “There isn’t much to tell. I had a game, so that pretty much took up my whole day.”
“How long does a baseball game take?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Depends. Three hours on average.”
He widened his eyes comically. “Three hours? That sounds…painful.”
“It’s not painful. It’s fun,” I assured him.
“How? I mean, what do you like about it?”
“Everything.” I chuckled at his circular “keep talking” hand motion. “I don’t know how to explain. It’s just something I’ve done my whole life. When I was a kid, baseball reminded me of summertime, warm weather, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and bubblegum. The smell of freshly cut grass, neighborhood barbeques, and playing catch with my dad in the backyard. I played T-ball, rec league, and Little League. The longer I played, the better I got, and the more I appreciated the game itself. You start out thinking it’s so simple. You learn the basic rules and practice hitting, catching, throwing the ball. But after a while, you realize there’s a lot of strategy and patience involved too.”
“Strategy? I thought you were supposed to just hit the ball and run.”
“Yeah. But the pitcher is gonna try to trick you. He doesn’t want you to hit the ball. He wants you to strike out. See?”
“And if the pitcher doesn’t allow any runner on base, he has a perfect game,” Phoenix said earnestly.
“That’s right. So you’re a secret baseball fan, eh?” I grinned.
“No, I googled it.”
I barked a quick laugh. “You googled baseball? Why?”
“To impress you, of course.”
“I’m impressed. That’s very—”
“Weird,” he supplied, waving dismissively. “I know. My blood sugar is low. You’ll have to excuse me.”
“I was going to say sweet. Thanks.” My smile felt a bit too wide for my face. I made a show of spooning up my dessert before continuing. “Did you ever play any sports?”
“Only when I didn’t have a choice. Like in elementary school gym class. I sucked. I was the kid who got picked last for everything. Even spelling bee teams. I was uncoordinated and gawky.”
“And a bad speller,” I teased, bumping his knee with mine playfully.
“No, I could spell. I was just shy.”
“You?” I repeated incredulously. “You were a fucking fairy in the school play. Shy people don’t swing from the rafters in tights. That takes a lot of balls.”
He smiled. “Thanks, but that’s different. That’s acting. And I’m not shy anymore. I have my moments…like when I’m completely uncomfortable and out of my depth. But when I was a kid, I could go a whole day without saying a word. I didn’t have to. Sunny did all the talking for me. It freaked my mom out. I think that was when she suggested acting classes. In the beginning, they were really glorified parks and rec dress-up skits. I don’t think I had my first speaking role until I was seven, but…it helped.”
“What’s it like having a twin? Can you read each other’s thoughts or something?”
“Sometimes it feels like it. We’re close. We were always in the same class in grade school, and we had a lot of the same friends. My parents didn’t do the traditional boy-girl thing with us. If I wanted to play Barbies with Sunny, they didn’t freak out as long as I shared my Tonka trunks. Of course, I happily turned over any transportation-themed toys. Not my thing. My brother took those. He drives tanks in the army now, so I suppose it worked out well,” Phoenix said with a laugh.
“Is he older than you?”
“Yes. Dallas is twenty-five. Sunny is eight minutes older than me, so I’m the youngest.”
“Wait. Didn’t you tell me in LA that your parents named you after the places you were born?”
“Good memory. Actually, it was where we were conceived. TMI…I know. No one wants to think about their parents doing the nasty,” he groused theatrically.
“But if you’re twins, they did the deed in the same place.”
Phoenix shivered in mock disgust. “Yeah well, she got the whole state. Sunny Arizona.”
“Hang on. Is your name middle name Arizona too?” I asked, chuckling at his put-upon expression.
“Yep. I told you they’re hippies,” he huffed.
“That’s clever.” I finished my last spoonful, then pushed the empty cup away. “I’m the youngest too. My parents won’t admit it, but I think I was a mistake. There’s a four-year gap between Jake and me. I was always the pesky little brother getting in the way and trying to be part of the action when I was way too young to hang with them. I think my dad made an extra effort to throw the ball around with me and keep me occupied, so I wouldn’t get mad when they ditched me to hang out with their buddies.”
“Are you closer now?”
“Not really. They’re in a different place. They have real jobs and serious girlfriends. Adrian is an engineer for a bio-med firm and Jake just passed the bar. I’m still playing college ball and trying to avoid worrying about what I’ll do after I graduate,” I admitted.