Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I glanced down at my chest, then shook my head. “Oh, no. It was just the first clean shirt that popped up in my drawer.”
“Oh. Well, are you viewing a college game or a professional one?” he asked conversationally. “And do you know their colors?”
“Uh, Arroyo is a local junior college team, and their color is…blue?”
Asher cocked his head curiously. “Is that a question or a statement? These things are important, and I only know the larger universities.”
I opened my mouth, but George beat me to it, his voice echoing off the high ceiling as he entered.
“No one cares what color we’re wearing in the bleachers, Ash.”
My heart did a funny flip when he came into view looking like an unlikely badass with his dark hair sprouting from the sides of a Dodgers cap, tight black jeans, and a gray tee featuring a black cat with a bone and the ironic caption, “I found this humerus.” He pulled the long strap of a tote bag across his lean torso and met me at the door.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He smiled warmly, then gestured between his friend and me. “It appears you met, but for the sake of formality…Aiden, this is Ash. Ash, this is Aiden. We’re off to check out hot guys in baseball pants scratching their junk through their sports cups. I’ll take photos and notes, so—”
“Wait. Do you have…” Ash whispered loudly in George’s ear, “Condoms?”
George widened his eyes comically, turning slowly on his heels to face me. “Do we need condoms, Aiden?”
My mouth fell open. “Uh…”
“Oh well, it was worth a shot. Later, Ash.”
Asher stepped onto the porch behind us. “What about a jacket? It may get cold on the field.”
George patted the side of his tote bag meaningfully. “I have a sweatshirt…and a book. I’m set.”
“Good thinking. Have fun! Nice to meet you, Aiden.”
I waved awkwardly, but somehow waited until we were in my truck heading down the street to ask, “Condoms? What did you tell your friends?”
“I told them the truth—I’m helping you with baseball stats.” George chuckled as he fastened his seat belt. “Asher is our resident safety officer. He makes lists forty-eight hours in advance of any errand or project he’s involved in. He likes to weigh all angles and prepare for any eventuality. See, even though he knows you’re my brother’s straight best friend and that taking me to watch any sport is the least likely way anyone would ever score with me…Asher leaves nothing to chance.”
“Ahh. So I’m not scoring tonight, eh?” I teased, turning right onto the main street.
George shifted sideways. “You’ll score big points if you buy me something to drink.”
“That I can do. So…how was your day?”
“Pretty good. I was at school doing research.”
“On what?”
“Space stuff and physics. You don’t want to know.”
“Sure, I do.”
“You’ll say it’s boring.”
“Bore me, Murphy. Tell me all the space shit.”
“Fine.” He flashed a mischievous grin and let me have it.
He lost me somewhere between kinematics and neutrinos, but I didn’t mind. I liked the sound of his voice. The low timbre and slightly melodic notes were oddly soothing. There was no reason to be nervous and nothing to worry about.
I hoped.
We arrived at the park twenty minutes early, so our seating options were plentiful.
I chose a prime spot in the second row behind first base, then handed him my iPad and glanced toward the concession stand.
“I’ll get us some snacks before the game starts. I have some new data I brought along in case you get bored. The screen is unlocked, so check it out at your leisure. In the meantime, what do you want to eat?”
George pursed his lips thoughtfully, scooting to his left when a fellow baseball fan flopped to the end of the row. “What do they have?”
“Hot dogs, nachos, popcorn. All the basic food groups.”
“Surprise me.”
I ruffled his mop of hair, chuckling when he swatted me away. “You got it. Spread out a bit, would ya? It’s going to get crowded here soon and I don’t want to be bumping elbows with strangers all night.”
He set his tote bag beside him and offered a wide smile. “Aye, aye. I got this.”
When I returned fifteen minutes later, the stands were full.
And George was gone.
I stood near the chain link fence balancing a tray of hot dogs and drinks as I scanned the crowd. No sign of George.
A beautiful evening in early April brought out friends, family, and baseball lovers, so I figured a big group settled too close to him and prompted a seat change. I scanned the bleachers again and spotted him wedged in the farthest corner, reading his book, his body bent protectively over the pages as if he were guarding sacred text and quietly repelling any errant conversation. Everything in his posture said, “Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me.”