Page 40 of The Love We Make

They were good seats, though. Right behind the National League dugout, three rows up. I got lucky and ended up sitting next to a fellow Kings’ fan—an older woman with her husband. We made small talk with each other and eventually chatted with the people around us. By the time the game was starting, we were all fast friends and having a ball. And I was less nervous and more excited.

I had yet to tell my new friends that I was there with Ethan, that I knew him. So when he popped his head out of the dugout, right before he took the field, and waved, they all looked at me like I had seven heads.

“He is my childhood friend. He’s nuts.” That was my go-to Ethan statement these days. Luckily they didn’t want more from me than a high five for knowing the "coolest guy on the field.” Which was a relief since I once had someone beg me to steal his underwear for them.

Hard no.

“Now taking the field, pitching for the National League. Ethan Jones!” The PA announcer was drawing his name out like he was headed into a 12 round boxing match.

The crowd got on their feet and started cheering so loud I couldn’t even hear myself screaming. I was jumping up and down, waving my arms, and clapping. I knew Ethan was officially in the zone. He wouldn’t know I was up there being loud and excited, but that didn’t matter. I felt like I could send him all my energy and he would be thankful for it.

He started throwing his warm-up pitches as the crowd settled in. I sat down and rested my chin on my hands. I was nervous for him. But I was also still seeing him in a different light.

I was looking at Ethan Jones, the best pitcher the Kings have had in a long time. Uniform fitting just right. Forearms flexing as he adjusted the ball in his hand. Hat pulled low on his eyes. The way he licked the tip of his fingers in between pitches. The way he would wipe his hands down his thighs when they got too sweaty.

Holy shit I was lusting over Ethan.

Borderline fangirling.

Again.

Was that ok? Was I just as crazy as he was?

I allowed myself a small panic—it's what I did best—and then just went with it. After this game, we were going to be looking at each other in all sorts of wild ways, so why not start now and enjoy it?

Right when they announced the first batter of the game, Ethan stepped off the back of the mound and took a deep breath. It was go-time for him and he was locked in. And because he was locked in, I didn’t expect him to look up to where I was sitting and smile at me before walking back on to the mound to throw his first pitch of the game.

But he did.

He freaking smiled.

And I freaking swooned.

Luckily, the beer guy was almost down to my row so I waved him over and got a beer. I had to stay fairly sober if I wanted Ethan to make love to me later. I knew he wouldn’t touch me if I had more than one beer. Especially after the vodka incident at my place a few weeks ago. But one beer, three hours before this game was supposed to be over, was harmless—and needed.

Without much shock, Ethan retired all three batters in the top of the first inning. The National League got a few runners on in their half of the inning but never scored.

So when Ethan went back to work at the top of the second inning, the score was still zero to zero. The first batter popped to the right fielder and was out with only one pitch.

That is when all hell broke loose.

Not on the field, but inside my brain. Because that is when I heard the announcer. “Now batting for the American League, Aaron Johnson.” And that is when I remembered Ethan and Aaron’s bet.

Change-up, Change-up, Slider.

I didn’t anticipate Ethan actually throwing those three pitches. But when he and Aaron smirked at each other and Ethan shot me a side-eye from the mound to the stands, I knew he was looking forward to this matchup.

Ethan settled into his stance, the catcher not giving him any signs, and readied himself to throw the ball.

First pitch, a change-up. Right down the middle for strike one. Aaron didn’t even try to swing. He was testing the waters, seeing if Ethan was holding true to his before-mentioned pitch sequence.

A giggle rose up and escaped my mouth. My new friends looked at me for a second but didn’t question me.

Second pitch, a change-up. This time, Aaron swung. He missed for strike two.

He stepped out of the batter’s box and adjusted his batting gloves. I was sure that made no difference in what would happen next, but it gave him time to think.

Meanwhile, Ethan stood still on the mound, a smirk on his face directed at Aaron. The ball was held at his side with his right hand; his gloved hand was bent on his hip. This whole thing was funny to Ethan. He was so cocky and confident. The smirk on his face literally said,“You’re about to swing and miss at strike three, asshole.”