“I don’t think anyone would want to,” Adrian says, but then he flashes me a grin. “Now tell me, Teagan. Are you honestly a fan of the world’s dullest sport?”
“Yes, are you a fan of long, dull games played on baseball diamonds, Teagan?” Ransom asks pointedly. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
I smile at Martinez, giving a my bad laugh. “Oh, when you said ‘dullest sport,’ I thought you meant auto racing.”
The Yankee chuckles and points at me. “She’s a keeper, Ransom. Don’t let this one get away.”
Ransom shoots me a sweet smile, then shrugs. “I won’t.”
A waiter circles by.
“Want to grab some drinks?” Martinez asks.
“See? I knew you guys were friends,” I say.
Martinez narrows his eyes.
Ransom hisses.
I roll my eyes. “You can’t fool me. But I can go along with this whole frenemies thing if you want.”
“Good answer, Teagan,” Ransom says as he snags three flutes and thanks the server.
With champagne in hand, Martinez looks my way. “Moment of truth—what is your favorite sport, Teagan? But if you hate sports, please lie because that would devastate us.” He smacks Ransom on the shoulder, and I love that too—the little signs that these guys really are buddies, even though they pretend they’re not.
“I actually love baseball,” I say truthfully.
Ransom jerks his gaze to me, blinking. “Blasphemy.”
“What can I say? My dad was a huge fan, and we had season tickets for the Yankees,” I tell them. “He took me to a ton of games back in the heyday of Jeter and Williams, Posada and Rivera.”
Martinez brings his hand to his heart. “Those guys are my heroes. I watched them all late at night growing up across Europe, when I could get the games on satellite in Spain, Italy, sometimes in France. But wherever I was, one thing remained the same — Mariano Rivera is the greatest ever.”
“He’s the best. No one has ever been better.”
“No question. I look up to him, to Posada—to all those greats. It is an honor to play on the same team as the men I admired from across the ocean.” Martinez turns to Ransom. “And I take back everything I’ve ever said about you because your girlfriend is an angel.”
Ransom drapes an arm around me. “She’s pretty awesome, isn’t she?”
Martinez again looks from Ransom to me and back. Something seems to spark in the cool blue eyes of the closer. “May the best man win tonight.” He downs some of his drink, then looks at his watch. “I should go freshen up before I have to strut onstage and crush your sorry ass. Carnale and I have our own side bet about the auction.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s it for?”
Martinez tips his chin at me. “When we saw you come in, Carnale laid a grand on the charity of your choice that your girlfriend won’t kiss you backstage if you win. I said she would. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
He winks, claps Ransom on the shoulder, and strolls away.
In slow motion, Ransom turns to me, and when our eyes lock, neither one of us seems to know what to say.
I don’t know if I can speak.
All I can do is wonder.
I wonder what that kiss with him would be like.
When his eyes darken, flaring with something that looks like heat, I wonder how much he wants to know too.
A few hours later, when Ransom heads backstage, I make a beeline for the women’s room. Peeing, obvs. Then washing my hands. Double obvs. I touch up my gloss, check my hair, and take a breath.
I’m a little nervous, and I’m not a nervous person. So, I turn to my person.
Bryn.
I take out my phone and send a quick text. She’s my de facto family, my best friend. We met a few years ago in a grief support group. We’d both lost our parents. We were both alone. We needed each other. Our friendship was born from the ashes of others’ lives.
* * *
Teagan: Your crazy friend is ready to bid on your other crazy friend. Gah.
* * *
Bryn: Did you bring your piggy bank?
* * *
Teagan: Yes, and a hammer to smash it open. It’ll be like performance art right in the middle of an auction.
* * *
Bryn: Never a dull moment with you, girl. But I have to ask—are you okay?
* * *
Teagan: Of course. Why?
* * *
Bryn: The gah. You always say “gah” when you’re . . .
* * *
My phone trills in my hand, and I answer immediately. “Hey, girlie girl,” I say, keeping it light.
“That’s yet another giveaway.” Bryn really does know me too well.
“Ugh. I hate you and your mind-reader ways,” I say with a huff, leaning against the wall.
“What’s wrong? Why are you nervous? Do you feel like we pushed you guys together?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re always pushing us together.”
“Yes, because you two are the perfect couple,” she says, like it’s as factual as Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation.
