Page 26 of Last Night Was Fun

“Isn’t that tree fake?” Gabe said.

Pedro squatted back down and clapped his glove a few times. “All right, batter up, batter up! Two strikes, here we go!”

Gabe rolled his eyes and worked his shoulder again. He bent over and let his arm dangle like a pitcher on TV. His open jersey loosely flapped at his sides; his T-shirt offered the slightest peep of his collarbone at the neck hole given the angle. Emmy thought she saw aslight wince when he straightened to start his windup again, but she couldn’t be sure from so far away.

She lasered her eyes on the ball, shaking off all distraction, and could tell from the way it left his hand this time that it was a four-seam fastball. Inside, belt high. Just like Pedro said. In the blink of an eye, she adjusted and angled her hips. She started swinging a split second sooner than last time, and when the ball cracked off the bat and went flying out into right field, she could have done a backflip.

“YES!” Pedro hollered. “Well done, Jameson!” He clapped her on the back and shook her shoulder with a squeeze.

Gabe leaned over with his hands on his knees, staring out into right field as if he couldn’t believe what he’d seen.

Silas popped up from where he’d been canoodling with his friend to retrieve the ball and toss it back in. Gabe caught it, still in shock.

“Welp, we’ll miss you, Jameson. Promise you’ll come back and visit from your new office,” Pedro said.

Emmy watched Gabe out on the mound looking stung and stunned. They’d had a bet, and she’d won, but she knew if he took himself out of the running, she’d never live down that she only got the job because he’d given it up, and she wasn’t about to stand for it.

She swung the bat back up onto her shoulder. “How about a second wager?”

Gabe’s head snapped up to look at her.

She started walking out toward him on the mound. “How about ifyouget a hit offme, then our first bet is void, and we go back to normal.”

He tilted his head and the stunned look morphed into a sly, cocky grin she knew well as he watched her approach. “Are you sure you want to make that bet, Jameson? I’m pretty sure I could get a hit off you with my eyes closed.”

She glared at him and shoved the bat at his chest. “Yes, I’m sure. I want to beat you on merit, not the swing of a bat, because Ideservethat job.”

He flinched at the force of the bat pressing up against him, but he took it with another smug smile. “All right, let’s do it.” He removed his glove with the ball cupped inside and handed it to her.

They swapped places, Gabe taking a few swings as Emmy threw a few pitches to Pedro. She definitely couldn’t throw as hard as Gabe; he had at least thirty pounds of muscle on her. And sixty feet, six inches—the distance from the pitcher’s mound to home plate—was a hell of a distance once she was staring it down. But she could throw as accurately. The ball landed smack in Pedro’s glove every time, even if it was getting there at a fraction of the speed Gabe had thrown it.

“Not bad, Jameson,” Gabe said. “How about we make it interesting, and you have to buy another round when I hit one of these lobs out of the park?”

“If you hit this out of the park, I will buy you a new car, Olson,” she said, and stepped back for her windup.

“Ooh, deal. Cherry red is my favorite color.”

Emmy gave him one final glare and hurled the ball as hard as she could.

Of course he made contact on the first swing. Except it wasn’t a mile-high home run. It was a line drive. Straight into her thigh.

She couldn’t even blink between the time the ball left her hand, when it hit the bat, and when it smashed straight back into her leg. It was like the fastest pinball ricochet of all time except ten times the size and flying at a hundred miles an hour. A moment of stunned silence passed before the pain set in. Emmy looked down in slow motion and saw a furious red imprint the shape of a baseball stamped into her thigh just below her dress. And then she fell back on her butt and thought she might die.

“Emmy!Oh my god, are you okay?!” someone shouted into the night. She wasn’t sure who since none of them ever called her by her first name. The sound of hurried footsteps thundered toward her. She was going to get trampled by the stampede where she lay flaton her back. She couldn’t tell what hurt more: her leg, her butt from hitting the ground, or her pride.

Her leg. It was definitely her leg.

“Emmy! Emmy, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

There was the sound of her name again. Who was saying it? She didn’t put two and two together until Gabe’s face was hovering over her, creased in concern and framed by the night sky.

“Holy shit, Olson, younailedher!” Pedro cried. “I didn’t think you’d resort to physical violence to take out the competition.”

“Shut up, Torres,” Gabe snapped at him.

Emmy tried to sit up. Her thigh had burst into flames, she was sure of it. The whole limb was dead weight, too stunned to receive signals from her brain to move.

“Don’t get up yet,” Gabe said, and gently pressed his hand to her shoulder.