Page 2 of Crease Collision

“In that case, I have no choice,” he says, then works himself out of his row and down into the seat beside me. “Jag heter Oskar.”

“What?” As soon as that’s out, I want it back. But he’s still smiling, so I roll with it. “I caught ‘Oskar,’ but you’ll have to run the rest by me again.”

He chuckles. “Excuse me. I am Oskar.”

I set my glove down so we can shake hands. His grip is big and warm, rough enough to show he’s worked for those muscles. My body notices, but it’s more than that; I like how it feels when he holds my hand. He doesn’t let go right away.

“Kai,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure.” He nods at the field. “So this is what you do for fun? Sit in the heat and hope not to be hit by a ball?”

“Sometimes. Don’t usually try to take out the guy behind me, though. Sorry about that.”

He looks me up and down. “Do not be. It was worth it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Hopefully.”

We watch the game for a bit before I take off my hat and wipe the sweat from my forehead. When that’s done, I turn toward him. “You like baseball?”

“Yes. I have never been to a game like this, though. I am from Sweden.”

Damn. He really is a Nordic god.

“You have baseball there?”

“We have a league, but it is not all this.” He gestures at the field and crowd, pointing at the guy in the next row wearing a foam crown.

I wave my hand as if it’s all courtesy of me. “We go all out for baseball here.”

“This is obvious.”

“Don’t be so formal.” I bump his shoulder. “You sound like you’re meeting my mother. Relax.”

He narrows his eyes and speaks carefully. “Thank you, but I am not tense.”

“I meant when you talk.”

“Oh.” His mouth twitches. “Okay, dude. I’ll chill.” He looks quite pleased with himself. “See? I watch American TV.”

“Impressive.”

He nods. “Perhaps you can be my language tutor.”

I’d tutor him all right. Maybe even show Thor a few new tricks with his hammer.

Somehow, I keep a straight face. “Perhaps.”

The crowd roars when one of the Empire players hits a home run. After the noise dies down, Oskar turns back to me.

“You ever play?” I ask. “Or do you just show up and make everyone else look bad?”

“Nja.” He tilts his head. “I only played baseball with friends in the summer.”

That makes sense. Who knows if they even have Little League in Sweden?

“Been in the US long?”