Page 99 of Face Off With Fate

Wrong woman waiting for me…

An awkward silence settled over us, nothing but the announcers filling the space with the sponsor announcements and the vendors calling out what goods they were carrying.

I grabbed the water they’d handed me after the pitch, needing to do something with my hands. Condensation cooled my palms, and I wanted to press them against the back of my neck, but that’d really give away how uncomfortable I was.

I’d turned over how to start this conversation with Itzel for days, and I still hadn’t landed on a clean way in.

The PA system crackled overhead, disrupting my thoughts.

“Let’s hear it for the starting pitcher for the San Jose Miners, José Gil.”

Itzel went rigid beside me, chin lifting a fraction of an inch as her hands tightened in her lap. She glared at the mound.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she said, too fast for the statement to be true.

I followed her line of sight to the pitcher. He was finishing his warm-up tosses, crossing his tanned arms over his chest to stretch. His baseball hat was pulled nearly as low as I wore mine, but from the bottom of his spilled dark curls.

“You know him?” I asked, all too happy to procrastinate on the talk she and I needed to have about Graciella.

“No.” Itzel took a careful sip of her drink, eyes flicking back to the pitcher every few seconds. “I don’t know him.”

I let out a low hum. “You went stiff the second they said his name.”

“I didn’t.”

I shot her a pointed look. “Itzel.”

She exhaled through her nose, setting the cup back into the holder with a thud. “I don’t like him.”

There was enough venom in her tone that I believed her.

“Didn’t say you did.”

“He’s—” She pressed her lips together. “He’s not a good person.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Did he hurt you or something?” I was halfway out of my seat when she gripped my arm, pulling me back down.

“No, god, no. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant… It’s just…” Another gulp. “He’s arrogant, and he’s careless, and he treats his brother like—I just don’t like him.”

“And you know this how? If you don’t know him,” I asked pointedly.

She was quiet for a second too long.

“Itzel.”

“Okay. So I know who he is. Or at least I know of him,” she said, carefully. “Through his brother.”

Something about the way her voice dropped on the last word had me leaning in to pry for more information. Happy to look into someone else’s issues for a moment.

“And who’s his brother to you?”

She kept her eyes on the field, watching José’s jog to the mound.

“Miguel,” she said with a palpable wistfulness, the tops of her cheeks staining pink.

The crush.