Page 3 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
Paige motions to the usher assigned to our section.
“It’s one quick picture,” the man says, looking up at the usher who’s now walking toward him. “It will take two seconds.”
I try to keep my tone civil. “I don’t really like pictures.”
“What? Everyone likes pictures.” He points to his jersey as the stadium usher tries to get him to move on. “Come on, I’m Seb’s biggest fan. Quit being such a diva.”
“Hey, man,” Ryan says, “the game’s starting again. Why don’t you find your seat?”
I see Seb take a called third strike right before the guy grabs my arm and pulls me into the aisle. He puts his arm around me—his beer sloshing all over my shorts—then holds up his phone to take a selfie of us.
“Smile,” he slurs as his hand slides down my body.
“Stop it!” I scream, elbowing him in the side.
As soon as I yell, I regret it. I know Seb probably heard me. I try to turn around to wave him off but the guy tightens his arm around me.
“Get off me!” I yell as loud as I can. This time I don’t care who hears me. I’ve had enough of this bullshit.
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