by Alexi Venice
Even though she and Nathan had gone to a few movies together, she didn’t know him that well and hadn’t met any of his friends yet. She looked forward to getting closer.
She entered the stadium on the concession level and texted Nathan. I’m here. Where are you sitting?
He replied instantaneously. In the bleachers. I’ll come down and get you.
I’ll be getting a beer, she replied.
She took up residence in a boisterous line and scrolled through Instagram pics on her iPhone. Her feed was packed with friends engaging in fall activities like apple picking and hay rides. Their lives looked so romantic compared to hers. While she was happy for her college and law school friends, most of whom were straight, their relationships were a daily reminder that she felt trapped in a job that wouldn’t abide her true identity. For the first time in a really long time, she felt a stab of loneliness. She turned off her phone and shoved it back in her pocket. Damn social media.
“Hey girl. How’s it going?” Nathan asked, throwing his arm around her shoulders.
She leaned into him. “Sorry I’m late. Work can be so…ugh. You know?”
“A grind. You’re happy at the firm though, right?”
“I like my clients, but this is too big of a discussion for the beer line,” she said.
He smiled but his face looked tense. “Speaking of which, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Well, my friend is here…” His voice trailed off. They heard the crowd cheer, signaling the first inning was underway.
“Male or female?”
“A guy.” His eyes found the floor.
“And?”
“Well, he hasn’t met you yet, and—” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“If you’re worried he’ll hit on me, I think I can handle it.”
He held up his hand. “No, that’s not it, even though I’m sure guys hit on you all the time—being a raven-haired beauty and all. This is different, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“About what?”
“About—” He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, looking like he was going to be sick.
She put her hand on his arm. “What is it?”
“There’s something you don’t know about me, and it’s about time I tell you. I apologize for not telling you earlier, but the firm…is so fucking conservative.” He paused for an eternity.
“You can trust me,” she said.
He nodded then said, barely above a whisper, “No one else at the firm knows this, so keep it to yourself, but I’m not exactly keeping it a secret…at least not anymore.”
“Okay. Whatever it is, I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I shouldn’t act surprised if someone else does?”
His laugh was short and strained. “This is ridiculous. I’m just going to spit it out. My boyfriend is here.” He stopped so abruptly that she thought she had misheard him.
Is he pranking me? Does he suspect I’m gay? She stared long and hard at him then picked up his hand in hers. “I’m happy for you, and trust me, I won’t breathe a word at the firm. I’m honored that you confided in me.”
“Thank God,” he said, moving in for a full hug. “Like I said, you don’t have to keep it a secret, but be cool about it.”
A meteor of guilt hit her belly. Should I tell him I’m a lesbian? Is now the right time? I mean, I was out in college and law school, so I know how to do this. Something held her back, though, a woman’s intuition that danger was nearby.
As they broke apart, she saw relief in his eyes. He no longer had the nervousness about him that she had come to expect at the firm. She had chalked it up to work anxiety, but now realized it was much deeper.
“How liberating for you,” she said, jealousy topping the guilt.
“You have no idea.”
“Let me buy you a beer,” she offered, as they found themselves at the counter. “What flavor do you want?”
“Leinie’s Oktoberfest,” he said.
“Make that two.” She pulled out her wallet and paid. They seized their commemorative cups and quickly exited the small space, then slowly pushed through the crowd to the bleacher section along the first base line, where she followed him up the steps to the top.
“This is my partner, Matt.” Nathan motioned to a swarthy man with a thick neck and an even thicker five o’clock shadow.
“I’m Monica.” She extended her hand, and they shook.
“Pleasure is all mine. Nathan has told me about you,” Matt said.
“All good, I hope.”
“Only the best.”
Nathan squeezed past Matt, putting Matt in the middle, and they all sat.
“How’s the game going?” she asked.
“Our pitcher is struggling,” Matt said.
“That’s too bad.” She looked at the scoreboard. It was the top of the first inning, no outs, and two men on base. The pitch count—displayed on the scoreboard—indicated the pitcher had already thrown 15 pitches. Struggling was right.
“He’s new. They just flew him in from Missouri,” Matt said.
“For the playoffs?” She sipped her beer and absorbed the excitement in the air. Twilight stretched behind the low glow of the stadium lights that were warming toward their full strength.
“Yeah. He’s supposed to be pro material, but I don’t see it,” Matt said.
“Maybe he’s acclimating to his new team,” she said.
“At this level, he’s supposed to hit the ground running.”
“Well, let’s give him a chance,” she said. “He might settle in.”
Matt snorted and drank his beer.
Just then, the pitcher threw a ball that landed in the dirt at the catcher’s feet. The catcher stopped the ball with his chest, tore off his mask, and—still on his knees—drew his hand back, ready to throw to third base. The runners held their bases.
“See?” Matt shook his head in disgust. “Pathetic.”
“So, he threw a shoe-shiner. Every pitcher does once in a while,” she said. “Do you come to a lot of games?”
“Yeah. I played in high school.”
“Cool. Where did you go to high school?” she asked.
“Here. In town,” he said.
“Beautiful place to grow up. What do you do for work?”
“I’m on the police force.”
Her first thought was that he, too, was probably in the closet if he was part of that fraternal organization. “How long have you been a police officer?”
“Seven years now.” He didn’t take his eyes off the game. “Oh! Come on, Blue! That was a strike!”
She looked at the scoreboard. The pitcher walked the batter, loading the bases. “That sucks.”
“You’re telling me. If he walks in a run, I’m leaving,” Matt said.
“Never leave before the game is over. It’s baseball. Anything could happen.”
For the next batter, the pitcher redeemed himself by leading with a 94-mile-per-hour strike over the middle of the plate. On the second pitch, a change up, the batter’s timing was so off that he practically wrapped the bat around himself. The crowd, who had been turning on the pitcher, started getting behind him. He threw a slider, and the batter swiped at it, hitting an easy blooper to the short stop, who threw it to home for the force-out. The catcher fired the ball to first in time to get the runner for a double. That left only a runner on second, and the crowd thundered with applause.
“Now we’re talkin’,” Matt said.
After everyone quieted, Monica saw a woman waving at them from the bottom of the bleachers. “Nathan, do you know her?”
Nathan looked down, broke into a smile, and waved back. “Yeah, Shelby.”
Monica’s heart inexplicably missed a beat, as she looked at the woman, silhouetted in the stadium lights, her naturally curly hair spilling over her shoulders. Monica could’ve sworn she’d seen her before, racking her brain to remember whe
n and where. A fleeting image floated by, reminding her that she’d seen the woman at the CrossFit Box that noon. Could it be?
“Invite her up here,” Monica found herself saying. “I want to meet her.” Even at a distance, the woman sent a rush of physical desire through Monica.
Nathan looked at Monica then back at Shelby. “Sure. I think she’s on a date with the woman beside her, though, so she might accuse me of being nosy, which I am.” He motioned for Shelby to climb the bleachers.
Awesome, Monica thought. My gaydar is still accurate even though it’s underused.
Shelby shook off Nathan’s sign.
He motioned for her to come up again, more insistent this time.
She threw her hands up in defeat then turned and said something to the woman with her. They climbed the steps, and as they drew near, Monica saw rich hazel eyes that feigned annoyance at Nathan.
Matt and Nathan stood and hugged her.
“And, who’s your friend?” Nathan asked.
“This is Michelle.”
He shook her hand. “I’m Nathan. Nice to meet you.”
“Who’s your friend?” Shelby asked, looking directly into Monica’s emerald eyes. Monica felt momentarily stripped, examined, and put back together again. Fortunately, she passed whatever assessment had taken place because Shelby’s lips turned up, the right side more than the left, pulling up a tiny freckle with it.
Monica extended her hand. “I’m Monica.”
When Shelby grasped Monica’s hand, Monica felt a frisson of excitement travel up her arm, a childlike smile claiming her face. Her dimples followed, and to her delight, she saw Shelby’s inquisitive eyes focus on them.
Monica maintained their grasp for two seconds too long, the connection bright with promise. Shelby didn’t seem in a rush to let go either.
Social convention demanded that Monica shake Michelle’s hand too, so she dutifully did, but there was neither warmth nor excitement there.
“How long have you known Nathan and Matt?” Shelby asked.
“Nathan for a few years. Matt and I just met,” Monica said.
“Funny that Nathan hasn’t introduced us before,” Shelby said flirtatiously.
No kidding, Monica thought. Why haven’t we been hanging out more often?
“Have a seat,” Matt said, motioning to the bleachers in front of them. “There’s plenty of room.”
“We’d love to, but we’re going to Michelle’s work party on the fan deck.” Shelby pointed to the party deck in the outfield.
“Right,” Matt said. “Watch the alcohol over there. They practically pour it down your throat.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Officer Matt,” Shelby said.
“Well, text me if you need a ride home,” he said.
“My knight in shining armor.” Shelby hesitated for a second before turning to leave. “Nice to meet you, Monica.”
Monica looked into those hazel eyes and suddenly felt very vulnerable, a gust of something warm flowing to her chest. “You too.”
The moment passed quickly but left an indelible print on Monica’s heart. She watched Shelby and Michelle retreat down the bleachers, and a stab of jealousy hit her that Shelby was with what’s-her-face. She admired Shelby’s long, curly hair, the lavender highlights shimmering; her slim but broad shoulders in a Rascals T-shirt; and her firm ass in black leggings. Practically drooling into her beer, Monica watched that trademark hair bounce all the way over to the fan deck, where Shelby and Michelle disappeared into the crowd.
Monica dragged her eyes back to the game but couldn’t focus.
“What did you think of Shelby and her date?” Nathan asked.
A prepubescent squeak escaped Monica’s lips. “She seems nice.” She was glad Nathan was watching the game, so he couldn’t see the sparkle in her eyes.
“Personally,” Nathan said, “I don’t know why Shelby agreed to go out with Michelle. Shelby is a nine and Michelle is about a five.”
“Oh my God, that’s so rude,” Monica said, even though she agreed with Nathan on both counts. I wonder what Nathan would rate me. Am I in Shelby’s league?
“True though,” Matt said. “Shelby is superhot.”
“And, super sweet,” Nathan added.
“Really?” Monica asked.
“Yeah. She’s one of the nicest women I know. She’d do anything for you. I think the high school kids have voted her best teacher of the year, several years running.”
“A teacher, huh?” Monica asked, then noticed another person walk by at the bottom of the bleachers—Rich Smart. Rich looked up and their eyes met. Oh no!
Nathan must have noticed Rich too because he said, “Alert. Incoming hostile.”
Monica sensed a shifting next to her, Nathan and Matt scooting apart.
Rich made quick work of the stairs, jogging up to them. “Hey Monica, how are you?”
“Good, and you?”
“Great. Hi, Nathan,” Rich said but looked directly at Matt. “I’m Rich Smart.” He extended his hand to Matt.
Monica wondered if he took pleasure in uttering the adjectives that comprised his name. She didn’t know if the first was true, but the second was definitely inaccurate.
“Matt Ludwigsen.” Matt briefly shook Rich’s hand, in a distracted sort of way, then quickly returned to watching the game.
An awkward silence settled around them, as Monica didn’t have anything specific to say to Rich, and his ego eclipsed his ability to socialize in any genuine way. He glanced at the game then squeezed onto the bleacher next to Monica. She was horrified, quickly scooting toward Matt to make room, so her hip wouldn’t touch Rich. Disgusting.
The pitcher had managed to get out of the inning, and the Rascals were now batting. One runner was aboard first.
“Hope we can score some runs now,” Rich said.
“Yeah,” Monica said. “The pitcher needs all the support he can get.” Is he going to sit by me the entire game?
Rich leaned over and looked at Matt. “What do you do for a living?”
When Matt didn’t answer, Monica elbowed him in the ribs.
“Who? Me?” Matt asked.
“Well, I know what Monica does,” Rich said in a condescending tone.
Matt didn’t take his eyes off the game. “Apple Grove Police Department.”
“Officer, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Dangerous job,” Rich said.
Either Matt didn’t hear Rich’s comment, or he pretended not to.
“Picking up the city’s garbage and all,” Rich added.
Monica couldn’t believe Rich. She risked a glance at Matt and noticed his ears turning red, but he stared at the field, not dignifying Rich’s comment with a response.
The growing unease was broken by the next batter hitting a homerun, driving in the runner on first. The Rascals now had a two-run lead. Monica was relieved when everyone stood and cheered. She high-fived Matt and Nathan, then felt obligated to high-five Rich.
Rich remained standing after the other three sat. He patted Monica on the shoulder. “Enjoy the game. You know I’m only a call away if you need me.”
She was baffled by his remark. Why would she need him? She was even more surprised when Matt suddenly threw his arm around her shoulders. “I’m pretty sure she isn’t going to need your number tonight.”
Fire flew from Rich’s hostile eyes. “Watch yourself, officer,” Rich hissed then quickly ran down the steps. He weaved through the stadium to the reserved seats where he joined his father and a few other lawyers.
Matt squeezed Monica’s shoulder and withdrew his arm. “That was fun.”
“What the heck just happened?” she asked.
“He thought we were on a date,” Matt said. “I could tell as soon as he shook my hand. He tried to do a power squeeze, but he has weak hands. These, on the other hand are the hands of a lumberjack. I could’ve broken his fingers if I’d wanted to.” He held out his large hands for her to admire.
<
br /> “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “He thought we were on a date?”
“Yep. Sorry if I offended you, but the guy’s a dick,” Matt said.
“Or a Richard,” Monica said.
“From now on, I’m going to say, ‘Don’t be a Richard,’” Nathan said, drawing a snort from Matt.
Oh no. Is Richard interested in me? She instinctively recoiled at the thought.
Chapter Four
At o’dark thirty the next morning, Monica pushed through the glass doors of MoFit, scared as hell, and rushed into the busy milieu of people pushing themselves to lift more, bike faster and row harder.
Barely awake at the ungodly hour, she set her water bottle on the floor next to a hundred others, vaguely wondering how each penguin recognized its chick. Craig was already taking the class through warm-up exercises across the black rubber flooring. From what Monica could glean, everyone was doing a crawl/stretch as if rock climbing across the floor.
Shelby was in the center of the pack, her teal-colored tights hugging her perfectly round ass, as she spider-crawled forty-plus feet. Monica steeled herself from gawking and attempted her own spider-crawl. Fortunately, her groans in the uncomfortable position were covered by music blasting through the speaker system.
As Monica made her way across the large space, she glanced up a few times, catching Shelby watching her. Shit. My body sucks compared to hers. How embarrassing—to be crawling for a first impression—my love handles on display.
Once Monica reached the edge of the black rubber with the rest of the class, she quickly straightened, pulling the hem of her shirt back down around her hips. She saw Shelby looking at her again, obviously putting two and two together that Monica was with Nathan and Matt at the game last night. Monica smiled and nodded but didn’t hold eye contact.
Craig next demonstrated skipping for the class. As he skipped like a child to the other end of the space, Monica was amused that this would be part of her workout. On his return trip, his large, athletic body—thighs the size of tree trunks—quickly transitioned sideways into grapevine run. I can do skipping and grapevine.
Despite the early hour and her nervousness, Monica appreciated the whimsical feeling of skipping with a group of people. As they grapevined back, Monica had the benefit of watching Shelby, a picture of grace and athleticism, her lithe body easily gliding across the space, her feet barely touching the floor. She floated like a CrossFit ballerina.