The Thirteenth Chance

by Amy Matayo

  Five minutes later, we’re alone.

  The apartment is a mess, and I remember why I hate parties, and Perry is licking pizza grease off a paper plate that’s lying in the middle of the carpet, and any minute now I fully expect Olivia to start screaming about it.

  But we’re alone.

  Olivia drops the hammer. “I’m sorry.”

  At first I don’t think I hear her right, and I tilt my head. “For what?”

  She looks at me with sad eyes—basset hound eyes, though I probably shouldn’t say that out loud—and sighs. “For everything. For not believing you. For thinking you would go on the road and get together with some other girl so quickly.”

  Quickly is the wrong term. I take a step toward her. “Time has nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t get with another girl at all. Not after you, Olivia. There isn’t a single woman on the planet who compares to you.”

  Her mouth twitches. I swallow a smile when I see it. What do you know, this girl likes compliments. “Darn right there isn’t. After you’ve had crazy, who wants normal?”

  I move a little closer still. Something tells me thoughts of that hammer and smashing things are over. I’m pretty sure my head and body are safe. “Not me. Certainly not me.”

  Olivia glances at the floor and makes a face at her cat. His whiskers are dripping with spilled soda, and there’s a tiny speck of crushed potato chip on his back. But at least she doesn’t scream, just gives him a long look before locking eyes with me. “You’re going to have to help bathe him, you know.”

  When her arms reach around my neck, in that moment I know I’ll do anything she wants. “We’ll bathe him later. Just give me a minute.” I lean in to kiss her, but she moves her head back and frowns up at me. I’m not going to lie; it’s more than a little disappointing.

  “What?” I say.

  “You called me crazy.”

  I grin. “For a minute there, you were acting like it.”

  She shrugs and leans in. “Fair enough.”

  And when Olivia kisses me . . .

  Man, when Olivia kisses me . . .

  I’ll admit it.

  In that single second, I officially lose my mind.

  Chapter 35

  Will

  “I can’t believe this was your second requirement.”

  “That’s because you were thinking in complicated terms. It’s what I wanted all along.”

  “You realize I would have done this at the beginning, right? I knew a few people back then. I could have pulled a few strings a lot earlier than today.”

  She smiles. “I know you could have. But where would the fun in that have been? Without my last requirement, you might have lost interest a long time ago.”

  This woman. When is she ever going to get it? I know we’ve only officially dated for two months, and that’s if you don’t count the two weeks when we sort of broke up, but I don’t plan to ever lose interest. I’m getting more interested every day. This time next year, I plan to be fully interested. And fully invested.

  Speaking of, engagement rings cost a fortune. A small investment in themselves.

  Anyway, what were we talking about?

  “I wouldn’t have lost interest. But this is a little easier now that the season is over.”

  And yes, the season is over. We made it to the American League Championship Series before losing to the Mariners in game five. The Mariners. The loss hurts even more because the Mariners haven’t made it that far in years, and they have never made it to the World Series at all. It’s an easier pill to swallow when you at least lose to a team that stands a chance.

  “Then get to it, Thirteen. Go out there and give him a chance to see what it feels like.”

  Thirteen. This is my new nickname. Olivia christened me with it the night we made up last month. And in case you’re wondering, the nickname has nothing to do with my number. It has everything to do with our little speed-dating night and her thirteenth chance to make a match.

  Lucky for me, I was the guy given that number.

  “Fine. You coming with us or staying here in the stands?”

  She answers me by sitting down and stretching her feet across the seat in front of her. She smiles up at me. Even though it’s nighttime, the whole world just got a little brighter.

  “I think I’ll stay here and watch.”

  I smile. “Okay. You ready, kiddo?”

  “I’m ready,” Avery says, swallowing. The kid is nervous. It’s his first time in a ballpark, though according to Olivia he loves the game. Apparently he’s never actually been to a game because his father can’t afford it. Good thing I have connections. I already have passes set aside to give them for next season.

  I walk with Avery to home plate and hand him a catcher’s mitt. Before we arrived, I asked him what position he wanted to play tonight. He said catcher, so I ran into the locker room and grabbed a glove. The chest protector and face mask are way too big for his small frame, but I won’t throw too hard. He won’t get hurt.

  Once he’s situated, I walk toward the pitcher’s mound. On my way there, I look up into the stands for another glimpse of Olivia. She isn’t there. I grow alarmed for a second, but then I look around and spot her.

  With a grin, I shake my head. She’s come a long way. Longer than she even knows.

  The last thing I see before getting into position is Olivia. She’s across the field and circling a mud puddle. It hasn’t rained in days, but somehow she managed to find one. I give her five minutes before she’s walking through the middle of it. Like mother, like . . . cat, I guess.

  With a laugh to myself, I set my sights on Avery.

  Aim.

  Wind up.

  And throw.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First, I want to thank my readers. You’ve come with me on a journey of “What the heck is she going to write next?” and I appreciate you for sticking with me. I know my stories vary from book to book—some silly, some lighthearted, some pretty serious—but hopefully they’ve been entertaining and marginally well written. I owe you my career and will forever be grateful to each one of you.

  And now I’d like to thank everyone who had a hand in this book—my close friends, family, beta readers, and those who help to keep my life together.

  To Vance Wilson, my neighbor and friend. If I didn’t know you, this book would not exist. When I told my editor, “I think I’ll write a book about baseball because I have a neighbor who played professionally and now he manages, so it shouldn’t be that hard . . .” I didn’t realize what a stupid statement I was making. This book was hard. Really hard. I got next to zero baseball details right in the first draft, but because of your help, guidance, kindness, and willingness to temporarily turn in your man card and read a romance, it was finally in publishable shape. You’re a good soul, and I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know—even though I still don’t see why a pitcher can’t play every single game in a season. Wouldn’t that be easier? Plus they wouldn’t have to pay as many people. Someone should totally change that rule. Thanks for everything, dude. I enjoyed the process. Any mistakes still in existence belong solely to me.

  To Nicole Deese, my soul sister and friend. Thanks for reading my awful early drafts, for telling me what worked and what needed to be fixed, for sending me songs and texts, for being willing to talk on the phone after midnight, for making me laugh and cry (in a good way). But most of all, thanks for being you and for your ability to understand and relate to my weird mind and heart. Your friendship means everything.

  To Jessica Kirkland, my fantastic agent. You make my life easier to manage and much saner to live through. Thanks for taking a chance on me four years ago. I couldn’t do one minute of this without you and your friendship, and I wouldn’t ever want to.

  To Tami Kirkpatrick for being a consistent friend through all my changes in career, ups and downs in life, and mood swings caused by both. Thanks for not getting mad when I named a villain in my last book after you. Also thanks
for the walks and talks and for lending an ear, even though you probably get tired of hearing my constant whining. But life is hard. And book writing is hard. And raising kids is hard. And cooking dinner is hard. And . . . thanks, friend. Love you much. Let’s go for a walk in the rain.

  To Stacy Henagan for the leash idea. I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed as hard as I did the night you mentioned it, but I am pretty sure I still have a bruise on my elbow from falling off the bed. Love you always, sweet friend.

  To Joy Francoeur. Even though you didn’t help on this book, you’ve helped on all my others and I’ll need you for more in the future. Thanks for your never-ending encouragement. I appreciate you.

  To Rel Mollet once again. Thanks for your encouragement, help, and kind words. Someday I’m going to visit you in Australia. Partly to see where you live, but mainly because I want you to take me to an Australian coffee shop so a cute barista with a cool accent can call me “love.” Wouldn’t that be fun?

  To my editors Amy Hosford, Erin Calligan Mooney, Faith Black Ross, and Amanda Gibson for signing me, for cleaning up the original mess I made of this manuscript, and for understanding and supporting my vision for the book. Working with such a talented group of women has been a great experience, one I’ll never forget.

  To my publishers at Waterfall Press. I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me onto your team and for the support you have given me. From inception to cover to publication, it’s all been rewarding and fun. Thanks for bringing me along for the ride.

  And finally to my parents, sisters, husband, and kids. Family is everything, and I’m so glad that you’re mine. I love you all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © Kathy Mahue

  Amy Matayo is the award-winning author of The Wedding Game, Love Gone Wild, Sway, In Tune with Love, A Painted Summer, and The End of the World. She graduated, with barely passing grades, from John Brown University, earning a degree in journalism. But don’t feel sorry for her—she’s superproud of that degree and all the ways she hasn’t put it to good use.

  Matayo laughs often, cries easily, feels deeply, and loves hard. She lives in Arkansas with her husband and four kids and is working on her next novel. Visit her website at www.amymatayo.com to find out more.