"up your mind, weather people. Plus, purple and blue both played up my eyes, but which to choose?
Mr. Mew just looked at me with his big yellow eyes, so he was no help. I went with blue and hoped for the best.
Not that it mattered what I was wearing, I decided, driving to the baseball field. Brady would be a good friend to have. Yep, just what a girl like me needed, another good-looking guy friend. But I left my loose, brown curls down, because sometimes they looked cute bouncing on my shoulders. Or so Miranda told me. And as much as I liked running around without makeup, I put on pale lipstick, eyeliner and mascara. I looked as good as I could without appearing as though I'd tried. It's a hard balance to strike."
"I was hoping Brady wouldn't be as hot in the daylight, so that maybe I could shake these feelings, but his tight white pants and McGinty's Bar t-shirt only made his assets more visible. I nodded in approval. Hopefully, he was friends with equally gorgeous men. The mythical ones, who valued personality and humor in a girl over looks. He was so losing this bet.
I waved to him when he spotted me leaning against the chain link fence surrounding the field. He was practicing with his teammates and tossed the ball to the guy on third base, then ran over, leaving a trail of red dust in his wake. I tried to remember the last time I'd made it to third base and I was coming up blank.
"You came," he said with a smile.
And that hasn't happened in a while either, I thought to myself. "Only to prove you wrong." I wrapped my fingers around the metal links."
"Nope, I think I'm going to have a new T-shirt to keep the ladies in line."
I tried to swat his arm but he ducked out of the way. "Go sit down and cheer for me. But don't get too hoarse. I'm awesome; you'll have lots of cheering to do."
"Clearly you're awesome. You have to be, to make it to the bar league, right?"
"Try not to cut yourself with that sharp tongue. I don't have any band-aids on me." He shook his head, laughing, and ran onto the field.
Brady was good. He scored three runs, made a couple of key catches, and had a gaggle of girls waiting for him when it was all over. Shocker. But after some casual chitchat, he pushed his way past them and came over to me.
Yes, me-the only girl there wearing sneakers instead of high-heeled sandals, zero jewelry, and a "Wanna Smurf Around" t-shirt."
"Impressive, as promised," I told him as he sat down next to me on the bleachers.
He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "We're heading to a pub down the street to celebrate our crushing victory."
He didn't have to say so, but I knew this is where he was going to put his theory to the test. I should have been nervous realizing I'd soon be trying to charm his friends with my wit and personality. But I knew it was going to lead nowhere, and being right was so much fun. Plus that "She's Taken" t-shirt would come in handy.
"It's close enough to walk. You ready?" he asked."
"Let's do it."
Eight of us sat at a big table, sharing wings and war stories from our high school sports careers. Or lack of a career in my case. "I'm just saying, how many concussions do you need to suffer on the volleyball court before you realize it's not your calling? The coaches pawned me off on each other until I finally gave up sports and joined the drama club. And they kicked me out for being too dramatic."
Brady's friend, Flynn, just laughed and shook his head. "What kind of volleyballs did you use? I remember them being very soft."
"True, but the floor was quite hard when the ball hit me and knocked me over."
Flynn's eyes swept over me. "You should have moved on to beach volleyball. You certainly could handle the uniform." Up went a sexy eyebrow. "I could teach you a few moves this weekend. Bunch of us are hitting the beach on the South Shore if you're interested."
