The War on Love

Chapter 2

I was never really into softball all that much as a kid.... but I somehow got stuck on my class' reunion team anyway. So here I am: squatting behind home plate in black catchers gear. The pitcher, a girl named Haley, winds up and throws the ball fast to the batter. The yellow ball lands in my glove with a smack.

"Strike three! You're out!" The umpire yells. That was the third out. We jog towards the dugout and I strip myself of the pounds of gear and exchange it for a helmet and my bat.

"Em! You're phone's going off!" Haley yells. She tosses me the black iPhone. I sigh when Thomas's name and picture showed up on the screen.

I ignored it and texted him quickly.

E: Sorry. Busy. Call you back later! =/

Not a minute later did he respond

T: UGH!!! What could possibly be more important than I!!!

E: Apparently playing softball with a bunch of 25 year old women...

T: >:( invalid Emmalyn!

E: Thomas! I promise to call you back when the game is over!

T: Fine.

I put my phone on the bench and grabbed my bat and walked to home plate.

The ball came at me fast. I swung. A loud crack was heard over the field as the ball sailed through the air. I ran to first and rounded the bag to second. I slowed a bit to see where the ball was. Still in the outfield. Good. I ran to third but a whooshing sound entered my ears. I slid as the girl on third swiped her glove down to tag me out. My toe was barely on the bag. I released a sigh of relief. Thank God.

____________________________________________________

The rest of the game went by quickly. We only lost 7-4... I grabbed my phone from my back pocket when it started vibrating. It's a rather strange feeling when your buttocks vibrates....

I had an incoming call from none other than Thomas Brodie-Sangster himself. "Hello?" I say.

"I thought you said you would call me when the game was over!"

"Sorry! I was having a conversation with my friend."

"The pitcher?"

"Yeah, how'd you know that?"

"I dare you to turn 180°," his thick British accent says.

I do as he says and my eyes land on a six foot tall boy standing 15' away. I hang up the phone. "Are you stalking me or something, Sangster?"

"Maybe," he says with a tiny smirk. "I'm kidding, Emmalyn," he says when he sees the strange look on my face.

"What possibly could've been so important that you had to call me in the middle of my game?" I ask as I cross my arms over my chest.

"Ah. Right to the chase, I see. Really, nothing, except for the fact that I was bored out of my mind and you seem to be the only one I know who is half way interesting." He flashes me a impish grin. "So, what are we going to do now?"

"Well, um, I'm going to meet some old friends for lunch in half an hour."

"Oh, lovely! Where are we eating?" He inquires.

"I don't remember asking you to come."

He acquires a pout on his pink lips and his brown eyes grow big. "Please, Emmalyn! I won't do anything embarrassing, I promise!"

I release a groan. "Fine!"

"Yes!" He shouts and pumps a fist in the air.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into," I grumble under my breath.