“Striiike.”
She slowly let out the breath.
“Girl, you’re missing the whole inning,” her dad said, chuckling at her.
“I hate this game,” she huffed. But she wanted this for Corey. She wanted lots of things for Corey. Success, happiness. Love.
Her heart tripped on the word, and she clenched her fists again. She wasn’t going there. Not now.
“Striiike,” the ump called again.
“Oh God,” Taran whispered, still not watching.
“You’re so weird, Aunt Taran. Strikes are good,” Noah said. “I can’t believe we get to watch him pitch a perfect game.”
“I’ve never been at a perfect game before.” Her dad squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad it’s Matthews, even if it’s against my ’Stros.”
She wasn’t watching, but she heard the crack of the bat against the ball, and her eyes shot up. Her heart skipped two beats before she saw the ball flying high and long into the outfield. She swallowed. One hit would ruin the entire game. She fisted her hands and finally relaxed as the ball smacked into the center fielder’s glove.
Out.
She glanced to Corey to see how he was taking it, and surprisingly, his eyes were on her. Taran sent him a small, encouraging smile, and he shook his head, laughing before the next batter stepped into the box.
“I’m surprised he can concentrate with the way he keeps watching you,” Tristan said to her and rumpled the Astros hat on her head. “You got that boy all kinds of twisted up.”
“Shut up,” she replied and shut her eyes again before hearing the umpire’s call of strike.
“Hey, we’re all really happy for you. We all thought you’d given up on love,” Tristan continued.
“Tristan, I’m about to have a heart attack, so if you want to have a heart to heart, can we please wait until this game is over?” she asked before she heard the crack and shot her head up.
Foul.
The next two pitches were balls. Two strikes, two balls, two outs, and a perfect game on the line.
Taran nibbled on her fingernail as she looked at Corey again. He turned to glance at her, shook his head, laughed, and then snagged the ball Tim tossed at him.
“T, this is history. You have to watch this pitch,” her father informed her.
She forced herself to watch, even if she couldn’t breathe.
The next minute was a blur. She heard strike three; you’re out, and she jumped to her feet along with the rest of the ballpark to cheer the man who’d just accomplished the rarest feat in baseball. The team rushed him, and the catcher handed him the ball.
A wave of desire to run to him, hug him, celebrate with him ached deep inside her. But the world was watching. And Corey didn’t do public. And for the first time since she’d agree to keep their relationship quiet, Taran wanted something different. Something more, and that yearning twisted the knot inside her. This entire day had been way too much.
Corey pulled away from the group, searching the stands for the only person he really wanted to see. She stood with her family, clapping. All her nerves seemed to have washed away. She’d been so cute. The nervousness, her inability to watch, her nail-biting anxiety. It had all been what kept him grounded. Knowing she was there, in the crowd, rooting for him while wearing her damn Astros hat. It made the game easy. He’d never in his life had so much fun pitching a game. And it was because of her.
It sucked that she wasn’t standing next to him. Celebrating with him. Just like she wouldn’t be at any of the all-star events next week—because he’d insisted they remain a secret.
A hand grabbed the back of his head and turned it.
“I wouldn’t watch her. The world’s eyes are on you right now.” Daily’s low voice was hard to hear over the craziness.
The flash out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Daily was right; he couldn’t stare forever because the press would ask what he was looking at. And he couldn’t run over and demand she come down onto the field with him because, although he now was 100 percent sure he wanted this, it was something they had to talk about. He knew it would affect her job—she was still a sports reporter. When she got back from Guatemala, they had to talk about it and figure out the best way to move forward.
It wasn’t impossible—athletes dated reporters all the time. But he wanted it spun in the best light. His eyes flicked back to Taran. She had her head tilted to the side, clearly listening to something Noah was saying. She smiled, and his heart lurched in his chest.
“Dude, you hear me?” Daily smacked him hard on the back of the head. “I know this is hashtag life dream, and pitching the perfect game should be about you, but it’s not. You have to be the Cap’n for the world right now.”
Right. He shook his head; time to be Captain-America Corey Matthews. He could be the-guy-falling-in-love Corey Matthews later. He missed his step as the thought hit him.
Damn. He swallowed.
He wasn’t falling.
He’d already fallen.
It felt like the ground shifted and life had changed, but he glanced around, seeing everything was the same. He had an interview to do, so he swallowed hard, placed himself in front of the dugout, and turned to the reporters. He forced his token smile.
“You guys have ten questions, and then I’ll give you a fun fact about chipmunks.”