She worried her bottom lip and nodded. Although he said the issue was just the swelling, he’d finally admitted to her he was having pain on and off.
“He’s been following your advice about the ice and heat.” Pete smirked, his eyebrow raised.
“Good.” She pressed her lips together, fighting back a smile.
“I think it is too,” Pete agreed.
The drive to the stadium took no time, and although she hadn’t noticed Pete making a call, another man stood on the curb waiting for her when the car pulled up. She was escorted straight into one of the box suites. She stepped in, feeling out of sorts in the unfamiliar place, but the sight of familiar tiny blonde had her relaxing her shoulders and blowing out a calming breath.
“Hey, Beth,” she said, smiling at the only sister of the many Evans siblings.
“Bridg, you don’t mind sitting up here with us, do you? Corey mentioned Ryan was having you out for the weekend, and we figured you’d be more comfortable here.” Beth’s green eyes sparkled as she laughed. “Although it gets a little chaotic. All of the players’ families hang out here, so we’re usually overrun by kids.” Case in point, her six-year-old daughter and another girl were currently running circles around her.
“Taran here?” Bridget asked, glancing around for Corey’s obsession.
Beth shook her head. “That’s still. . .”
“Maddening?” Bridget asked with an eye roll.
Beth nodded. “Exactly.”
Beth’s husband, Marc Demoda, a former Metro pitcher, came into the room from the open-air seats of the box. “The boys need more Gatorade.”
“We have Declan’s son Chris with us since his ex is—”
“A witch? Someone should buy that woman a broom,” Marc sniped.
“Watch it.” Beth eyed the girls.
“They aren’t paying attention. And sweetheart, you’re the one who got me started on Lauren.”
“Declan’s the third baseman?” Bridget asked.
Beth nodded. “Total grump but easy on the eyes.”
Marc growled and wrapped an arm around his wife.
“I love you, hotshot, but I’m not blind.” Beth laughed as Marc leaned down and whispered something in her ear. “We’ll see about how baby girl does tonight.”
“Where are the twins?” Peyton and Colton had probably grown so much since she’d last seen photos of them.
“My mom and sister have them.” Marc turned when the door opened again.
“What’s taking so long, Marc?” A dark-haired woman grabbed four Gatorades from the mini-fridge. “You must be Bridget. I’m Crystal. My husband’s Smitty, center field. Gotta run. Willow’ll kill me if I abandon her for long.”
“Willow’s with one of the relievers, right?” Bridget asked.
“Yip, Quinn,” Beth agreed.
Marc’s eye cut to the television mounted on the wall. “End of the third. Metros are back on the field.” He directed the statement at her. That meant Ryan was coming on the field.
Bridget walked to the glass door and pushed out into the humid June air. The cheer of the almost fifty thousand fans reverberated through the stadium as the green and black-clad men left the dugout. Even with the fitted black long-sleeve Sideline shirt covering his tattoos, Ryan stood out easily. Just as he took the mound, he turned in her direction. The hat he wore blocked his eyes, but Bridget felt his gaze rake over her anyway. A shiver shot down her spine, and goosebumps broke out on her skin. Slowly, he lifted his hand and pressed two fingers to his lips.
His focus shifted back to the game, but she was frozen in the moment. In a crowd of thousands, Ryan had still managed to give her a personal hello. The fluttering in her chest was becoming a regular thing. It was the same thrum she’d felt when he’d had the same dinner sent to both of their houses so they could have a FaceTime date. And when he’d sent “happy first day of summer break” flowers. His thoughtfulness made the small things special.
She had never been a baseball fan, but watching the intense focus, the laser-sharp movements, and the control Ryan had over each pitch was enthralling. And when he got pulled in the middle of the seventh inning, she was bummed.
“Are you a ball bunny?” the third baseman’s son, Chris, asked her as they headed down to the locker room with Marc to see the players after the game. Marc eyed her, his brows furrowed. But Bridget wasn’t going down that road.