Page 40 of Third Strike Smitten

Her eyes narrow playfully. "Oh. Is that so?"

"Most women are impressed by the whole professional athlete thing and don’t give a damn about dinner. They’re more interested in dessert," I admit, leaning back in my chair. "But something tells me that wouldn't work on you."

"You'd be right." She glances down at her lap but I catch the slight smile playing at her lips. "I’m no cleat chaser if that’s what you’re wondering. I'm more impressed by a man who can carry on an actual conversation."

"Good thing I'm full of those."

“Okay then.” She leans forward slightly. “Tell me something nobody knows about you.”

I pick up my water glass, turning it slowly between my palms. "I was afraid of the dark until I was twelve."

She blinks. "Really?"

"Like, genuinely terrified. Bishop and Shepherd used to sleep with the bathroom light on for years because of me. They never told my parents and never teased me about it.”

I pause, surprised by how easily that memory came out. I don't usually share things like that, especially not on a first date.

"That's..." Isla's expression softens. "That's actually really sweet. About your brothers, I mean."

"Yeah, well, don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Your secret's safe with me," she says, taking a sip of her wine. "Though I'm filing it away for future blackmail purposes."

"Of course you are." I laugh, feeling more at ease than I expected. "Your turn. Something nobody knows about you."

She taps her finger against her wine glass, considering. "I can recite the entire script of The Goonies from memory."

"Bullshit."

"Not bullshit." She straightens in her chair. "I once won fifty bucks from my college roommate by doing the entire final scene, including all the sound effects."

"Okay, I'm going to need proof of this at some point."

"Maybe if you're lucky," she says with a smile that makes my stomach do something weird.

Our appetizers arrive, and we continue chatting as we eat. I find myself telling her about my first professional game, how I threw up in the bathroom before taking the mound. She tells me about her first time flying as a flight attendant, how she spilled an entire tray of drinks on a CEO who later wrote her a glowing recommendation.

"So, he wasn't mad?" I ask, surprised.

"Apparently I looked so horrified that he felt bad for me," she laughs. "He said it was the most genuine reaction he'd seen from anyone in years."

"Sounds like you've always been good at cutting through bullshit."

"Natural talent, I guess," she says with a wink.

As our main courses arrive, I notice Isla shifting in her seat, a subtle movement that I've come to recognize as her trying to get comfortable. I wonder if her leg is bothering her, the one with the limp she tries so hard to hide.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Fine," she says quickly, but I catch the slight wince when she adjusts her position again.

I debate whether to push it, or maybe even ask our waiter for a different chair for her, but something in her expression tells me she doesn't want to talk about it and certainly doesn’t want it to be the center of attention. So, I let it go. I pick up my fork and say nothing, and we eat in comfortable silence for a moment that somehow doesn't feel uncomfortable at all.

"Can I ask you something?" Isla finally asks, swirling her wine slowly.

"Yeah. Shoot."

"Why aren't you with anyone?" She says it simply, like it's not the kind of question that could detonate something. "Like, actually with someone. Not for the front office. Not for optics. Just...why aren't you?"