Page 10 of Hiding in the Outfield

“Thanks,” Olander says, slightly out of breath.

“No problem, man. I’m Barnes, Winters’s best friend from back home. That was a killer home run you had in the fifth.”

Shelby settles in at my side. She arches a slim dark brow, her brown eyes gleaming. “Devereux isn’t here tonight.”

Shelbs is my girl. She knows how much I want a piece of the man now smiling and laughing with Maddy and East. “Interesting.”

She catches my eye. “I thought so too.” She taps her lip. “Wonder if he’s any different when he doesn’t have a bigot attached to his hip.”

“I think we should find out.”

“I got you, boo.”

Shelby bounds off, her high pony bouncing. She’s this little five-foot-three ball of mischief. But one would be a fool to underestimate her; that woman has a spine of steel. She greets Olander with a disarming smile. Not even two minutes later, she’s dragging the poor man over to the bar. Right next to me. Have I said how much I love this girl?

She signals to the bartender. “What do you drink, Olander?” She jerks her head toward me. “Not something gross like Frankie’s Campari, I hope.”

I faux gasp. “Don’t disrespect the Campari.” I’d prefer a glass of Valpolicella, but I don’t think they serve wine here, let alone anything palatable.

Olander’s gaze meets mine, then drops to my drink. I roll it against my bottom lip, and his throat ripples in a swallow. His dark hair curls where it’s still wet from his shower. He’s let the top grow out a bit, and it falls in a wave to the side, framing his hard, angular features. Yum. And the tight white tee he’s wearing under his athletic zip-up shows off his muscular build to perfection. I can literally count his abs.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and my attention snaps up to his face. “Sorry, Ollie-baby. Just admiring the view. Can you blame a man?” Yes, I’m shamelessly checking him out. Because Frankie has no shame.

“I—Um…”

He turns toward Shelby…who made herself scarce the minute Olander turned toward me. He frowns at her empty spot, and I barely hold back my laugh.

God, he’s so cute.

I tap the bar top. “What are you drinking, Olander?” I jerk my head toward the waiting bartender. “I’ll have another, Tom.” I polish off the last of my drink and slide the empty glass across the wooden counter.

“I’ll have a Sam Adams.”

“I suppose that’s better than Bud Light,” I say.

“Can’t be picky on a minor league salary.” He shoots me a small, uncomfortable smile.

It’s true. Minor leaguers make nothing, and they only get paid during the season. It’s why half the team lives in my apartment practically for free. Okay…exaggeration, just Paulie and Easton live with me. I do what I can to help out since I have a well-paying job. And I love having my brother live with me.

“What do you actually like to drink then—ignoring money?”

“I suppose I like stouts?”

Tom slides my fresh Campari and soda over to me. “Hold off on that beer, Tom. We need a minute.”

He gives me a nod and goes to help another patron.

I cock my head, a dark wave of my tousled hair falling over my brow. “You answered it like a question. Do you not know if you like stouts?”

“Um, no, I do. I just haven’t really had many opportunities to try them. My dad was a lager man, so that’s what I’m used to.”

I lift my hand and raise my voice. “Tom, love!”

He sidles over, cleaning a glass with a towel. “Made a decision?”

“Goose Island.”

He nods approvingly.