There were two other men who looked to be in their mid-to-late thirties. One was tall and lanky with thick, wavy brown hair and a thin pair of glasses that kept sliding down his nose. She was pretty sure he was the owner of a local software company that had had a lot of success recently, although she couldn’t remember his name. The last guy was average height, tanned and toned, with brown hair cut close to his head, spikey and gelled on the top, like he was trying to appear younger than he actually was. She didn’t know his name or remember which business he owned, but she’d seen him on television a few times. Something about remodeling the historic downtown theater.
The click and flash of cameras behind her drew Josie’s attention. She turned away from the field to see several people holding up cameras. Josie muscled her way through the siege of people. They closed in on the fence the moment she stepped away, shouting at players and snapping photos. It took several minutes to find Lisette along the side of the bleachers, sitting in a lawn chair along the third base line. A matching chair sat beside her, its seat overflowing with food she’d bought from the concessions. “There you are,” Lisette said. “Better sit before someone else tries to take this seat.”
She pawed through the food she had bought, which would have been enough to feed the two of them for a week, let alone for a single game. There were four hot dogs, a half dozen bags of chips, French fries slathered in catsup, and some brownies.
Josie said, “Gram, this is too much.”
Lisette shook her head. “Ray will be hungry after the game. We’ll give whatever we don’t finish to him. Oh no. I forgot to get napkins. Would you be a dear and run over to the concession stand? Grab a handful.”
With only a few more minutes to game time, people were flocking toward their seats, jostling for space anywhere they could find it. Josie went around the back of the bleachers where it was just grass littered with food wrappers terminating at a taller chain-link fence. Beyond the fence was a parking lot and beside that, a wooded area. People still streamed in through the narrow entrance from the parking lot, and she had to fight her way to the concession stand, nearly falling on her ass when a wall ran directly into her. Not a wall, she realized, as strong hands gripped her upper arms, but a man. She looked up into the face of one of the sponsors. Tanned and toned. “I’m sorry,” he said, smiling down at her with wide lips and straight white teeth. He might have been sexy if he hadn’t held onto her for a beat too long and if his thumb hadn’t brushed lightly over the side of her breast while he did it.
Pulling away from him, Josie put her chin down and tried to pass him. “It’s fine,” she said. People flowed around them without a glance.
He touched her shoulder, stopping her in place. “Do I know you?”
Josie hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “The pitcher is my boyfriend,” she said. “You’ve probably seen me with him.”
His smile had become conspiratorial, as though they were sharing a secret of some kind. “That kid is good,” he said. “On the field.”
Josie felt her cheeks pinken. “I have to—”
Before she could finish her sentence, something behind her caught his eye. Relief flooded through her as he said, “It was nice meeting you,” before he stepped around her and went on his way. Josie didn’t look back. She made a mental note to put him on her list of pervy men.
The concession stand was still packed, and several patrons yelled at her when she tried to cut the line to grab a handful of napkins. Tapping one foot against the worn dirt path in front of the stand, she dutifully waited ten minutes for the napkins. She rushed back, this time taking the long way around the outfield, hoping to avoid Mr. Tanned and Toned. And gross, she thought. Still there was a crowd near the bathrooms. If she didn’t get back to her seat soon, she’d miss the national anthem. Poor Lisette would think she’d been abducted. As she strode past the line for the ladies’ room, a player from the opposing team came running past, weaving through bodies as he went. He bumped her shoulder, spinning