looks to be on cloud nine. Clearing his throat, we step up to the attendant, and Roman orders our food.
I’m embarrassed, but I don’t regret a single thing. What I do regret, however, is ordering all this food. The clerk places our mountain of goodies on a tray, sending us away with a look of good luck. I grab the Coke and beer and follow Roman as he maneuvers through the crowd on the hunt to find our seats.
Roman gives directions, allowing me to guide him, which is a nice change. Once we arrive at the elevator, we ride it to our level. Roman takes over as leader and guides us to our seats.
“Some view.” I’m impressed that I managed to get such great seats.
“You did good,” he replies, passing me my nacho hat. I accept with a teasing sigh. It’s going to take me all day to make a dent. As I’m strategizing ways to tackle this mountain of madness, Roman raises his Budweiser. “Let’s make a toast.”
“To what?” I could suggest the perfect occasion to toast, but I don’t. I don’t want to ruin a perfect day with birthday talks.
Raising my Coke, I wait for him to speak. “To you.”
“To me?” I don’t hide my surprise.
“Yes. May a flock of blessings light upon thy back.” Shakespeare. He knows the way to my heart.
“Cheers.” We clink, both taking long sips from our drinks.
As we get settled and the game commences, I think about Roman’s toast and how in spite of what’s to come, I am already blessed…thanks to him.
Who would have thought I’d be a baseball fan? Nearing the end of the game, I was standing and screaming with all the other enthusiasts, desperate for “my” team to win.
Roman explained the logistics, but all I cared about was the roar when a player hit the ball. The excitement was contagious; so much so that after the fourth inning, I was running to the merchandise store to purchase my foam finger in the Cubs colors.
The game is over and the Cubs won, much to Roman’s distaste. “They got lucky,” he says, my hand locked in his as we wait for the hordes of people to pass. I bite back my smirk, finding his loyalty toward the Yankees adorable.
The night has turned surprisingly bitter, and a summer storm dallies on the horizon. When the crowd clears, I step out into the aisle, but a huge buffoon across from me charges out at the same time. The beer he’s holding splashes all over me, and I yelp, jumping backward. I wipe down my shirt in vain; it’s drenched.
“Watch it!” Roman roars from behind me, instantly shoving the guy from over my shoulder. He’s unsteady on his feet and almost falls over.
Testosterone swiftly suffocates me, and I sense a fight is brewing. “She’ll live,” he slurs, half sitting, half standing, his arm draped over the back of a chair. I flinch at his choice of words.
“You spilled your beer all over her!”
“Roman, it’s fine.” I try to settle him down, but he won’t hear it.
“No, it’s not fine! Apologize.”
“Fuck you!” the guy barks back, finally finding his balance.
He stampedes toward Roman, and Roman does the same to him, but I’m the meat in the sandwich and have no desire to be squished. I’ve seen Roman pack a punch. This will end ugly.
Thrusting my arms out, I stop the other from moving an inch. “Stop it, you jackass!”
The guy looks down at my scrawny arms and laughs. His humor is short-lived when I smell the distinguishable scent of pot wafting through the air. “Back off, or I’m sure those security guards would love to know what you’re hiding in your pockets.”
On cue, three guards come dashing up the stairs.
His jaw clenches. “Real tough, having a girl fight your battles.” He has to get in the last word as he glares at Roman over my shoulder.
Roman scoffs. “This girl has more balls than you and I do combined. And just like me, she fights for what’s hers.”
The wind gets knocked from my sails. I’m his, and he’s mine?
Even though Roman’s chivalry touches me, the buffoon’s sexist comment offends me. Dropping my arms, I step into his space, not caring that he’s towering over me. “I can kick your ass any day. And for the record, so could he…with his eyes closed…and one arm tied behind his back.”
People around us snort at my insult, while he’s left standing, speechless, most likely attempting to conjure up a