playing first base for her synagogue’s softball team, funny enough, and you’re in luck, because word on the street is they’re playing Beth Elohim in the Sunday synagogue league this week.”
“Beth Elohim has a softball team?” For a place lacking in members, they certainly kept the ones they had busy.
“Oh yeah. Ethan pitches. Not ’cause he’s particularly good, but he’s one of the few members without arthritis.” Leah gave her a once-over. “You look pretty athletic, and they always need more women for the team. Maybe you should sign up as a walk-on. It’ll give you a better lay of the land than this situation. Softball’s like fifty percent standing around.”
Considering her total failure at cooking Shabbat dinner, a recreational sport sounded like a pleasant reprieve. Naomi had played varsity soccer in high school, and by the sounds of it, most of Ethan’s softball teammates were senior citizens. How hard could it be?
Chapter Seventeen
NAOMI KNEW ABOUT baseball pants, in theory. Her high school soccer team had practiced a few fields over from the baseball players, and she’d seen a few glimpses of the catcher’s well-muscled thighs. Since then, she’d caught a few games on television casually while at a bar and thought, Wow, those are pretty damn tight. Casual observation had not prepared her for the sight of Ethan Cohen’s butt in a pair of snug white capris.
The vision took her so by surprise that she blurted out, “Holy shit. That ass is working overtime.”
Thankfully, she was out of his earshot.
Leah’s suggestion had seemed simple a few nights earlier, and Ethan had confirmed they needed more female players over text. Apparently, Mrs. Rubenstein’s hip was bothering her, and they needed a right fielder.
Naomi had borrowed an old glove from Josh, who had smirked and told her she’d gone soft as he thrust the worn leather into her palm.
“Since when do you play organized sports? Actually, since when do you do anything organized?”
Naomi had told him to mind his own business.
The Beth Elohim softball team was painfully wholesome. According to Ethan, they met an hour before the game for warm-ups and “general camaraderie,” whatever that meant. When she’d pulled up to the field, she’d seen one of the players unpacking orange slices—“for the seventh-inning stretch.”
Ethan had seen her arrive and jogged in from the outfield to meet her. Up close, the bright white of the uniform contrasted sharply with his dark hair and beard, drawing her attention to his face.
“What’s with the full getup?” The opposing team played in matching T-shirts and gym shorts.
“Oh.” He pulled on the bottom of his shirt. “Morey ordered them. He said if we want to play like winners, we have to look like winners.”
She eyed his uniform from top to bottom. “So, all the other teams make fun of you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ethan smiled as he bent down to retie his shoelace, blinking up at her against the sunshine. “Big-time.”
“You get a lot of heckling from the crowd?”
Ethan followed her gaze to the mostly empty bleachers dotted with a few older women Naomi recognized from the synagogue, wearing giant straw hats and passing around cookies.
“You’re about to find out.” He handed her a soft pile of neatly folded clothes, her very own uniform. “You can get changed in the public restrooms over there.”
She shook out the shirt and held it against her tank-top-covered chest. Not a bad fit. “How’d you know my size? You been checking me out?” Flirting with him was still fun, even if he couldn’t really keep up.
“Wish I could take credit.” Ethan adjusted the brim of his cap. “But I can assure you the uniforms are all Mo.”
Naomi got a glimpse of Morey out in the field with a whistle between his teeth. He had everyone in a line, touching their toes in what must have been some sort of stretching routine. She shot him a little wave.
When she looked back, Ethan was staring at her borrowed glove. She’d pulled it out of her bag and tucked it under her arm on the way in.
His dark brows drew together. “Aren’t you left-handed?”
“Yeah.” Maybe Morey wasn’t the only one checking her out after all.
“That’s a right-handed glove.” He reached out and took it from her, flipping it over so she could see the thumb.
“Oh. I didn’t realize.” She was going to maim Josh. “You definitely need a glove to play, right?”
Ethan squinted at her. “Wait a second, have you ever played softball?”
Naomi snatched the glove back. “Not exactly.”
Leah had said she’d be fine.