The Ninth Inning (The Boys of Baseball #1) - J. Sterling Page 0,50
I would be there soon and I hoped she was awake. She responded a few minutes later with a bunch of food emojis, and I laughed, thankful that she was as hungry as I was.
“Okay, all done,” Maggie said with a satisfied grin as she handed me the most stunning bouquet I’d ever seen of white roses and a bunch of green shit.
“This is a work of art,” I said, studying it.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I hope she does.”
“She will. If she doesn’t, come back and let me know.”
“No way. If she doesn’t like it, you’re definitely fired,” I said with half a grin, and she shook her head at me.
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved me off, and I walked out, suddenly fucking paranoid that I was overdoing it or trying too hard.
Placing the roses on the passenger seat, I realized that I seemed to second-guess every single thing I did when it came to this girl. Nothing seemed good enough, and in the same vein, it also seemed like too much. I’d gotten used to screwing up so many times without even trying that I wasn’t sure I knew how to stop doing it.
When I pulled up to the privacy gate in front of Christina’s complex, I typed in the numbers and laughed as the large thing swung open. Lauren must not have forced them to update the passcode yet. Driving around the lot nearest her building, I pulled my truck into a spot, grabbed the flowers, and hopped out.
Instead of texting to let her know I was outside, I dialed the numbers on the security box and waited for one of the girls to grant me entrance. The buzzing sound came without even a hello or anything, and I reached for the glass door and pulled it open as soon as I heard it unlock.
As I walked down the hallway, flowers in hand, my heart started racing in my chest. What if she hates the white? Should I have gotten her red? Everyone got red roses for a reason—because they were classic and classy. Blowing out a long, dramatic breath as I reached her front door, I lifted my hand and knocked, praying to whoever was up there that I wasn’t sweating through my shirt. I was more than just a little nervous. The door flew open, and the sight of Christina standing there in tiny jean shorts and an off-the-shoulder sweater almost knocked me on my ass.
When her eyes moved to my right hand and her jaw fell open, I remembered the roses and handed them to her with a smile. “These are for you.”
“Wow.” She took them, turning them around so she could study them from every angle. “These are the prettiest roses I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re so big,” she said and instantly buried her nose in the center of the bouquet and inhaled.
“I did good?”
“You did good.” She smiled before telling me to come inside and closing the door behind us. “I’m going to put these in water”—she stopped short—“I think.”
“You think?”
“I’m not sure we have a vase,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Wow, Hat Boy,” Lauren said, appearing out of nowhere and standing next to Christina in the kitchen, “I’m impressed.”
“Picked ’em myself and everything.”
“Did you?” Christina’s head shot up, her blue eyes meeting mine, and I gave her a confident smirk.
“I did. You can even call Maggie and ask.”
Her brow furrowed. “Who’s Maggie?”
“The owner of the flower shop,” I said even though I wasn’t sure if she owned it or not. I just assumed she did.
“You got these at an actual flower shop?” Lauren sounded shocked, and I knew I was scoring some serious brownie points. Which I desperately needed.
“Nothing but the best for my girl,” I said the words a little too cocky.
Christina gave Lauren a quick side-eye glance. I had no idea what it meant, but it took my confidence down a notch or two. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as seamless as I hoped.
After some rustling and giggling, Christina presented the roses, sans paper, stuffed inside an oversize water bottle that you’d bring to the gym. “It was either this or go buy a thirty-two-ounce Big Gulp from 7-Eleven for the cup,” she said with a shrug as she set them down in the center of the kitchen table.
“I didn’t even think about the vase part. I blame Maggie,” I said, and I did. Why didn’t I get her a vase instead of wrapping