Jack walked back over to our table and shoved a napkin into Cassie’s hand without saying a word. I watched him walk back to his table, wondering what the hell he’d just given her when she crumpled it up and tossed it into her bag.
“What was that?” Melissa asked.
Cassie swallowed hard. “His phone number, I think. I didn’t really look at it.”
“H-he gave you his number?”
Shock rolled through me. My brother didn’t give his phone number to any girl. Ever.
“I think. Maybe I’m wrong. I’ll look at it later.” Cassie’s cheeks turned pink, and I frowned.
Melissa turned to me, her brows drawn together. “What’s with the face?”
“He doesn’t give out his phone number. There’s no point with him.” I moved my gaze from Cassie to Jack’s table as I tried to read his mind.
“He has a cell phone, right?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah?” I squinted at her, not seeing her point.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, caller ID.”
I shook my head. “His number is private. It doesn’t show up.”
”Really? Who does that?”
“Someone who had to change his phone number fifteen times in high school because it never stopped ringing.” When both girls looked at me with amazement, I added, “Or pinging with text messages.”
I thought back to those high school years when girls posted his phone number on all the social media sites, or included him in group text messages so everyone else in the group could get his number. Whenever Jack’s number got out, he not only got calls from the girls at our own school, his phone blew up from girls all over.
Jack had been the subject of more than one national article on baseball and its future rising stars. He wasn’t only well known in our hometown; he was well known in the entire baseball community. And apparently the cleat chasers, aka baseball groupies, started early.
“Fifteen times?” Cassie said loudly, and everyone around our table turned to stare at us.
I shrugged. “It might have been more, but it was insane. Girls would post his number online, and his voice mail would fill up within a day. And then they’d all start calling my phone, looking for him when he didn’t answer.”
What I didn’t tell them was that I had to eventually change my number as well for the same reason. Not that those girls wanted to talk to me, but when you were a freshman in high school, you tended to believe the things that girls said. I learned my lesson about being used pretty early when it came to girls lying to get what they wanted.
“Holy shit, that’s bananas!”
Melissa broke out into laughter, but I didn’t join in. This was the story of my life, and it really wasn’t funny.
“That’s why it’s weird that he’d give you his number.” I frowned at Cassie, wondering just what game my brother was playing. “He doesn’t give anyone his number.”
“Well, like I said, I could be wrong,” she said quickly.
Melissa gestured toward her bag. “Then get it out and read it now.”
“No. Not in the freaking student union while he’s right over there. Later.”
Cassie grabbed her things and pushed back from the table to walk toward the trash cans. Jack jogged over to her and they exchanged words, their body language resembling that night at the frat party.
“Come to my game tonight!” Jack shouted as she stomped away and opened the glass doors.
“I don’t think so,” she snapped back.
“Don’t you want to see me pitch?” he asked, his voice cocky.
She paused, holding the door open with one arm. “I saw you pitching earlier. In slow motion, remember? I think I got the gist.”
As Cassie left, I turned back to Melissa, who was frowning.
“Well, this oughta be fun,” I said with a laugh, but she shook her head.
“Fun for you, maybe, but there’s no way this is going to end well,” she said sadly. “He’s going to wear her down, and she knows it.”
“I honestly think she likes him,” I offered with a shrug before taking another bite of pizza.
Melissa watched as Jack stared after Cassie.
“I think so too,” she said. “And that’s what worries me.”
Baseball Is Life
“Gran, are you almost ready?” I yelled from the living room where I waited with Gramps.
“Don’t you know better than to try to rush a woman, son?” Gramps looked at me over his glasses.
I glanced at my watch as I paced the small living room. “I don’t want to be late for the game. And you don’t either.”
“No. That’s why I let you yell for her, so I don’t get in trouble.” He shot me a devilish grin, and I rolled my eyes.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Gran shouted from their bedroom.
The smell of lasagna filled the entire house, and my mouth watered at the thought of digging into it later. Jack knew Gran would make him whatever he wanted, but he always made me ask anyway.
“Dinner smells amazing, Gran,” I told her when we finally headed outside.
She snorted. “It better. I spent all morning making it.”
“No one does it better than you do,” Gramps said with a smile as we piled into their car, an aging Honda that flipped over the odometer long ago.
Gran buckled up in the front seat and narrowed her eyes at us. “You two stop buttering me up. What do you want?”