His simple explanation that he has to help, they’re his parents after all, makes him all the more attractive.

“So,” he drags out the word, calling me back to the conversation. “What’s up?”

“Huh?”

“You called me, Gracie.” His voice, holy hell. My name falls from his lips, raspy and sexy as sin.

“Oh, yeah. Uh, I wanted to see what you were doing tonight. I thought we could get together.” Silently, I curse myself for rambling like a teenager.

“Just as friends,” he mocks, a hint of sarcasm in his words.

Mainly to save face, I laugh and ignore his comment. “So are you doing anything?”

When he says, “I am, actually,” a punch of disappointment lands in my gut.

“Oh, okay. Well, sorry I bothered you today. You probably have a lot of work to get back to. I guess we’ll talk later,” I prattle on, trying my best to conceal my dissatisfaction at not being able to see him tonight. “Please tell your parents–”

“Grace,” he says, cutting through what would be the continuation of my rambling. “Breathe,” he coaches me. A soft chuckle accompanies his word, and I follow his advice. “I would love to see you tonight,” he says, making breathing almost impossible again. “I have a charity baseball game, though. Would you want to watch the game and we could grab something to eat afterward?”

Stunned into silence, I sit there, searching for the words to accept the invitation I hadn’t seen coming. Like a bumbling fool, all I come up with is a single word, lame-ass question. “Charity?”

A shy sounding laugh comes through the line. Imagining him running his hand through his dark-brown hair makes my fingers itch to do the same. “Every year the FDNY and NYPD come together for a charity game. We donate all the money we make on ticket sales and concessions to a scholarship fund for the New York City Public Schools.”

Hold on a second while I get my ovaries to function again. Hot, firefighter David, who takes care of his parents, also donates his time to raising money for underprivileged schools. Oh, and did I mention he was hot? Like ridiculously so?

“It’s in Brooklyn, at MCU stadium, where The Cyclones usually play. I know it’s far, but if you can make it, I’ll put two tickets at will-call for you.” There’s a touch of hope in his voice and I imagine it sparkling there in his eyes as well.

“That’s really amazing. I’d love to go.” Getting to see him in any way, shape, or form would have been ideal, but knowing in a few hours I’ll get to see him in a pair of tight baseball pants, covered in dirt and sweat, hell, it’s like a romance novel come to life.

After he gives me all the information I need, we hang up. The ball of excitement that always seems to be present when I’m around David returns. As I look at my ‘practical’ khakis on the bed, I realize I’m going to need more than a little help in getting ready for a ballgame. “Jade!” I call out as I walk toward her room. “I need help.”

With a sly smile spreading across her face, she says, “So you went with more than friends, huh?”

“That obvious, huh?” I joke, laughing as I open her closet. It’s not like I can actually wear anything of hers, anyway. “He’s playing in a charity baseball game.” Poking my head out from behind the door, I count off in my famous list fashion, “One, he’s a firefighter. Two, he plays baseball. Three, he’s giving his time to charity. And four, he’s helping his parents rebuild their kitchen. Do you know what those things all have in common?”

Jade’s face scrunches up as she genuinely tries to make the connection. Shrugging, she admits, “I got nothing.”

Stepping out of her closet completely, I hold up my hands and flip them back and forth. “Hands, woman. The man is good with his hands.”

Of course hysterical laughter ensues, but below the giggle fits, I can’t help but fixate on just how good he is with his hands. I have a feeling the answer to that is extremely talented.

After an hour or so of trying on pretty much every article of clothing I own, in every combination imaginable, I decide on a pair of cropped jeans and a pretty floral top with ruffled sleeves. Jade helps me accessorize with pearl and gold bangles and teal dangly earrings. Cream ballet flats are the perfect finish, not only because they match, but because my feet won’t kill me by the end of the night. When every last piece is in place, Jade steps back and announces, “You look marvelous,” in a ridiculous Billy Crystal-like voice.

“Thanks,” I accept her compliment, taking in the completed look in the full-length mirror. With my hair in long, beachy waves and my makeup done in natural peach and pink tones, I must admit, I feel pretty. And flirty.

And sexy.

“I’ll be ready in two seconds,” Jade explains, walking out of my room.

“Wait,” I call after her. “I thought you were going out with Bryce.”

Waving away my question with a flip of her hand, she says, “I can cancel. Besides, I owe you.”

It takes Jade absolutely no time to get ready and she looks stunning, as usual. Wearing a flowy maxi skirt in bright summer colors, Jade looks statuesque. Any time I try on a skirt like that, it looks like it’s going to swallow me whole.

Erring on the side of caution, we leave our lower Manhattan apartment two hours before the game even begins. Sure, it’s only six miles, and what should be a short subway ride over to Brooklyn, but I don’t want to be late.

By the time we actually make it to the stadium, we have to fight through the crowds of tailgaters. A wave of nervous anxiety washes over me as I realize this game is a pretty big deal. The parking lot is full and there is an endless flow of school buses circling past the entrance, dropping loads of students and their teachers off at the gates.

As Jade and I are waiting in line at the will-call box, I watch a group of boys walk off their bus and stare at the stadium in absolute awe. Mouths agape and eyes wide, they gaze up at the flags and banners whipping in the wind. The boys focus on the larger-than-life sized posters of players from The Cyclones as if they’re paying homage to an actual God.

Jade’s elbow, nudging me in the side, pulls me away from watching the boys. “You’re up,” she says, tipping her head to the booth attendant, who’s not so patiently waiting for me to step forward.

“How can I help you?” She looks less than enthused to be doing her job. Her unruly wire-like red hair, the grease stains on her shirt, and lipstick on her teeth suggests she is less than enthused with personal hygiene as well.

“Hi,” I respond as cheerfully as I can. “I’m here to pick up two tickets.”

“Name?” she blurts, not even bothering to make eye contact.

“Grace McCann.” She immediately starts clicking away on her computer and asks for my I.D. When I slide it to her under the glass divider separating us, she eyes me from behind the glass. With her lip curling in disgust, she slides me my license and the two tickets as she mutters, “Have a nice day.” Laughing, she reminds me of Roz, from Monsters Inc.

Turning toward Jade, I hand her one ticket. “What crawled up her ass?” Jade laughs at my somewhat out-of-character comment.

“Not sure, but I bet whatever it was, it’s still more pleasant than she is.” She elbows me in the side and laughs before looking down at the ticket. Pointing up to the signs indicating where the sections are, Jade looks up to the one that reads section twelve. “That’s us.”

As we navigate through the sea of kids racing through the stadium, the scents and sounds of baseball overwhelm me. To my right, there’s a cotton candy stand, spinning gigantic, airy tufts of neon blue into sweet treats. Next to that is a man selling hot dogs from a standalone cart. Dozens of vendors walk the aisles yelling about soda, beer, and Cracker Jacks. One of them is even selling those gigantic foam pointer fingers. Somehow I think they lucked-out in workload for the day. Hauling a box filled with foam seems like an enormously easier task than lugging a cooler full of beer bottles.