Free Presently Perfect (Perfect #3) by Alison G. Bailey Page A

comfortable. She knew I loved being out here and had decided this was the perfect place for the interview. She seemed really nervous today. Other than an occasional glance, she hadn’t looked at me directly. I wondered if she had heard the rumors about Brittani and me.
    She stopped snacking on her pen and continued with her questions. “What made you first fall in love with the game?”
    “My dad. He loves the game. He introduced me to it when I was four years old. That’s when I watched my first game on TV, sitting next to him on the sofa with a liter of orange soda and two huge bags of chips laid out on the coffee table.”
    I smiled thinking about how excited my dad got about all things baseball. He was like a little kid.
    “I don’t remember who was playing. It didn’t matter. What mattered was I got to spend time with my dad sharing something that he loved.”
    I looked out over the field.
    “The first couple of years I played T-ball and little league—I liked playing the game, but the best part was always the time he and I spent together. No matter how busy he got at work he would make it to every practice and game.”
    I remembered getting up in the middle of the night as a kid, and seeing the light on in Dad’s home office. He was making up the work he missed in order to be at my practice or game. My dad was great and I loved him for all the sacrifices he made. I felt a lump forming in my throat. I swallowed hard a couple times before I continued.
    I’m such a pussy.
    “When I was six, he took me to my first pro game at Fenway Park. The Red Sox played the Minnesota Twins, 9-1, Sox. I was in awe of everything—the players, the stadium, the field, the stands, the dugout, the food, even the parking lot,” I chuckled. “My dad gave me one of the best days of my life.
    “As far as the game itself, I love everything about it—the teamwork, the way the bat feels in my hand, the sound of the ball hitting the leather glove, the smell of the grass, and the concession stand food. I love looking up into the stands, seeing the fans and the most important people in my life.”
    I turned back toward Tweet and caught her staring at me. Our eyes locked. The last time she let me look into them felt like a lifetime ago. I couldn’t read her look. It didn’t matter, though. The only thing that mattered was that she didn’t look away. Her hair was down. One side was tucked behind her ear with the other falling down the side of her face and curling under her jaw. The wind had blown it into a tangled mess that was incredibly hot. I wanted to touch her so badly it made my chest ache. Digging my fingers into my thighs, I fought the urge to reach up and brush her messy hair off the side of her cheek.
    I cleared my throat and said, “Sorry Tweet. I didn’t mean to ramble on.”
    “You didn’t ramble. You were perfect.” She sounded as if she were in a trance.
    “So, any more questions?”
    “No. I’m good. Thanks for doing this.”
    “No problem. I wouldn’t miss spending time alone with my girl.” I hadn’t called her that in a long time but it still felt natural.
    Whatever the spell was that had surrounded us for the past several minutes broke. She looked down and fidgeted with her notebook for a second before her pen took off tapping at lightning speed.
    “What’s wrong, Tweet?”
    When her eyes met mine again they were starting to fill with tears. This was becoming the norm and I couldn’t figure out why. She took in a deep breath and looked back down at her notebook. The vise around my stomach kept getting tighter with each second of silence.
    Blowing out a heavy breath, she finally asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the dance with Beth?”
    Fuck me!
    I had completely forgotten about Beth and the dance. She’d asked me a month or so ago when we were at lunch. Tweet had to drop off one of her articles in the journalism classroom, so she left early. Beth was babbling away as usual while my