Free Hot Corner (Baseball Romance) by PJ Chase Page A

in Miami got delayed because some idiot was trying to smuggle live snakes in his pants."
    Alice was like the long lost sister Audrey never knew she had.  A best friend forever who knew just the words to soothe a weary soul.  Alice and Audrey were cut from the same cloth.  Both hopeless romantics prone to flights of fancy, they had very similar backgrounds.  The broken hearts, the childhoods spent with their heads in the clouds, the slightly off-kilter world view. 
    Audrey and Alice related in a shorthand of two friends that had known each other since pre-school instead of just meeting in college.  But it was hard to believe sometimes they only met in the dorms before truly bonding in a creative writing class where they wrote about wacky misadventures in cafeteria dining while the rest of the students typed up stories of shirtless vampires.  But Audrey and Alice could pick up a conversation weeks apart without skipping a beat, a product of the kind the friendship that living in different states couldn't squelch. 
    "Ali-gator," Audrey declared with glee, hugging Alice like they hadn't seen each other in years.
    Alice eyed Peter and sized him up.  "Nice arm candy.  Did you pick him up in the gift shop?"
    "Yeah.  I was in the bargain bin," Peter joked. 
    "Self deprecating too.  I like.  Maybe I should see what else is in that bargain bin," Alice ruminated.
    "I'm Peter Short by the way," he said, introducing himself. 
    "Long as you don't come up short where it counts most," Alice joked, winking at Audrey.  "What's the snake like in his pants?" she joked to her old chum. 
    "And now I'm back in junior high again," Peter replied, trying to keep from laughing. 
    "In that case, I'll save a wet willy for later.  Anyway, I'm Alice Walters," Alice said. 
    "You mean Ali-gator," Audrey cut in.
    "It's amazing.  I was grumpy one day in the three years we lived together and she hasn't stopped calling me Ali-gator since," Alice bemoaned. 
    "Ok, fine Miss 'Woman In The Blue Dress.' Where's that rock star boyfriend of yours?" Audrey asked. 
    "Um, Portland I think," Alice replied, not convinced of her own answer. 
    "I can't believe he's not coming," Audrey remarked, deflated.  "What, is he too good for a little reunion all of a sudden?"
    "Look, he's on tour.  Besides, it's probably for the best," Alice explained. 
    "What do you mean?" Audrey asked.
    "Trust me, everything takes a backseat to this tour.  I'm here though." Alice then tried to quickly change the subject.  "Besides, why don't we talk more about this new boyfriend of yours?"
    Peter got self conscious with all this talk about him. 
    Another familiar then voice cut into the conversation to distract from Peter.  "No wonder Florida bungles every election," Stacey White said.  "They think stranding people on tarmacs is kick ass customer service."
    ***
    And with that, the crew was ready to storm their old campus.  Peter drove while the ladies meanwhile caught up on lost gossip. 
    "Ali, I just couldn't get your song out of my head this morning," Stacey remarked. 
    "I don't know whether to say thank you or I'm sorry," Alice replied. 
    "You kidding?  How cool is it that the most popular song in the country is written about someone I know?  You must just be over the moon," Stacey boasted. 
    "I know it may be hard to believe, but if you hear the song a thousand times, you'll just want to howl at the moon," Alice replied. 
    "Oh Ali, don't be modest.  I mean the closest I've come to a song written about me was when Jean Pierre sang novelty accordion tunes to me while drunk one night," Audrey explained. 
    "Hear that Peter?  You have some mighty high standards to live up to," Stacey wise cracked. 
    "And me without an accordion," Peter replied. 
    "Hey, that's not true Audrey.  Remember that weirdo at the bowling alley that serenaded you with his kazoo?" Alice recalled, much to Audrey's chagrin.
    "Is that a euphemism?" Peter joked. 
    "Hey, least I didn't