Free The Boyfriend League by Rachel Hawthorne Page B

couldn’t find anything fictional of interest. Incredible. I settled on ESPN, low volume. Closed my eyes. Let my thoughts drift.
    I imagined Jason on the mound, preparing for the windup. He had pregame and at-bat rituals. He’d have a ritual at the mound. I didn’t think he was a spitter or a jockstrap shifter. His hat. In my mind, I watched as he adjusted his hat, leaned forward, studied the position and stance of the batter, sighted the catcher’s glove—
    I heard one of the French doors click open, figured it was Tiffany coming to check out my latest fashion statement, and became a little irritated that she was interrupting my dream, but when I opened my eyes, I discovered Jason standing there.
    He’d obviously showered after the game, before going to the party. He was wearing jeans and a Ragland Rattlers souvenir T-shirt.They often tossed them up into the stands for the fans. I guess they gave them to the players, too.
    â€œHow are you feeling?” he asked.
    â€œOkay. Just a little headache. The party ended kinda soon, didn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s still going on. I’m not really a party animal.”
    â€œNo?”
    He shook his head. “No.”
    â€œI thought all college students partied.”
    He shrugged. He was holding my tote bag and a Ben & Jerry’s paper bag. He set my bag on the coffee table. “Bird asked me to bring that to you. The ball that hit you is inside. All the guys signed it.”
    â€œReally?” I asked, pleased they’d cared enough to do it, even though it was only a small thing. I’d buy a holder for it and put it right next to my treasured Babe Ruth ball.
    â€œSure. No big deal.”
    â€œAnd what’s in the paper bag?” I asked in anticipation. I kept a carton of ice cream in the freezer, but it was at its best when it was freshly scooped out, packed down.
    Jason held it toward me, somewhat self-consciously. “I stopped by that ice-cream shop on the way home. Thought you might need a little…special medicine.”
    Sitting up straighter, I smiled. “Chocolate chip cookie dough?”
    He grinned. “Yeah.”
    â€œJust what the doctor ordered,” I said, taking the bag from him and removing a whole pint of ice cream and the plastic spoon.
    He sat beside me, and his portion of the love seat rocked. “The other night you said movies were your thing, so I made a quick stop by Blockbuster, too, and got a couple. Don’t know if you’re interested….”
    â€œThat was so sweet of you,” I said, deeply touched.
    â€œI got conked on the head once, had to stay awake for a few hours…it was pretty boring. An aching head makes it hard to concentrate on anything important.”
    â€œSo what did you get?”
    â€œ Fever Pitch —”
    â€œA chick flick?” I asked, astounded.
    â€œIt’s got baseball. Then The Princess Bride. It’s one of my faves.”
    â€œI’ve never seen it.”
    â€œYou’re kidding?”
    â€œIsn’t it, like, old?”
    â€œYeah, but it’s a classic.”
    I wrinkled my brow, which made my forehead hurt. “Isn’t it a chick flick, too?”
    â€œIt’s got pirates and sword fights.”
    â€œLet’s watch it, then. I think I’ve had enough baseball for one night.” Words I never thought I’d speak.
    â€œI didn’t even think to ask if you had a DVD player.”
    â€œDoes a bear growl in the woods? It’s on the shelf above the TiVo.”
    Eating my ice cream—oh, it tasted good !—I watched as he walked to the shelf and put the DVD into the player. He’d made it sound like the stops were on his way home. They weren’t. Between Bird’s house and mine was nothing except other houses. He’d made special trips to get the ice cream and movies.
    â€œWhere’s the remote for the DVD player?” he asked.
    I stuck the spoon in the