His Mafia Queen

Strike Out

RILEY

"And the Boston Red Sox snap their two-game losing streak in a three-one win against Chicago. Make sure to tune in tomorrow night. We'll be going on the road to Florida, where the Sox will play the Tampa Bay Rays."

Beckett turns to me as the game ends, and we do a double high-five. "Have you been to the ballpark here in this area?"

I shake my head. "Haven't had a chance. But I've been to Fenway a bunch of times."

"There's nothing like Fenway." He leans over and scoops his phone off the coffee table in the lounge. We've gone through a six pack and I'm a little tipsy. Unsteady, I climb to my feet while he's still seated.

I stare unabashedly at him while he's tapping on his phone. He really is handsome in a wholesome kind of way. He's like leading Hollywood man good looking, like one of those actors named Chris. But there's also an edge to him. I squint drunkenly at him.

"Okay, tomorrow night...Sox vs Rays...here we go. Click, click." Beckett looks up at me. "Just bought two tickets for the game. You want to go?"

A little giggle leaks out from my mouth. "Tomorrow? Is that Sunday? I barely know what day it is today. What time is the game?"

"Yep. Sunday. Tomorrow, six at night."

Thursdays used to be the nights that Gabriel and I would get Cuban sandwiches from our favorite restaurant, then sit on his yacht and eat them while the sun set. Sometimes we'd even sleep on the boat. My favorite night of the week, honestly. We'd lie in our bathing suits on the bow and talk.

"Sure, I guess," I say slowly. "But I need to double check my work calendar. I think it's open, though. I'm pretty sure I'm not working."

He shoots me a confused look. "You work on Sunday nights?"

"It's news, so we work all the time. But I think I'm free. I'll let you know."

Beckett smiles, showing a row of dazzling, white teeth. "Cool. Let me have your phone and I'll give you my number."

"Uh, I don't have it with me." Which was probably stupid. I've been down here all this time with a strange man without a cell.

A thought chills me to my core: what if Gabriel tried to call or text? I'm suddenly gripped with the need to check my phone.

"Oh, no worries. Here." He holds his phone toward me.

I put my number in his contacts and hand it back. He again taps on the screen. "I'm sending you a message with my number now."

Beckett stands and stretches. "Well, I guess it's time to call it a night. I'm working a book fair tomorrow and have to be there early."

"Let's walk out together."

We clear our beer bottles and snack wrappers, shut off the TV, and leave the community lounge.

"I didn't ask you," I say as we walk out. "Why are you watching TV in here?"

"My TV died, and I really don't like watching games on my laptop or phone."

"Me neither," I cry.

We're at the elevator. His hand hovers over the up and down buttons. "Which floor?"

"Twenty. You?"

"Twenty-five. And now it's my turn to ask you a question."

The elevator doors slide open. "Go for it," I say.

"You said the story with your ex was a long one. Want to give me the short version?"

The doors glide close, and I'm acutely aware that I'm in a confined space with a man that is not Gabriel.