I furrow my eyebrows at him. “So it’s definitely not because you want her to come and visit you?”
I can see Tyler’s eyes widening as he realizes what my problem is, his mouth curving into a small smile as he laughs. He takes a step forward and shakes his head down at me. “C’mon, Eden. Not again.” He purses his lips. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that you’re the one I’m into and no one else?”
I’m still convinced that there’s something going on, but for now I just sigh while I gaze at his lips, the ones I haven’t touched in a year. “How come you haven’t kissed me yet since I’ve been here?”
My question takes him by surprise and it’s enough to make his smile fade and for his eyes to narrow. “Because I can’t bring myself to yet,” he murmurs, slowly and softly, his voice suddenly solemn. His emerald eyes flash up to meet mine and his lips quirk into a sad smile. “You’re still Dean’s.”
12
It’s late Monday afternoon when Snake starts pacing the apartment, repeatedly punching at his palms. He’s wearing a white and red jersey with the words “RED SOX” printed across the front. To complement it he’s also wearing a matching navy cap, settled backward on his head. I study the letter “B” on it for a while.
“I thought we were going to the Yankees game,” I say. I throw him a puzzled glance from the couch, and he dramatically draws himself to a halt to stare back at me from the kitchen, mouth wide.
“The Yankees disgust me. It’s the Red Sox game, alright? Red Sox.” He fixes me with a hard look when I laugh, so I quickly bite my lip to stop myself. Snake folds his arms across his chest. “And we’re going to win.”
“It’s the Yankees game!” Tyler’s voice calls from his room. A few seconds later, the door swings open. He comes striding out into the living room, shoulders broad, chest out. He’s wearing a jersey, too, only his is white with navy pinstripes and the Yankees symbol is by the top left. There’s also a navy snapback in his hand, the peak white. “The Yankees game,” he says again, “where they kick your asses.”
Snake shakes his head and staggers around the kitchen worktop, edging his way over to Tyler. He looks menacing. “And who won last week’s game?” he asks, eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah, that’s right. The Red Sox. We’re gonna do it again, so why don’t you save yourself the shame and stay here?”
“Twenty-seven World Series championships,” Tyler says, voice firm, confident. He takes a step toward Snake and raises an eyebrow. “What about the Red Sox? How many have they won? Wait a second . . . Isn’t it only seven?” Tyler’s competitive grin turns playful, and he pulls Snake’s cap around to the front and pushes it down over his face.
“That was a cheap shot,” Snake mutters, adjusting his cap once more and making his way over to the door. He’s scowling, defeated.
Tyler turns his attention to me and I figure we’re about to leave, so I get to my feet and walk over to him. “Hmm,” he says. Studying my outfit, his expression tells me that he’s not all that impressed. He lifts up the Yankees snapback in his hand and places it on my head, pulling it down until it fits snugly. He points the peak upward and smiles. “Better. Tonight you’re a Yankees fan.”
“God, Tyler, why do you have to put her through that embarrassment?” Snake comments from the doorway, smirking. “But seriously, guys, we gotta go. Gates open in thirty minutes.”
Tyler nudges me forward as he reaches for the set of keys on the kitchen counter, swiftly scooping them up into his hand. There are no goodbyes to be said. Emily is already out, hanging with whoever the hell Emily hangs out with besides Tyler. The three of us head out into the lobby and Snake throws some more insults at Tyler regarding the Yankees as they lock up, but it’s all just playful. By the time we get outside, they’re both stoked. I’m even slightly hyped myself. I’m not entirely sure what to expect, but I’m looking forward to experiencing my first baseball game.
The weather is glorious, the same as it has been all weekend, and it seems that last week’s rain is long gone. The sky is blue and the sun is hot, and instantly I regret leaving my hair down. I’ll be sweating in no time.
“Hurry up!” Snake yells over the traffic as he crosses Third Avenue, so buzzed for the game that he can hardly slow down, and so Tyler and I speed-walk to catch up with him.