“Does it matter what time I land on Friday?”
He brought my hand to his lips and kissed across my knuckles. “Even if you book a flight that gets in when I do, I’m not allowed to ride with you to the hotel. So don’t worry about trying to coordinate your flight with mine or anything.”
“Alright. I’ll just fly out after work then.”
“So you might miss the game?”
“I shouldn’t. We have summer Fridays in the office now so we get to leave early.”
“What the hell are summer Fridays?” he scoffed.
I smiled. “This whole freaking city goes to the Hamptons on the summer weekends. So everyone gets off early on Friday so they can drive up there.”
“Shut the hell up.”
I laughed. “I’m not kidding.”
“Could you imagine if we did that shit in LA? What would we have, Malibu Fridays?”
“Beach house Fridays!” I yelled.
Jack smiled and tilted his head. “You’re so adorable. I love you so much.”
His words pierced like an arrow into my lungs, causing me to catch my breath. “I love you too.”
“What time do the movers get here tomorrow?”
“Eight.” I looked around one last time. “I got everything, right?”
Jack turned his head in all directions, scanning our tiny living space. “Looks like it to me. You did good, Kitten.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks warmed with his compliment as his hand cupped my face.
“We should leave this place with a bang.”
“What do you have in mind?” I sucked at my lower lip.
“I think you know.” He pushed off from the couch before slipping his hands under me and lifting me up. “I think I have two quarters in my pocket.” His tongue swept across my lips as he carried me into our tiny bedroom one last time.
We moved into our new apartment the following morning, and Jack was on a flight that evening. But not before building our new bed frame, two sets of bookshelves, and a new dresser. He promised he’d put together everything so I wouldn’t have to.
I adored the man he was becoming for me.
For us.
Chicago Friday finally rolled around, and I landed at Midway airport around four. Jack’s game at Wrigley didn’t start until seven thirty, but he was already at the field. I hopped a cab to the hotel like Jack insisted and watched the city come into view. Even through the backseat window, I sensed the difference between this city and New York. I assumed they’d be similar, but they weren’t.
Both cities had numerous tall buildings, but that was pretty much where their similarities ended. While New York appeared dirty and lived in, Chicago was spotless and trash free, newer maybe. And where New York buzzed with constant energy, Chicago exuded more of a gentle hum.
I checked in at the hotel on the bank of the Chicago River and ordered room service while I killed time before the game. I looked out the window at the water down below and the city that surrounded me. Chicago had a style all its own, and I smiled as I thought about capturing it with my camera. I’d have plenty of time for that tomorrow.
When I arrived at the stadium, I almost spent the entire evening staring at the WRIGLEY FIELD, HOME OF THE CHICAGO CUBS sign. It was such a classic piece of baseball memorabilia that I found myself awed by it. I took a few shots of the aged red-and-white sign, loving everything about it, before picking up my lone ticket waiting for me at guest relations. I passed through the dark entrance, lost in the excitement of a new-to-me stadium.
Once inside, I wandered alone, going the wrong direction at first before turning around. I wondered if any of the mean girls would be here. Aside from Trina, there wasn’t anyone I wanted to see. Three text messages later, and I found out Trina was still out of the country on her job. I scanned the row of green seats searching for mine. I dropped into my chair before looking around. I found myself surrounded by a few pretty, college-aged girls, but no one that looked familiar. My shoulders relaxed at the absence of any mean girls. I didn’t realize how stressed out they made me feel until they weren’t around.
Without the distraction of the usual fans or the mean wives, I concentrated completely on watching Jack play. The way he focused always impressed me. He seemed like another person entirely when he stood on that mound of dirt. He blocked out every sound, every shout, every yell, and zoned in one hundred percent on the batter standing sixty feet away.
And when he gave up a hit, he gathered his composure and refocused his energy, unlike some of the other pitchers who became completely rattled when someone got a hit off them. In a game in which your state of mind could make or break you, Jack had the ability to keep it together. His temper off the field never translated on it. Jack always moved forward, putting the last play behind him and focused on the next one.