Thou Shalt Not(13)

“Did you get out of the house today?” I asked, sitting down next to her. She leaned over and kissed me.

“I walked down to the beach this morning. I was going to jog but my tennis shoes and sports bra weren’t here. Remind me to bring some over next time.”

“Are you going to stay here tonight?”

“Yeah, I think so. If that’s cool.”

“Fine by me,” I said. “I think I am just going to hang out here and watch the Rays game.”

I was hoping to see Marco get rocked by the Red Sox.

“I saw some chicken in the freezer. I can make some later if you want.”

This was normal for us. She would come over, spend a few days with me, re-energize, and then go back to her life. We were like a couple for 48-72 hours, which was about as long as we could manage.

“Okay. I’ll drive you by your place later to pick up your car so you’ll have it tomorrow. Unless you want me to take you now.”

She closed the laptop and set it down on the floor. She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. Her breasts bounced underneath her pink bra as she lowered her arms back down.

“Actually,” she said, lowering herself down on my lap, straddling me. “I do want you to take me. Right now.”

After sex, I took her to get her car and we came back. She was making dinner while I watched the game.

The Rays were actually winning 4-1 in the bottom of the third inning, thanks to a three-run home run in the second inning. I was hoping the Rays would be able to maintain the lead, which would mean Marco would probably get to come in to face a batter or two in the seventh or eighth inning.

I was wondering if April watched many of the games. I imagined with two kids, the best she could do was have it playing in the background while running after her children. Being the wife of a professional athlete couldn’t be easy. Plus, their husbands were on the road half of the year, doing God only knew what, or whom, in their spare time. Her husband was Latino, obviously, and those guys could never seem to keep it in their pants. Maybe he was fucking around.

In the fifth inning, the Rays were winning 4-2, and the camera panned down to the side of the field where the Rays’ relief pitchers were sitting, where Marco was. The announcers were talking about their closer, Joe Mills, who was the pitcher the team would bring in for the last inning if they were winning, to hopefully guarantee a victory. In the shot, I could see Marco, joking around with his teammates. I don’t know why, but I had the urge to punch him in the teeth.

The game moved along slowly, as all American League baseball games seem to do, but eventually they reached the bottom of the eighth inning, with the Rays holding a 5-4 lead. There was a left-handed hitter scheduled to come up third, so there was a good chance we’d be seeing Marco. I don’t think I had ever been so interested in a relief performance in my life.

“Are you going to turn that off ever?” Holly asked, standing in the doorway to my bedroom. She was just wearing panties now.

“It’s almost over. Just one more inning.”

“Yes, but it’s already after 11.”

I ignored her and went back to watching the game. She sighed and went into the bedroom and I could hear her lie down. One of the rules during these two or three days every few months was that we had sex as often as possible. Since she was basically the only one I had been sleeping with for a few years, I generally had no problem with these stipulations.

The first two batters reached for the Red Sox, which meant the tying and the lead run were on base. The manager came out to yank the pitcher and signaled for Marco to be brought in.

I sat on the edge of my seat, praying that he would fuck the game up, give up a big home run, something. I wasn’t sure where all this aggressive anger was coming from, but it was there.

Somewhere from my bedroom, I could hear her whistling the Jeopardy music.

Marco came in to pitch, and the first two pitches weren’t even close to being strikes. He was already looking frustrated with the umpire, as if he were responsible for Marco’s awful pitches. The next one was a strike, and the batter just watched it go by. Then Marco hit him square in the right arm. The batter hunched over in pain. The camera went to Marco and he just stood there, glaring. I couldn’t tell if he was staring down the umpire or the batter, but the announcers seemed to think it might have been both. The crowd booed loudly, and the batter eventually regained his composure and walked to first base. Now the bases were loaded, with still no one out. Marco would need a miracle not to allow the tying run. And that’s what he got. The next batter struck out on three pitches, flailing wildly and missing severely on all three. Then the last batter of the inning swung at the first pitch. He hit it hard, but directly to the second baseman, who flipped it over to the shortstop covering the base. The shortstop then fired it to the first baseman for a double play. I threw the pillow I was holding in my lap onto the floor. Goddammit.