Thou Shalt Not(35)

I laughed. I admit it, I laughed. The fucker really WAS crazy. God, I hoped she didn’t think I was referring to the suspension when I called him that. But, what great timing.

I hit fast-forward until I reached real time. They had gone back to talking about Marco.

“Batista will serve the suspension tomorrow and will fly back with the team tomorrow night. Whether he will be available to pitch as the Rays start their series with the Orioles is still up in the air.”

I was filled with far too much joy, even I knew that. I’ve always despised him, always thought he seemed like an arrogant, asshole prick when I would watch him play. And, it was nice to see a guy like him get punished, even for a day.

Of course, then my thoughts turned to April, who actually lived with this man, slept in the same bed as him some nights. This had to be a side of him she was used to. Hopefully, for her sake, it wasn’t something she liked. Did she enjoy his anger, his passion, his aggression? I suppose some women could and probably would, but she didn’t strike me as that. She didn’t strike me as your prototypical baseball wife either. She seemed much more low-key than I might have guessed Marco Batista’s wife would be. Perhaps he had made her that way.

Thankfully, I still didn’t think anyone other than the few that had been sitting at the lunch table that day knew who her husband was. And I could pretty much guarantee none of them were watching the game tonight. But, I still imagined having a hothead husband would be tiring and troublesome for a woman who seemed to want to start a new life in a new town at her new job.

My phone buzzed.

It’s probably Holly, I thought. I bet she’s wondering why I haven’t replied back to her yet.

When I picked up my phone and looked at the screen, the name April flashed in front of me. It was 9:53, hours after I sent my last message to her. My heart began to race again.

I’m sorry. It’s been a long night. I thought I had texted u back but I just saw that I didn’t.

No mention of my crazy husband comment, so that was a plus. I had to decide whether I would text right back, running the risk of once again seeming overeager, or making her wait a little bit.

Why the fuck would you even consider making her wait? I thought. You’ve been on pins and needles all night waiting for the damn text.

I replied to Holly first, since I had forgotten to, which gave me a chance to think of how to respond to April.

I settled with: Oh it’s okay. I’ll forgive you :-) Kids give you a rough night?

Playful, slightly teasing, and then sincere. Seemed like a decent response to me.

Yeah. Among other things. They were in rare form tonight.

She didn’t ask a question, wasn’t probing me into talking.

Tread lightly, Luke.

I’m sorry...did they pass out?

Yes, they did. Just now. Thank God! How was your night?

Yes! A question.

God, I am pathetic.

Any night where I am magically transported back to my childhood by a bowl of soup is a good night in my book. :-)

Cheesy! God, I was never cheesy. I hated cheese. She was going to think I was such a tool.

I may or may not be blushing. I’m glad you liked it.

I took a minute trying to think of how to respond to this one. I couldn’t keep saying thank you, she hadn’t asked me any questions, and if I tried probing the matter of the blushing, it could quickly, and most likely accurately, be construed as flirting.

Whatever. I was going for it.

I’m taking it you’re a good cook, so if you blush every time someone compliments you, people must rarely see your actual skin tone. ;-)

I think I was spot on when we met. You ARE incorrigible!

God, I loved that word.

I’ve been called worse! :-)

Fucking emoticons again—those things were addicting.

I highly doubt that. Rumor has it you’re a pretty decent guy. Are you coming back to work in the morning?

I wasn’t sure who was spreading rumors, but I hoped to get a chance to thank them.

She clearly doesn’t like decent guys, I reminded myself. Assholes seemed to be her forte.

Yes, ma’am, I will be there.

Ma’am?? Please tell me you don’t think I’m 80...

No! That’s what we Florida folks call manners. Plus, I wouldn’t put you a day over 75.

Manners, huh? God, I forgot those even existed.

I wasn’t sure how serious or sarcastic she was being, but the text seemed to have a heavy dose of cynicism. I sat there, wondering how to reply again. I couldn’t pat myself on the back as the most respectful gentlemen around.

I didn’t have to reply, she sent another message.

Can I ask you something?

I was tempted to be the smartass and reply “You technically just did,” but this didn’t seem like the right occasion.