On the Eighth, I search Twitter a few times during class anxiously awaiting the release of the All-Star rosters. I know in my heart he’ll make it—I just need official confirmation.
Finally, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I click the link in the tweet, scroll past the American League Roster for now, and there it is. He did it. His fans voted. Hamilton made the All-Star Team his first full season in the Majors.
I fidget in my chair. An hour of class remains. How will I ever sit still? After a couple more minutes, I gather my items and slip out the door. My mind is not on today’s class—I decide it won’t hurt anything for me to leave early.
On the way to my car, I don’t notice the hot July sun as I shoot a text.
Me: Congrats!
Me: I told you. Why do you ever doubt me?
I excitedly drive home to celebrate with Liberty and Alma. Hamilton should already be at the ballpark for tonight’s game as they host San Francisco. I will celebrate with them, until he calls me after the game and I can celebrate with him.
Hamilton: Don’t gloat
I glance up from my laptop, noting it’s nearly 11:00 pm. I clear my college work from my thoughts.
Me: How excited are you?
I don’t wait for him to call me before I FaceTime him. He’s standing outside his condo-elevator when he answers.
“If I lose you on the elevator, I’ll call you right back.” It’s not the greeting I expect.
“Oh, sorry. I just wanted to see you. It’s the next best thing to congratulating you in person.”
“I’m glad you called. I needed to see you. Things never seem real until I can share them with you.”
My heart melts with his words. He’s in the elevator now and I’m thankful we didn’t lose our connection.
“Can I entice you to spend a few days in Cincinnati with me?”
I bite my lower lip while gazing into his pleading puppy dog eyes. I’m going to make him sadder. A large hand squeezes tight around my heart. It always comes to this. Our schedules never quite sync up. It’s a tiny part of the reason I keep putting off letting him meet Liberty.
“Hey,” his voice attempts to soothe. “It’s okay—I know you are busy that week.” He runs his hand through his thick waves, now seated in his living room. His masculine tongue licks his lips before he continues. “It’s been a long two months and I’m ready to see you in person. Don’t get me wrong, I live for the chats and calls. It’s just not the same. I long to hold you in my arms.”
He’s killing me. At the sight of his tongue, I fantasize it upon mine. My blood loudly pulses in my ears, my girly bits spark to attention, I wiggle in my bed praying he doesn’t notice my need to rub my thighs together.
“Ham,” my voice quivers divulging just how much his words have affected me. “I can’t travel that week, I’ll have too many things to complete for my classes. I’d love to experience your first All-Star Week…”
“I understand. My schedule is busier than yours. It’s just frustrating.”