Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)
Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance: Chapter 43

I NEVER THOUGHT I would be the sort of girl who liked holding hands, but it turns out that I do like it—a lot. Sebastian takes my hand as we walk to Vesuvio’s, and his is so warm and big that when he holds mine, it sends a shiver straight down to the base of my spine. I wonder how long it’ll last; if I’ll always feel this when our skin touches, or if eventually, it’ll fade.

I hope it doesn’t. I hope there’s a future for us, and that whenever my hand brushes his, I’ll feel something slotting into place in my heart.

“Ready?” he says, squeezing my fingers tightly, like he can tell what I’m thinking. “No training wheels this time, gorgeous.”

I nod, letting him lead me into the restaurant. When he suggested Vesuvio’s for dinner tonight, my first instinct was to deflect, but he had a tough day with the interview, so I broke out the dress I initially bought to wear on our date at this restaurant and let Penny add waves to my hair. By the way Sebastian looked at me when I walked down the stairs, you’d think he was taking me to prom. I half-expected him to pull out a corsage.

Instead of my prom, I went to a robotics competition. My mother was furious—she bought a dress for me and everything, and somehow procured me a date, who I think was the son of one of her friends—but I didn’t give in. I detested St. Catherine Academy and had no desire to spend a whole night dancing with a stranger and the rest of my tiny grade, a couple dozen girls who hated me and thought I was strange at best, or a bitch at worst.

The hostess takes us to a table by the window, and before I can pull out the chair, Sebastian does it for me.

I bite back a smile as I open the menu. “You’ve been dying for the chance to do that, haven’t you?”

His hand encircles my wrist, squeezing lightly. “You know me pretty well by now, you know,” he says.

“I’ve learned most of it against my will.”

He smiles, and I can’t help it; I smile back. “I’ll take it.”

“You’re so dorky sometimes.”

“And yet you like it.”

I give him an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I do.”

Dork or not, he looks hot as fuck tonight, his light hair slightly damp and curled at the ends, his jawline sharp enough to cut. His father’s old necklace glints in the hollow of his throat, framed on either side by his floral-patterned shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He’s tanner than when I first started to stay with him; the practices and afternoon games are treating him well. I realize after a moment that I’m gazing at him instead of the menu.

“You’re staring,” he says slyly. “The concept of a dinner date can’t be that foreign to you.”

“I might as well be on Mars.”

“Come on.”

“I’m serious! I’ve never sat down at a fancy table like this, across from someone I liked.” I take a sip of water. “How about you?”

“I dated a bit in high school. Up until now in college, not so much.” He sets down his menu. “You look stunning, by the way.”

I glance down at my dress, automatically adjusting it. “I bought this back when you first asked me. Well, the second time you asked me.”

His smile softens. “I’m glad you kept it.”

When the server comes around, we order a bottle of wine to split, a burrata appetizer, and our entrees; we both opt for fish, although he picks the salmon and I pick the grouper. It’s nice, sitting with him, enjoying a glass of perfectly chilled white wine. I can use the break after the hours I spent focusing on work earlier. By the way he sighs, settling more comfortably into his chair, I think he’s thinking the same thing. He didn’t just have the interview, after all; he also had an afternoon game. At least they won today, and he went 2-for-3, with a home run. I made sure to check as soon as it ended.

“How did it go?” I ask. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around; Professor Santoro came home from her trip early and Alice was all stressed about impressing her.”

The conversation I had with Professor Santoro returns to the front of my mind. It was nice to tell her about Sebastian, but the way she spoke about the future hurt. She’s lucky that her husband is also in science, so at least they have that in common.

“It’s okay,” he says. He scrubs his hand over his face. “But it wasn’t good.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“And the stupid photographs from that practice are all over Twitter, apparently. Which—it’s not negative, you know? I’m sure some of the comments are, even though I’m not even doing anything, but most of them aren’t. I just hate that they’re out there in the first place.”

I nudge my foot against his underneath the table. “Why wasn’t the interview good?”

“She just—she asked a bunch of invasive questions.” He pauses as the server brings around the appetizer. “She wanted to know about my parents, my dad especially, and I get it, I haven’t said that much about him publicly. But she spoke to my mom’s family too, and they had nothing good to say about him, so defending him… I hated having to do that.”

“I’m glad you didn’t end up with your mother’s family after your parents passed.” He told me a little more about them, and they sound horrible. If I ever meet them, they should run in the opposite direction, because I’ll protect Sebastian with everything I have.

He snorts. “Who knows what I’d be like right now.”

I spear a forkful of food and hold it out to him. “Try it. Good food always puts you in a good mood.”

To my relief, he smiles. “I want to do something with burrata. Maybe this weekend? I’ve been wanting to play around with eggplant.”

I burst out laughing. “Babe.”

“What?” he says. “That was completely serious. Grilled with some nice olive oil drizzled on top, warm burrata, herbs, maybe walnuts for texture? I could make a vinaigrette with a flavored molasses, do the sweet and sour thing.”

“Eating at a fancy restaurant and you’re rewriting the menu in your head,” I tease.

“Richard knows the owner of this place,” he says. “I asked him if I could work here, back in freshman year, but he wanted me to focus on baseball.”

I glance around. I’ve never worked in a restaurant; when I was in high school, I worked at a local coffee shop, and that has continued at McKee. Part of me wants to make it into the study abroad program just to get a break from The Purple Kettle. “What, as a server? Having a job in college kind of sucks. I hate making lattes over and over.”

“Oh, I know it wouldn’t have been easy. But I wanted to be in the kitchen. Even as a dishwasher, you know? Just to experience it and learn more about food.”

“You definitely know a lot about food. Everything you make is delicious.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I try when I can, here and there. But the restaurant world is its own kind of beast.”

“Maybe you should go on one of those cooking competition shows. They’d love that, a pro-bound baseball player who can make perfect filet mignon.”

He shakes his head. “No way. I can barely stand the thought of the twenty people who tune in when they televise my games.”

I take a sip of wine, considering him. “I hate to break it to you, but way more than twenty people watch MLB games.”

He drags his hand over his face exaggeratedly. “Don’t remind me.”

I reach over and poke him. “Might want to prepare yourself, whatever you need to do.”

“Wear racehorse blinders, something casual like that. Won’t be weird at all on ESPN.” He mimics blinders with his hands, sending me into a fit of giggling. “I mean, it’s fine. Today was a trip. I felt like I was naked the whole time, and everyone was staring.”

“To be fair, it’s hard not to stare when you’re naked.”

That comes out of my mouth at the exact moment the server sets down our entrées.

My face erupts into heat as Sebastian’s mouth drops open. “Wow. You know what, thank you. I feel so much less embarrassed now.”

I replace his foot underneath the table and stomp on it. “You’re terrible.”

“Is that why you came into the shower with me again the other day?” He leans back, propping his elbow on the back of his chair, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I had no idea I was so irresistible to you.”

“I hate you.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” He drags the tip of his shoe up my bare leg. I can’t keep from swallowing visibly, and I know he can tell by the way his gaze zeroes in on my throat. “We both know that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“If you insist.” I know my blush gives me away, but it’s too fun to keep up the ruse. He clears his throat, taking a sip of water.

“I know you’re busy with work right now,” he says, “but there’s a game tomorrow night. Not many left in the season. I was wondering if… you wanted to come. To see me play.”

I smile, hiding it behind my hand as I chew. “You want me in the stands?”

“Yeah. If you want to check it out. I know my first attempts at giving you tickets were total fails, but I figure that now—”

My heart beats a little faster as his words sink in. “I was already planning on going, actually.”

“Wait, really?”

“This is probably a surprise, so don’t say anything, but Izzy is coming up.” I take a sip of wine, liking how his eyes light up at the mention of his little sister. “We’re going to go together. Cooper and Penny too, probably.”

He stands suddenly, sending the chair backwards.

“Seb?”

He takes my face in his hands and presses a kiss to my lips. “Thank you. I’ll leave a jersey out for you.”

I blink as he steps back. “You’re that excited?”

“Excited? I feel like I could go out and hit a fucking grand slam.”

Part of me feels guilty that I didn’t try to go to any of his games until now, but I shove that down. Things were different before. What matters is now. “I’ll be there.”

He strokes his knuckles over my cheek before heading back to his seat. “I’ll make it worth your while.”