From the Heart

play balls, switch hitters, wind velocity, ERAs, batting lineup, bull pen quality—”
    “All right.” She stopped him in midstream. “Maybe I do need that crash course.”
    “Have you ever seen a game?” Thorpe leaned back with his beer.
    “Snatches on the monitor during a sportscast.” She glanced around the stadium again.
    The sun was bright and warm, the air cool. She could smell beer and roasted peanuts and hot dogs. From somewhere behind them, a man and woman were already arguing over the game that was yet to be played. There was a feeling of involvement she had completely missed in her occasional glimpses of a ball game on the television screen.
    “This is a different perspective.” She studied the scoreboard. Its initials and numbers told her little. “So, when does it start?” Liv turned to face Thorpe, to find him studying her. “What is it?” The unblinking stare made her uncomfortable. The distance she had planned on hadn’t worked. Now she began to wonder if the casual friendliness she had decided upon would fare any better.
    “I’ve told you. You have a fantastic face,” he returned easily.
    “You weren’t looking at my face,” Liv countered. “You were looking into my head.”
    He smiled and ran a finger down her fringe of bangs. “A man should understand the woman he’s going to marry.”
    Her brows drew together. “Thorpe—”
    Her intended lecture was cut off by the blast from the organ and the roar of the crowd.
    “Opening ceremonies,” Thorpe told her, and draped his arm behind her chair.
    Liv subsided. Just humor him, she cautioned herself. Theman is obviously unstable. She settled back to watch the hoopla of the season’s start.
    By the end of the first inning, Liv was lost, and completely fascinated. “No one got any points,” she complained, and crunched a piece of ice between her teeth.
    Thorpe lit a cigarette. “Best game I’ve ever seen was in L.A., Dodgers and Reds. Twelve innings, one to nothing, Dodgers.”
    “One point in twelve innings?” Liv lifted a brow as the next batter stepped into the box. “They must have been lousy teams.”
    Thorpe glanced at her a moment, saw she was perfectly serious, then burst out laughing. “I’ll buy you a hot dog, Carmichael.”
    The batter dropped a short single into left field, and she grabbed Thorpe’s arm. “Oh, look, he hit one!”
    “That’s the wrong team, Liv,” Thorpe pointed out wryly. “We’re rooting for the other guys.”
    She accepted the hot dog and peeled off a corner on the packet of mustard. “Why?”
    “Why?” he repeated, watching as she squeezed the mustard on generously. “The Orioles are from Baltimore. The Red Sox are from Boston.”
    “I like Boston.” Liv took a healthy bite of the hot dog as Palmer whipped a mean curve by the next batter. “Shouldn’t he have swung at that one?”
    “Don’t like Boston too loudly in this section,” Thorpe advised. The crowd roared as the batter grounded into a double play.
    “Why didn’t the man on first just stay where he was?” she demanded, gesturing with her hot dog.
    Thorpe kissed her, surprising her with a full mouth. “I think it’s time for that crash course.”
    By the bottom of the fifth, Liv was catching on to the basics. She’d taken to leaning over the rail as if to get a closer view. The score was tied at three to three, and she was too involved to be surprised her adrenaline was pumping. In her excitement, she had forgotten Thorpe was a lunatic. Her shield was slipping.
    “So, if they catch the ball in foul territory before it hits the ground, it’s still an out.”
    “You catch on fast.”
    “Don’t be a smart aleck, Thorpe. Why are they changing pitchers?”
    “Because he’s given up two runs this inning and he’s behind on this batter. He’s lost his stuff.”
    She leaned her chin on the rail as the relief pitcher took the mound to warm up. “What stuff?”
    “His speed, his rhythm.” He liked the way she was absorbed in what was happening on the field. “He isn’t getting his change-up over, and his slider isn’t working.”
    She gave Thorpe a narrow look. “Are you trying to confuse me?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “How long have you been coming to games?”
    “My mother took me to my first when I was five. Washington had the Senators then.”
    “Washington still has plenty of senators.”
    “They were a ball team, Liv.”
    “Oh.” Again, she rested her chin on the rail. He grinned at her