Paula Stokes - The Art of Lainey

We find the right-field bleachers and it only takes a few seconds to pick out Jason in the fifth row. I’d recognize his broad shoulders anywhere. A shock of blond hair juts out from his fitted Cardinals cap. I’m torn between wanting to run toward him and wanting to hide.

He’s sitting next to Dan Spencer, a guy who just graduated, who Kendall dated briefly when she went through what she called a “slumming phase.” I barely hear Micah saying something as I stare at Jason’s back, at the way his muscles pull the fabric of his replica jersey taut. A family of four squeezes past us carrying nachos, hot dogs, and a tray full of sodas.

Micah nudges me. “Are we going to sit or what?”

“Yeah. He’s in the fifth row.” I nod my head toward Jason and then slowly make my way down the concrete steps, keeping my eyes locked on him the whole time. Jay’s row and the row right in front of him are mostly full already. I pause halfway down the stairs, praying he doesn’t turn around. I’m not ready for him to see me yet.

Which is stupid. The whole point is for him to see me with another guy. Don’t be a coward, I tell myself. Boldly I move down to the fourth row. Micah and I start squeezing our way toward the center.

“Do you know the guy he’s with?” Micah asks.

“Yeah. Kendall went out with him a few times.” I do a quick check of the surrounding seats but don’t see Alex, the world’s sexiest EMT. Score one for divide and conquer. Well, divide anyway.

When we pass Jason and Dan, I look up and pretend to be surprised. “Oh, hey,” I say.

Jason’s got sunglasses on so I can’t see his expression. “How’s it going, Lainey?” His head angles slightly toward Micah, but he doesn’t say anything. Dan gives me a nod and a slow smile, but there’s no time to say more since people behind us are pushing forward to find their seats.

“Enjoy the game,” I say brightly, resting my hand on Micah’s lower back as he makes his way to the end of the row. As I settle next to him, I casually sling my arm around the back of his chair, lean over, and murmur in his ear. “That was perfect.” Hopefully from Jason’s vantage point it looks like I’m giving Micah a kiss on the cheek.

He turns and brushes my hair back from my face and I catch of whiff of his cologne. “I think you just violated our minimal touching rule.” His breath is hot against my cheekbone. “I feel like a whore.” He traces one finger across the bare skin of my leg and I stiffen. “Chill, Lainey. Pretend you’re an actress. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch, a big commercial star like yourself.”

I make like I’m going to hold his hand, but instead I give him a hard pinch above the knee. He smells really good. In fact, he smells like Jason. “Is that Red Lynx you’re wearing?” I ask, smiling as he winces in pain.

“Yeah. Why?” He tries to pinch me back, but I slap his hand away. This is perfect. To anyone who doesn’t know what’s going on, we totally look like a couple play-fighting. “Oh, don’t tell me what’s-his-face uses that too. I’m going to go buy something else as soon as we’re done here.”

“Why are you wearing cologne for a fake date anyway?”

Micah widens his eyes into a pretend-innocent look. “It’s aftershave. I splash some on when I’m too lazy to shower.”

I laugh. “You’re gross, you know that?”

“Yup,” Micah says, smiling. “And proud of it.”

The section fills up quickly and we’re surrounded by chatter from Cubs and Cards fans alike. As Micah gets engrossed in the pregame warm-up, I risk a couple of glances back at Jason, but I can’t tell if he’s paying me any attention. The electronic scoreboard informs the crowd that the air temperature is 94 degrees, and the temperature down on the field is a tropical 102. I pull a floppy hat out of my purse and adjust the brim down to protect my face from the sun. At this rate, the SPF 50 I slathered on my face will sweat off before the third inning.

The Cards take an early 2–0 lead on a Cubs error and the whole section goes crazy. I jump up and cheer along with everyone else in red, trying to stay out of the path of the guy next to me whose beer threatens to slosh all over my sandals each time he moves.

The game continues to be almost all Cardinals and by the end of the fourth inning, we’re leading 5–1.

“Man, that was one of the most beautiful bunts I’ve ever seen,” Micah says.

“I know, right?” I say, even though no one ever makes it on base when they bunt so I couldn’t tell a good one from a bad one.

I spend the next two innings laughing loudly at everything Micah says, even though I’m not really paying attention. I just want Jason to feel like I’m having more fun with Micah than I ever had with him. He’s competitive—that sort of thing will get to him even if he’s not feeling jealous. Look at me—exploiting a weakness I didn’t even think about with Bianca.

Blotting the sweat from my face, I turn my attention back to the field. The Cardinals are up to bat again and the first batter hits a home run. The whole crowd is cheering in time with the organ player. Micah exchanges high fives with the people sitting around us. I smile and do the same with Sloshy Beer Guy.

The Cardinals score twice more and now we’ve got an 8–1 lead. It’s shaping up to be a long game for the Chicago fans. When the Cubs finally come up to bat again, I pull my phone out of my purse and check my messages. There’s an email from my brother that says he’s finally settled in and starting to explore Ireland, and he hopes I’m taking good care of his car. The way he babies the Civic, you’d think it was Lamborghini. I email him back and tell him I’m at the game. I glance up at the field—one out, a man on first—and then scan the pro soccer scores and CalebWaters.com. Nothing new has been posted about Flyboys.

The crowd roars and I reluctantly get to my feet again, clapping one hand against my phone, even though I’m not sure what happened.

“What is more important than a perfectly executed double play?” Micah peers down at my phone.

I shrug. “I was checking my messages.” I fan myself with one hand.

He scoffs. “Expecting your ex to text you from the next row?”

“I was emailing my brother.” When Micah looks confused, I lower my voice and add, “Sorry. I’m not really into baseball.”

“Don’t you think this is going to look a little obvious then? You showing up here with me?”

“I don’t know.” I pick at a fraying thread on my jean shorts. “This is one of the only places I knew for sure we’d run into Jay, and you seem to like baseball well enough.” A gnat buzzes in my ear. I claw violently at the air around my head. “Maybe if it wasn’t ten million degrees. Aren’t you dying in those jeans?”

“A little,” he admits. “You want to go hang out in the shade for a bit?” He winks. “Maybe Jason will think I’m dragging you off to some deserted corner so I can do bad things to you.”

My eyes narrow. “You wish.”

“You wish I wished.” Micah says. “Come on. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you a water.”

“Woo, big spender,” I say.

We wait for a break in the action and then I make a production out of standing up and gathering my purse. Micah takes my hand as we tromp down the long row of bleachers and back onto the steps.

Dan leans over and whispers something into Jason’s ear as we pass and both guys burst out laughing. My stomach twists itself into knots. What if my plan is totally transparent? Or what if Jason thinks I was so devastated by our breakup that I just went out and grabbed the first guy I could find? No. Must. Not. Panic. I smile brightly and act like everything is fine.

I stare at my tan fingers curled inside Micah’s pale ones as we head back into the stadium tunnels. I’m a little sweaty, and so is he, but it doesn’t feel nearly as weird as I thought it would to hold hands with another guy. Jason used to squeeze too hard sometimes and practically crush my fingers, but Micah’s grip is firm and relaxed. Kind of nice. It feels almost normal, really. Like, in another world, the two of us could actually be on a date.

I drop Micah’s hand the second we’re back inside and then excuse myself to slip into a restroom and freshen up. Pulling off my floppy hat, I cringe. I look like I’ve played about three overtimes. My hair is frizzy on top and the ends are curling in all directions due to the humidity. Sweat has made my skin all shiny and wreaked havoc on my eyeliner. My left eye is doing the raccoon thing; my right eye looks basically naked. Maybe Jason and Dan weren’t laughing about Micah. Maybe they were laughing about how hideous I look.

Pulling a paper towel from the dispenser, I blot my whole face and apply powder until I’m not causing a physical glare in the mirror. I redo my eyeliner and then put my hat back on.

By the time I’m done making myself look human, Micah is leaning against the wall outside the bathroom holding two sodas. “I hope you’re not one of those skinny girls who drinks diet,” he says. “I got you a Coke.”

“No way. Diet soda tastes like poison.” I take the cup he offers gratefully and swill down a long drink.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah. I wish we could see the game from here.” I gesture around at all the shade. “It’s about twenty degrees cooler.”

Micah’s face is a little flushed. I’m not sure if it’s from the heat or if he’s getting a sunburn. “The Cards scored another run while you were in the bathroom,” he says. “I’d say this one is in the bag. There’s no reason to stay if you don’t want.”