As they eat, Mike admits, “I don’t usually do something like this.”
Rob takes a bite of his burger. “Like what?”
Mike dabs a French fry in ketchup and shrugs. “You know, pick up a willing fan for a one-nighter. You’re sort of the first.”
Willing fan. Now’s the time to say something, tell Mike what he was really doing at the Diamond this afternoon, but Rob downs the rest of his beer and lets the moment slip by without comment. The later it gets, the harder it is to admit he plays for the Rebels. It’d ruin whatever intimacy there is blossoming between them and, besides, Mike will find out soon enough when they face off on the field, right?
Right?
Breaking into Rob’s thoughts, Mike asks, “So, do you normally hang around the ballpark looking to score?”
Rob laughs, almost choking on his b
