“This isn’t going to last is it?” I asked him.

When the seventh inning stretch came, with the score still at 1-0, Rory used the break to meet me where the fence was only a low chain link barrier and not a three-foot-wide structure.

“You seem to be getting along well with the other girls,” he said. “I heard them calling you ‘Cupcake’. Is that because they’re all so much bigger than you?”

“Um,” I said. I put my face up, begging for a kiss and I got one. “I guess so. I told a story that had those little cupcakes in it, so that gave them the idea I guess. I hadn’t thought about being the shortest one.” But yes, all the other girls were Marjorie’s height or taller.

He laughed and kissed me again. We just stood there for a bit, holding onto each other over the fence. It occurred to me how nice this was, having a boyfriend and getting so much affection. And being able to give it back. Then something like sadness hit me.

“This isn’t going to last is it?” I asked him.

“Hmm,” he murmured against my cheek. “It’ll last as long as both of us want it to. Or did you just mean the necking right here and now?”

I laughed. Rory had said just the right thing, as long as we both want it to. Who would want a relationship to last any longer? “I know you’re fickle, how many girlfriends have you had since high school?”

He kissed me again. “Don’t you know never to ask a jock a math question? I dunno, more than six, less than ten?”

Fair enough. “Meaning you can think of six names but know there were more?” I laughed. “That’s actually better than I supposed. So, four to six months for each lucky girl?”

“Ha!” he said. “Something like that I guess. Um, not counting one-time relationships? I’ve had a few one-off dates when I was between girlfriends, but usually—I guess three to six months is about right. Is that fickle? How many boyfriends have you had?”

I swallowed. “You’re my first,” I said. He kissed me hard.

When we had our breath back, he said, “I may be a bit fickle but I’m loyal as a hound when I’m with a girl. And I’m not usually the one to break things off.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, a little doubtfully. “So you’re annoying enough for other girls to kick you out?”

He laughed. “Okay,” he admitted. “You got me.” He kissed me again.

“What’s the usual complaint? So I can know what to expect?”

Two more kisses while he thought about his reply. I was enjoying this so much, I almost forgot what I had asked him.

“Inattention,” he finally said. “At least, that’s what Cyndy complained about. That I didn’t care enough about what she wanted. Which was pretty much that I drop everything when she wanted something from me. Uh—that’s my point of view.”

I gave him a hug which was difficult and left me more or less hanging off his neck, my toes barely touching the ground, the top of the fence poking me in my middle. I appreciated his attempt at honesty. So far, I couldn’t fault his attention to me.

We necked some more. Right out there in the view of everyone in the stadium, though I didn’t think of that until later.

The coaches brought our smooching time to an end when the game resumed and soon, the Titans’ pitcher was in trouble. Bottom of the seventh, he gave up a run on two hits. The score was now tied, though the Titans did manage to get out of the inning.

Both teams changed pitchers for the eighth. I found out that it was unusual for anyone to pitch more than five innings in this league. Scores and standings were kept with a one-game playoff between North and South Division leaders at the end, but the real purpose of the league was training.

Speaking of training, I got some ‘lessons’ from the other girls when I went back to my seat in the box. Some of it was hard to tell from outright teasing.

“I guess Hollywood isn’t the only showboat in your relationship,” said Andie, grinning.

“Way to go, girl,” said Micki, putting a palm out for me to slap. “You definitely made the highlight reel.”

“Next time, take a stepladder with you, Cupcake,” said Tommi.

“Yeah,” said Jordan. “Can you short girls stop taking all the tall guys off the market?”

“I’m not short, am I?” I protested. “Maybe just a little short.” I’d been short all my life but now I was almost average height. “The thing is all of you guys are giants.” It was true, they were all taller than Marjorie who was tall herself. Well, compared to me.

Tommi was tallest, probably over six feet and her short brunette shag made her neck look especially long. She grinned down at me. “Maybe, but you really are a two-bite cupcake. Or for someone like Hollywood, one-bite.”

“I bit him,” I said. I had too, leaving another hickey while we were fence dancing.

“Where did you bite him?” Andie asked, grinning.

“On the rightfield foul line,” I said. I got the laugh, but I touched a spot on my own collarbone. He had flinched when I made it because I used some teeth. I smiled, clicking them together and growling, which nearly sent the other girls into hysterics. Apparently, I have a cute growl.

“Like a toy kitten,” Jordan spluttered.

The game stayed tied at the end of the ninth, we would be going to extra innings. No joy for the Titans in their half at bat, but as the second half of the tenth began, the announcer came on to say, “Now pitching for Torrance, Rory Beeson.”

I bounced up and down clapping my hands as my guy strode to the pitching mound. The other girls laughed at me but they began a chant, “One-Two-Three. One-Two-Three.” I had no idea what that meant but joined in.

Rory spared our cheerleading only a glance, unsmiling. He had his game-face on, a blond intensity that made him look adorably bad-boy. He threw a few pitches to warm-up and we settled down to watch. Andie explained the chant to me while the first Wave Rider batter came to the plate. “Hollywood holds the collegiate record for most three-pitch strikeouts in a single game. So, One-Two-Three is his nickname when he’s pitching.”

“Wow,” I said, impressed, though I had never heard of such a stat before.

“He’s also thrown an immaculate inning, all three batters retired on three-pitch strikeouts, nine pitches,” Andie added with a sigh.

I glanced at her and she grinned back, shrugging. “He doesn’t get hurt, he’s going to the majors.” Then she pointed across the backside of the diamond. “See those three guys with the radar gun?”

I saw the three guys and took her word for it that the contraption one of them held was such a gun. “Uh-huh?”

“Those are scouts. The big guy with the ears is from the Angels. Used to be a catcher with Detroit.”

Sure enough, Rory retired the first batter on three strikes. I saw the three scouts pass the radar gun back and forth, shaking their heads and laughing. My heart was beating so fast, my inner chipmunk almost let out a squeal.

Andie commented again. “Rory also holds the league record for most consecutive strikes pitched in one game.” No wonder I love baseball, it’s the nerdgasm of sports!

Rory retired a second batter with three pitches, this time the poor guy didn’t even get his bat off his shoulder. I bounced up and down, got the hiccups, and started another, “One-Two-Three!” chant. The Titans’ coach stood near the team bench and glared at me, so I stopped. When he looked away, I stuck out my tongue. “Hic,” I said.

But the third batter was made of different stuff. He fouled off three pitches and ruined Rory’s chance for another immaculate inning. I put my hands behind my back for fear of chewing on my expensive nails. The batter drubbed the fourth pitch down into the dirt so it bounced high in the infield, and Rory snatched it out of the air to throw him out at first. Side retired.

I felt like I’d been through a ringer. And I still had the hiccups.

But it wasn’t over. The eleventh inning began and Rory would be batting third. The first Titan went down swinging but the second hit a dribbler down the third base line that might have gone foul if the Wave Rider baseman hadn’t snatched it up and hurried his throw to first, pulling the first baseman off his base so the runner was called safe.

“Hic,” I said.

Rory came to bat. And drew a deliberate walk. No way did that pitcher want to face him with only one out and a man on base. So now the Titans had two men on and soon the lead runner advanced to third on a passed ball. Being slow on the bases, Rory had not tried to get to second.

“Hic,” I said again. I sat down and drummed my feet on the wall of the box. The other girls were tense, too. Jordan’s guy was the man on third and Micki was dating the batter. They were both sitting behind me and someone was kicking my seat. I didn’t turn around though. “Hic.” It wasn’t worth it, I might miss something.

Both batters were taking long leads, Rory’s probably a little too long for a big slow runner. But he had a shit-eating grin and it rattled the pitcher. If he tried to throw Rory out at first, Jordan’s long-legged boyfriend on third might beat any relay and score at home.

It turned into a long moment full of more hiccups. The pitcher stepped off the mound and called his catcher out for a conference. A coach wandered out there too, and I read his lips as he advised the pitcher to “just fucking throw the ball.” I got the giggles and realized I was close to hyperventilating again, but at least my hiccups had stopped.

The catcher and coach retreated to their places, the pitcher took the mound and glared at Rory who just grinned, and again took a too-long lead. Another pitch, fouled off by Micki’s boy, and the situation had not changed.

I held my hand over my mouth, forcing myself to hold my breath so I wouldn’t pass out. One-two-three, I counted. Breathe out, one-two-three. Hold, one-two-three, breathe in. Hiccups vanquished, yay.

Suddenly it all happened at once. The pitcher threw to home, and Rory and the runner on third both broke with Rory yelling like a banshee at the same time. The batter stepped into the pitch and laid down a grounder between first and second, right behind Rory. A perfect run and hit play.

The first baseman, who had followed Rory, scooped up the ball, hesitated a fraction of a second, ran to first to get the batter out then threw a zinger to home to try for the runner there. The catcher’s glove developed a hole in it, the ball going by him.

Safe. “Hic.” The Titans were ahead 2-1 and my hiccups were back.