“You’re no fun,” Anya said, then winked. “I’ll go with you.”
That was a surprise, but she was glad Anya had a male figure to bond with. Having grown up without a father, she knew Anya hungered for a dad. Not that she’d missed anything with their own father, who’d been absent for most of Katrina’s childhood, busying himself with work during the day and womanizing at night.
Katrina’s mother thought she didn’t know about the other women, but once she’d gotten old enough, she’d heard the whispered phone calls and had snuck out to follow him one night, curious about where he was going. She’d seen him with another woman, had watched him kiss her at the front door of her apartment before following her inside.
It had broken her heart. She’d never said a word about it to her mother, but she’d seen the sadness in her mother’s eyes, and knew her mother was well aware of what her father had been up to.
And then Mom had gotten sick, and Dad had permanently disappeared. No doubt because he couldn’t deal with Mom’s illness and three children who so desperately needed him.
Coward.
Anya was much better off without a father like that. Though she’d never tell Anya or Leo about Dad. They only know he disappeared. They thought he went back to Russia. It was a story she told everyone. Or that he was dead. She’d made up various versions over the years to cover for his disappearance.
Whatever. Much better for everyone to think that instead of him shacking up with some woman. No one else needed to know what she absolutely knew was truth. That her father hadn’t loved them enough to stay.
Hearing the sound of Anya’s laughter, she looked up to see her sister and Grant making their way down the stairs, the two of them leaning into each other while juggling sodas, beer, and hot dogs.
Her sister had a serious case of hero worship going on. Katrina wasn’t sure that was a good thing. She didn’t want either Leo or Anya to form too close an attachment to Grant, since her relationship with him was, at best, a temporary thing.
Not much she could do about it now, though, since it appeared both the kids had bonded with him.
Then again, school would be starting up soon, and Grant would be forgotten once they got involved in their friends and activities again, so maybe she was worrying for nothing.
Grant handed her a hot dog and a cup of beer.
“Ballpark staple. It’s like a ritual,” he said. “Besides, hot dogs and beer taste like an expensive bottle of champagne, plus caviar, when you eat them at the ballpark.”
She gave him a dubious look. “Seriously. You tried this on me in New York, and I have to tell you, the hot dog tasted like a hot dog.”
“This is different. Would I lie to you about something this sacred?”
He had a serious look on his face, so she shrugged. “Of course you wouldn’t. I’m certain this hot dog and beer will be a truly religious experience.”
“See, now I want a beer,” Anya said.
“And you can certainly have one.”
Her sister’s eyes brightened.
“In four years, when you turn twenty-one.”
Anya pouted her lips, then looked to Grant. “See how abusive she is?”
Grant laughed. “Yeah, I can tell you’re regularly tortured.”
The teams were introduced, and Katrina ate her hot dog, which, again, tasted like a regular hot dog to her. Clearly she was missing something about hot dogs.
It was really hot out tonight, though, and the beer was refreshingly cold. Not exactly a life-changing moment, but she wasn’t going to say that to Grant, who looked at her with a hopeful expression on his face.
“Good?”
“Amazing.”
He looked suspicious. “Somehow I think you’ve had better dinners.”
“Well, yes, of course. But as ballpark fare goes, this was good.”
“And how many ballpark meals have you actually had?”
“Uh … not a lot. But this ranked right up there. Seriously, it was a good hot dog. And remember, I live in New York. I have very discerning taste in hot dogs.”
“This is true,” Anya said. “It’s a great dog. Though I can’t really state how good the beer is.”
Anya gave Katrina a hopeful look.
Katrina shook her head. “No beer for you.”
Anya huffed out a sigh, and then it was time for the game to start.
Tucker was pitching first, so Katrina had someone to focus on besides the very good-looking man sitting next to her and her constantly chirping siblings.
She studied his mechanics, the velocity of his pitches, while Grant explained the types of pitches his brother threw. Apparently he had several, including what Grant described as one very nasty curveball.
“I know nothing about the different pitches,” she admitted, which led Grant, Leo, and Anya to explain them to her every time Tucker threw one. Grant even demonstrated how one would hold the ball in his hand for the curveball.
“Tucker’s got a unique spin on his, too,” Grant said. “I’ve never seen one like it.”
Next time Tucker threw a curve, she noticed the downward dive of the ball. And the way the hitter swung and missed.
“His curves are hard to hit,” Leo said. “When he throws them perfectly, they’re impossible to hit.”
“Plus, a lot of hitters are fastball hitters,” Anya said. “The curve is their nemesis.”
By the end of the game, the St. Louis Rivers had scored three runs. Los Angeles had scored none and they’d only had six hits. Tucker was impressive.