Big Leagues by Jen Estes Page A

giant grin, Benji angled his head out to
the corridor. She was sure he’d heard every note. He sauntered
outside and leaned on his door frame, a twinkle in his scrutinizing
eyes.
    “Couple things, neighbor.”
    She brought her bags up to her chest and
clutched them protectively.
    “First off, this is Las Vegas. I know you’re
new here, but there’s a better chance of the city being swallowed
up by the Grand Canyon than Frosty stopping by for a cup of hot
cocoa.”
    She smiled meekly.
    I could go for the former right about
now.
    “And two, it’s July.”
    She cleared her throat. “I uh, h-heard the song
on the radio. It was stuck in my head.”
    “The radio?”
    She owned up with a sheepish smile. “Well, last
December.” She sat her bags down and leaned against the stucco
hallway wall. “So what, were you just camping out here, waiting to
witness my next bout of humiliation?”
    Benji put his hands up defensively. “Hey, what
do you take me for? I swear, I came out here with good intentions.
I stayed for the humiliation, but first, good
intentions.”
    He held his index finger up, turned around to
grab a small package from his entry table, and presented it to her
atop his two flattened hands.
    “I happened to arrive at the mailboxes at the
same time as our friendly neighborhood mailman. Saw this package
for you had a fragile sticker so I saved it from inevitable
mutilation.” He extended his arms proudly, and she peeked at the
return address.
    “Oh, it’s a shot glass from my
grandma!”
    Benji’s forehead scrunched up as she tore open
the package. “A shot glass? That’s nice. My nana usually sticks
with knitting me sweaters and the occasional scarf, but hey, I’d
probably get more use out of a shot glass.”
    “No, it’s not like that. See?
Souvenir.”
    Cat held the tiny glass in her hand so Benji
could view the Atlantic City logo. As he leaned in, she closed her
eyes and stole a sniff of the scent of his warm, citrusy cologne.
Hoping he didn’t notice, she took a step back.
    “Grams brings them back for me from vacation.
Except I don’t think she knows they’re for liquor. Last time I was
at her house, she filled them with barbeque sauce and served them
with chicken nuggets.”
    “Well, they’re definitely for
sauce.”
    “I didn’t have the heart to tell
her.”
    He chuckled, and she smiled. “Thanks for the
rescue mission. That was really decent of you.”
    “Hey no problem.” He shrugged. “At least my
graphic novel didn’t lose its value in vain, right?”
    Cat grinned. Comic book , she
thought.
    “Well,” she said, “let me help you forget that
traumatic loss. How about tickets to the Chips game tomorrow
night?”
    “The Chips?”
    “I’m the new team reporter; that’s one of the
few perks I get to throw around.”
    He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his
blue jeans and rocked back on his heels. “Chips … that’s baseball,
right?”
    She nodded slowly. His eyes squinted beneath
his disheveled black bangs. “The one with the bats and balls? Three
strikes, that sort of thing?”
    “Last time I checked. I take it you’re not much
of a fan?”
    Benji’s mouth twisted grimly as he looked down
at his sandals. “I’ve never told anyone this. It was my mother. She
took me to a game when I was six and there was … an
accident.”
    Cat placed her hand on her chest. “An accident?
What h-happened?”
    His voice dropped. “It was before the game even
got started. Her finger—actually her whole hand, it was destroyed.
There was nothing anyone could do.”
    “D-destroyed?”
    Benji took a deep breath. He brought his
piercing stare up to meet her wide eyes.
    “It was ripped off her body.”
    Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. He raised
his own brows comically above an expression that shifted suddenly
from disturbed to delighted.
    “Wait, did I forget to mention it was one of
those foam fingers?”
    He beamed, and Cat groaned. She gave his
shoulder a gentle slap.