In a world of black and white, being a ballplayer wasn't too bad. Dark gloves, bright balls, and gray bats were easy, especially when the sun was shining in her eyes and sweat was dampening the collar of her uniform and her job didn't depend on what she thought red would feel, or how cold blue seemed.
When she was younger, baseball was the only thing she could rely on anyway. At first, she thought it was her parents and the love they had for one another. At least until the day she'd asked her mother to describe the color orange and she'd seen what panic was for the first time. Because the terror and confusion on her mother's face as she scrambled for words that didn't seem as knowing as they should, it became embarrassingly clear. Her dad loved baseball, and she was almost sure that he loved her and her brother, but he didn't love her mother. They weren't soul mates, and her entire existence was the byproduct of a failure. An anomaly. Two people destined for unhappiness, to a void that seven billion other people could've filled.
Her father chose to fill that void by foisting a dream onto her. Her mother chose to fill it with Kevin.
So, the way she saw it, this soul mate bullshit was a lie. You could spend your entire life searching for someone who never came, could end up settling for mediocrity and whispered arguments behind thin walls, the world just as gray as the day you were born. The night she walked in on her mother and Kevin making a mockery of the only idea of love she'd ever known was the day she decided that she'd rather die than be her parents. That she wouldn't waste a single second depending on love. Searching for purples and greens and yellows because with them came trouble. And pain. And betrayal.
It helped that her father didn't give her much room to think about anything but her future as a baseball great. Instead of giggling with friends and dating boys in middle school, she worked on as many pitches as her arm would allow, and them some more just to make sure. And when Jessie Coleman asked her to prom her senior year, she pretended her breath didn't hitch in her chest and avoided his hand the best she could. He ended up going with Aurora Lysand, and the next day went around boasting about the flecks of gold in her eyes and the sunset flush of her skin. So, she liked to believe she did them both a favor.
She didn't really begin thinking about love until she met Blip Sanders. For most of her life, the distinction between those who had met their soul mates and the unlucky few like herself who were going around distinguishing between charcoal and slate was always clear. You could tell by the smug lilt of their words, the knowing quirk to the corners of their mouths. But when she met Blip, she was certain that he was like her.
"Baker," he smiled, knocking the bill of her cap to the side, "you eat yet?"
"Pretty sure I've got some leftovers lying around," she fell back against the trunk of his car, folding her arms across her chest. "And the Chinese place a couple blocks from my apartment on speed dial."
"No way," he scoffed, grabbing her gear bag from the ground and slinging it onto his shoulder. "I ask you the same question every night, and every night you have the same answer. No more takeout, it's time for a home cooked meal."
"Blip Sanders," she laughed, shuffling over to the passenger side of his car, "tell me you cook."
"I don't even boil water, girl." He shoved their things into the back seat and started the car. "But Evelyn's tired of me talking about you, would rather meet you herself."
"Your mom?" Ginny guessed, pulling the seatbelt over her chest. "Please tell me it's your mom, because if it's your dog, I feel a lot less safe with you driving me anywhere." Blips shot her a strange look, his attention darting between her and the road as he merged onto the highway. "Oh God," she stilled, "you talk about me to your dog. And now you're probably going to murder me. Fantastic."
"Ginny," Blip rolled his eyes, "my wife won't let me toast bread, let alone take care of a dog. Why we decided to have twin boys is a conversation for a different day, but the point is, breathe. I'm a black man trying real hard not to end up shot, so no one's killing anyone."
Ginny blanched, feeling a blush creep up the back of her neck. "Wife?"
"Yeah," Blip replied, laughter coating his words, "Evelyn Marie Sanders, my beautiful, slightly insane, incredibly bossy wife."
"And now I'm embarrassed," Ginny huffed out, swiping her cap off long enough to comb her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were married."
Reaching into his shirt, Blip pulled out a chain, silver if she still bothered guessing at different shades and hues, and Ginny's gaze dipped down to the simple band hanging from it. "Five years this March."
"Congratulations," she smiled, feeling something similar to relief bloom in her stomach. "It's just that, you didn't seem – "
"Like some cocky, smug, douche bag desperate to show off the difference between cerulean and cobalt?"
"Are those color names or STDs?" She joked weakly, pulling her knee up to her chest. "And yeah, for someone who's met their soul mate, you aren't a huge dick like most people."
Blip drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel. "Me and Evie don't believe in all that soul mate crap. I fell in love with her because of who she was, not because of the fact that all of a sudden I could tell my shit was brown."
"I'm sure that beautiful sentiment was exactly how you got her."
"Just about, yeah." He laughed, pulling into his driveway. "So, does this mean you're gonna stop flinching every time I'm around and actually high five me now?"
Ginny ducked her head, torn between impressed that he'd noticed and mortified that she'd been caught. "Just a precaution," she admitted, "I'm not super interested in the color of anything that ends up in the toilet."
"Amen to that," he lifted his fist, raising an expectant eyebrow as she considered what he was asking her to do, "come on, you know want to." Ginny swallowed back a chuckle, bumping her fist against his and pressing down the surge of annoyance that welled up inside of her. That small nugget of disappointment that lived burrowed in the back of her mind writhed, no matter how much she wished it would disappear. Blip was her friend, and God only knew how much she needed one of those, but still. It was hard not to wish that that one touch would've opened up the flood gate of color that had always been just out of reach.
Still, it had been a while since she'd purposefully touched anyone outside of her immediate family, and it was nice to know that maybe now she could actually take him up on that secret handshake offer he seemed to think was so tempting.
"You know," Blip offered thoughtfully as they jogged up to his front door, "they really should have made this color thing come after potty training. There are some colors you can never erase."
"Lucky me." Ginny giggled, taking a single step into the house before she was attacked by a five-foot-three blur of rapid fire questions and jasmine perfume.
"Ginny," Evelyn squealed an hour later, her white wine dangerously close to sloshing over the rim of her glass as she waved excitedly, "come on, give me the goods. No more baseball talk." She shot Blip a warning look. "My husband should know better than to bring that mess into the house." She turned back around, her smile bright, "but for you, I'll make an exception."
"I don't know," Ginny's cheeks hurt from the strength of her grin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this, normal and light and free, just for moment. She knew that once ten-thirty rolled around, her father would be calling to see when she would be home, and soon it would be the next day. More baseball, more wincing away from any bare skin, more wanting and hating what she didn't have in equal measures. So, with her new friend watching her, eager smile dazzling, she pushed it all away and took a more than generous sip of her wine. "There's not much to tell."
"Don't even try that," Evelyn said with an eye-roll. "You're gorgeous, obviously cool if Blip would bring you home, and," she craned her neck forward, her gaze narrowing into a squint, "my God, you're skin is incredible. There's got to be something."
"I play baseball and then I go home, and on the rare occasion that my father isn't tugging on my leash, I actually make a friend." She stopped, her face twisting into a frown. "Actually incredibly rare, now that I think about it."
"This the first time?"
"Just about, yeah."
Evelyn smiled, an idea forming as Ginny's gaze trained to the ground. "Well, consider that boring routine of yours over." Ginny's eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't look up. "You're eating dinner with us from now on," Blip's knuckles grazed against Evelyn's arm, and she felt that tingle of rightness course through her. Ginny Baker was meant to be a part of their family, and it seemed that he agreed. "And I do not take rejection well."
"How do you think we ended up married?" Blip piped in, earning an elbow to the gut. Rubbing at his stomach, he coughed out, "other than her beauty, brains, and charm?"
Evelyn stood, taking the wine bottle and carrying it over to the dining table. "The boys should be done wreaking havoc in their room, so how about you two wash up, and I get everything set up here." She twisted, back in the kitchen before Ginny could blink.
"She's…something," Ginny whistled, nudging her shoulder against Blip's as he laughed. "I'm sorry I didn't meet her sooner."
"I'm sure she's already planned out seven different ways to make up for lost time." Blip nodded over to the stairs. "Want to help me wrangle the animals?"
Ginny could feel herself brighten, her mind conjuring up chubby faces and sticky hands. "I get to meet them?"
Snorting, Blip took the steps two at a time, his legs pumping just a little faster with Ginny on his heels. "You think I'd invite you over and then not put you to work?"
"Absolutely not," she tapped the wall just before Blip's, unleashing a triumphant whoop. "Let me at 'em."
Ginny felt her breath catch as the sight of them, each boy watching the television with an intensity usually reserved for the professional athletes on her team. If he had a choice, her world would have burst into color as soon as a pair of bright smiles were aimed her way.
She crouched down, offering her hand to each boy in turn.
"Hi there," she said, her voice hovering just over a coo. "I'm Ginny."
"I'm Josh," he stared down at her hand, his face screwing with confusion before slapping his palm against hers.
"And I'm Aiden," came an identical voice as he ignored her hand and went straight in for hug.
Ginny rocked back, just barely managing to stay on her feet as she grinned. "Oh wow. A hugger," she glanced up at Blip and he shrugged, his attention on Josh as he tugged on his father's shorts. "I like you already."
"More than me?" Josh cried, his expression dismayed. Aiden's eyes darted up, his body tensing from whatever anxiety his brother was feeling.
"No way," Ginny scooped Aiden up, his answering giggles pooling in her belly, "I like you both equal, but also way more than anyone else I've ever met."
"Really?" They chorused, each watching her with wide, earnest gazes.
"Sure," Blip answered for her, tapping the toe of his shoe against Ginny's shin and nudging her out the door. "And since Ginny's here, we're having a special dinner tonight. Which means no mess."
"Okay," Josh rested his forehead on Blip's neck.
Aiden tugged at Ginny's curls, pursing his lips with each yank. "Alright," he decided, seemingly satisfied with whatever question he had. As soon as they were downstairs, the boys wriggled from their grasps, their hunger overtaking their curiosity for their dinner guest.
"I'm in love," Ginny sighed, leaning back against the wall and biting down on her nail as Evelyn buzzed around the table, smacking away the boys with a towel when they darted too close. "With all of this."
"It's okay," Blip replied, oblivious to the heartbreakingly loving way he viewed his family. "Definitely better than I deserve."
His words stuck to her even while she walked out, her stomach full and her heart throbbing with something strange and wonderful, even with its sharp spikes of pain. And as she waited for her father to come driving up to the Sander's house, she'd never wanted it more. She longed to be able to see the green of the leaves, and the inky blue and purple of the sky, to know what that meant past what she'd read and what she'd heard and the feeble attempts of her imagination. Because it meant that maybe she'd have someone to look at her the way Blip looked at Evelyn. Maybe she would have two beautiful little boys to stare at her like the sun shone from her ass and maybe she would be able to feel this warm all the time.
"You were out late," her father said as they pulled away from the curb, her foot bouncing anxiously on the floor of the truck.
"My teammate wanted me to meet his family. They were nice, Pop," Ginny turned to him, feeling the beginnings of a smile form as she remembered her evening. "His wife, Evelyn, she's like this amazing hurricane and their sons are – "
"How's that arm of yours?" He peeked at her through the corner of his eye, wearing the same displeased expression on his face that somewhere along the way had become her normal. "With all this time you spent out, I hope you cooled down properly."
She deflated, all the energy that this night and that family had poured into her seeping out as she sagged in her chair. "It's fine, Pop."
"Good, we'll start working on your slurve tomorrow, bright and early. Think you can manage that?"
"Yeah." She rested her forehead against the window, letting the cold wash over her.
Somehow, in that moment, everything seemed just a little more gray.
…
Ginny tried not to let it affect her when Blip was called up. It was the dream, the ending to a long and hard story, the beginning of a life that they all wanted for themselves. So what if it felt like she was losing the closest thing she'd had to a family in a long time. As Blip kissed her cheek and Evelyn wrapped her arms around Ginny's waist, she listened to their promises and assurances and waved them off, all the while praying that they were true.
Especially after her father died.
"I don't know," she said, padding around her room with her cell phone pressed to her ear, "Amelia seems like the real deal, and Will all but quit, so."
"As long she gets you here, girl," Evelyn said, sounding distracted with the million and one things she was probably doing as they talked. "It's so lonely around here without you. The WAGS seem to think I'm one of them."
"No," Ginny gasped, swallowing back a giggle as Evelyn hummed. "How dare they?"
"See, that's why I need you here," Evelyn cried. "Boys, I'm not going to say this again. You break any of Mommy's stuff, and I break your favorite toys. And yes, that includes the Wii."
"Threatening a Wii?" Ginny fell back onto her couch, pulling her legs up against her chest. "Sort of heartless, Evie."
"You want to come here and raise these monsters?"
"If you don't mind them turning out royally screwed up?"
"If it means an evening to myself, I might take you up on that offer."
Shaking her head, Ginny leaned back against the armrest. "How does Blip feel about this trade?"
"Blip would probably drive them all the way down there if Mama promised him her hot bod. If it was unclear, I'm Mama, and the hot bod in question is mine."
"But of course." There was a lull, and Ginny found herself bracing. Evelyn always, always, always, brought it up, almost like clockwork.
"So, you see anything yet?" Never seeing anyone, because what was the point? One touch, and you knew it was meant to be, some curtain was pulled away and suddenly, you had the hold world. And that question, as simple as it seemed, always managed to find some new way to wound her.
It wasn't the fact that Ginny knew she would be disappointing her friend again, or that she had all but given up on finding someone herself. Those were all things she could take, even on the loneliest of nights when the air around her was heavy and dark and she let herself break, just a little bit. No, it was that for a few seconds during these phone calls, she let Evelyn's hope infect her. She was young and attractive and her personality wasn't shit, at least as far as she knew, and Evelyn's confidence that she would magically happen across the one only led her somewhere raw the longer she didn't.
"No, Evelyn," Ginny said as firmly as she could, "I haven't. I promise the moment I do, you'll be my first call, but for right now, I'm happy not being with anyone. I have to focus on baseball, and getting up to the majors. I don't need colors for that."
"No color's maybe, but someone to come home to might be nice." There was a crash and Evelyn let out an aggravated sigh. "Look Gin, I have to go. Next Friday?"
Ginny's eyes moved around her empty room. "It's a date."
Even with the TV on, it never truly drowned out the deafening silence that made up the soundtrack of her life.
Sooner than she thought possible, Ginny's phone calls with Evelyn became late nights in Ginny's hotel room, glasses forgotten as they drank straight from the wine bottle.
"Ginny Baker, Padres," Evelyn took a swig from an absurdly expensive bottle of white wine, "it has a nice ring to it."
"If they don't send me right back down." Ginny propped herself up onto her forearms, a few more gulps away from tipsy. "One good game does not a ball player make."
"Everyone's all but forgotten about that disastrous first day, you're the only person anyone's been able to talk about, and freaking Drake invited you to his birthday party."
"I'm not sure what Drake has to do with my ability to pitch."
"Oh, it has absolutely nothing to do with baseball and everything to do with Drake." Evelyn fell to the ground, her shoulders shimmying and her head dropping onto Ginny's stomach. "Imagine touching that man? You wouldn't even care if he wasn't your soul mate, he'd make you see color. All. Night. Long."
"Okay, you're totally cut off," Ginny laughed, lunging for Evelyn's bottle.
"Uh-uh," Evelyn cried, springing up onto her knees and crawling away. "Blip is with the boys at a movie and I don't have to be home for hours. So, you take my wine and you very well may be taking your own life, Ginny Baker."
"First and last name," Ginny sat up, searching Evelyn's face, "you must be serious."
"As a heart attack," Evelyn nodded solemnly, only managing to hold onto her somber expression for another moment before dissolving into a fit of giggles, "or a pair of creaky knees."
"Stop!" Ginny gasped, flinging a pillow at Evelyn. "I thought we were having a Mike Lawson free night."
"I said that before the wine, and you know that sober Evelyn is a big ol' liar." Evelyn fluttered her eyelashes, tapping her fingers along Ginny's leg. "How are we feeling about him?"
Bending her arms behind her head, Ginny considering Evelyn's question, trying to keep Mike's smile from her mind and hating herself a little for blushing at the memory of his hand on her ass.
"We are…ambivalent."
"There isn't a single woman in the world ambivalent about Mike Lawson," Evelyn scoffed, pouting as she turned the bottle over and a single drop trickled out. "Except for me, at least if Blip ever asks. Besides, it's not like you've been all that great hiding that little crush of yours."
"I haven't had a 'little crush' since I was nine years old. And Mike Lawson is no Steven Howell."
"Who?"
Ginny's nose wrinkled as she laughed. "He always brought in these stale Twinkies at snack time and I most definitely thought it was love the first time he offered me half."
"Is Mike at least a close second?"
"He's absolutely in the running," Ginny rolled onto her stomach, bracing her chin up on her fist. "Now can we please stop talking about Mike Lawson and start talking about the WAGS drama. I heard Coleman's girlfriend and his wife showed up on the same day."
Clapping, Evelyn launched into a story that would most likely be making an appearance in some trashy tabloid some time next week, but no matter how much she tried, Ginny just couldn't get into it.
Getting called up to the Padres had been everything she'd ever wanted for as long as she could remember. It had come before friends, school, a life, and had been the match that lit her family on fire and left them all badly burned. So, it should have been the best moment of her life, that call, that offer, that mound that had been beckoning her since she'd picked up her first ball. It should have been, and yet there was something dark and mocking in the back of her mind. That memory that spoke of everything she'd been avoiding her entire life, change and trouble and pain.
She was fifteen, and she was having a hard time breathing. Normally, she could run and run and run without a problem, but the sprinting coupled with her own excitement was getting the better of her.
She breezed in through the back door, bumping into Will on the way up to her room.
"Ginny," her mother called after her, "you eat lunch yet?"
"Yeah, mom," Ginny bounced up onto her bed, surveying the wide expanse of empty white wall in front of her. "I grabbed some food."
"Was it a real food or one of those ridiculous bars your father got for you?"
"It was real food, Mom. Promise!"
"Come on, let me make you some pasta. I have some of that stew leftover from last night, we can make a meal of it."
"In a minute, Mom," Ginny yelled back with an eye roll, reaching for her poster and using everything she had to hold back a squeal. The last thing she needed was for her mom to burst in and see her shrieking over a poster of Mike Lawson.
Or even worse, her father, who would definitely make her return it.
No, this moment would belong to her and her alone. She pushed up onto her feet, making sure the tape dangled from her fingertip, and soon Mike Lawson was standing there on her wall in his all-star jersey and a teasing smile playing across his lips. She pulled back, imagining the weight of a ball in her hand and his eyes on her as she waved away a call. She'd watched every game he'd ever played, had decided that she didn't just want a career like his, no, she wanted to play on his team. To be one of the people that made him smile when he thought of them.
She would be an all-star, and when that happened, she wanted him by her side.
"One day," she swore, reaching up and brushing her fingers along the stupid stubble he always seemed so proud of in interviews.
It happened so quick that she wasn't sure if it was real. One second, Mike Lawson was staring back at her with that twinkle in his eye that took up way too many of her thoughts, and the next she was scrambling back, clutching her hand as if she'd been burnt and wondering if she was insane. Because, for just one moment, she'd seen something.
She'd seen color.
Yellow, to be exact, or at least that's what some dormant part of her brain supplied for her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to hold onto it, the break up of gray, the flash of something brilliant and bright and bursting with life.
So this was it, she'd touched her soul mate and now… now everything would be different!
Which is why it broke her heart when she opened her eyes, and everything was the same. Her shirt was gray, slightly lighter than her skin, and Mike Lawson still watched her with a playful expression, just as colorless as before. It felt like a fastball to the chest, except it was an atomic bomb and she was nothing but the ache left behind.
"Ginny," her mom exclaimed impatiently, "the food's getting cold."
"Coming," she replied, her words shaking, her body shaking, everything shaking.
Sometimes, Ginny still got a glimpse of it, a quick glimmer of yellow as she crossed the street, or ate a hot dog, and those moments still felt like a punch to the gut. Because it had to be a lie, some malfunctioning part of her brain taunting her with something that she desperately wanted to be indifferent towards.
And it was definitely the reason she couldn't talk about Mike Lawson to anyone, ever. The minute she realized that she was going to be on the same team as her idol, her schoolgirl crush, the reason that for split seconds of her life her world was something other monochrome, she knew she was in trouble.
The day they met, Ginny didn't look Mike in the eye. She was too busy searching for spots where his skin could touch hers, a large part of her preparing for what felt like an inevitability even as he slapped her ass and she laid into him. He watched her curiously, and some part of her wondered if he could sense the way the air seemed to buzz around them. The longer she stood there, in a conversation that felt a little too good, the greater the pressure nudging her towards him seemed. It was everywhere, pulsing behind her eyes, tickling her nose, urging her forward. It was like her body knew something that her brain wasn't ready to accept.
It was getting easier, ignoring the ache in her stomach whenever she was near him, especially now that he wasn't the Mike Lawson, just plain, sarcastic, grumpy Mike. Just the catcher to her pitcher, her lifeline on and off the diamond.
She still didn't let him close. But she was that way with everyone, not just the man who occasionally brought streaks of gold into her world.
"Ginny," Evelyn snapped, pulling Ginny from her thoughts. "You're looking pretty spacey, is that my cue to leave?"
Ginny stretched her arms over her head, waiting for the telltale pop in her elbows before letting out a yawn. "Yeah," she pushed up onto her feet, "I need to be up by eight anyway."
"Alright, love," Evelyn pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks, calling for an uber before slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Bring food," Ginny walked her to the door, her hip cocked and her head resting on the doorframe. "Preferably pancakes."
Evelyn smiled, slipping on her shoes. "I'll see what I can do."
…
When it finally happened, it was an accident.
"Stop waving me off."
"Stop making stupid calls," Ginny shot back, sweat dripping into her eyes and painting her tongue with the taste of salt. "We can't win with my fast ball."
Mike flicked at his nose, his exhaustion mirroring hers as he stepped in closer. "We can't win if you don't trust me."
She blinked, annoyed that he'd found a way to catch her off guard. "I – I do."
"Really?" He asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Because if you did, you'd send that fast ball right to my mitt, no questions asked."
"Lawson!" They both turned, watching the impatient umpire shoot them a warning look.
"Look," Mike slid his hand along Ginny's shoulder, leaving her with nothing to do but suck in a breath and wish that she could put a color to his eyes. His intense, mischievous, beautiful eyes. "Even if you don't trust me, trust yourself. There's a reason you're on this mound, playing against some of the greatest in the league, playing on my team. And, for what it's worth, I believe in you, even with that shitty thing you call a fastball."
"Shut up," she snorted, planting her hands on her hips and sweeping her tongue over her bottom lip. "And I'll try not to make you come over as much. You're old, might break a hip on the way back."
"That's all I'm asking for." He pulled back, and that's when it happened. The world stilled as his nail scraped along her neck, just for a second, barely even a graze. "How about this? I make the calls because I'm the damned catcher, and you do them, because I'm so devilishly handsome that you might actually listen."
She nodded, distracted as she focused on her chest. Four. Four yearning, disappointed heartbeats had passed and the world was still a particularly depressing shade of gray. Smog maybe.
"Excellent," he clapped, his jaw clenching as he chewed his gum. "Let's get to work." He turned away, and just as she reached ten, it slammed into her.
Whenever people described the first moment they shifted away from black and white, it always seemed so nice. Peaceful. A gentle trickle that cascaded into a waterfall of rainbows, purples and pinks and blues all intertwining where gray used to be. But, those people, with their beautiful sighs and love aglow in their eyes, were all full of shit.
Because this was heaving stomach, bring you to your knees, aim to kill, violent. This was blood rushing through her veins as her heart fluttered faster than possible, desperate for some sort of release with each new color that bloomed in front of her. It was an assault that nearly crippled her, blinding in its beauty and swift in its ruthlessness. It was like she'd been living with the volume down and someone had turned the dial until it reached its max, and then continued to go past. And she didn't know how to handle any of it, not the crisp green of the grass or the muted yellow of the sand, or, God, how blue her uniform was.
Her uniform was blue, dark, rich, vibrant blue. She'd spent a lifetime planning on wearing the San Diego star emblazoned on her shoulder, but now, she couldn't imagine anything but the blue, yellow and white that made up her team.
"Ah," she pressed her palms to her forehead, stumbling forward as she waited for wave after wave of color and pain to ebb.
"Baker?" Mike glanced over his shoulder, his face a mask of concern. "You good?"
"Never better," she panted, grabbing at the flare of confusion in the back of her mind and clinging to the welcome distraction. How could he be standing there totally unscathed when her brain was launching a full-scale mass mutiny against her? He nodded, his frown deepening even as he walked back to home plate.
Al pulled her from the game ten minutes later after yet another throw went wild. It was the best she could do with the sensory overload, and she was glad for the chance to sit to the side and close her eyes.
"You okay?" Blip murmured when she sank onto the bench with a cringe.
"People really need to stop asking me that," she grumbled, risking a quick glance at him before dropping her head into her hands. There were sandy stains on his knees and anxiety in his cedar brown eyes. But he was still just Blip, color or not. She clutched to that thought, repeating it like a mantra until the panic became something she could manage.
It was the thought that got her through the rest of the game, and helped her put one foot in front of the other as they jogged into the clubhouse, everyone else riding the high that came from a hard-earned win.
"The team's going out, and you're coming," Tommy leaned towards her, his arm lifting to wrap around her shoulder before he thought better of it. Belatedly, she decided that she would have to work on changing their view of her. No point worrying about a touch that couldn't do anything to her now besides get someone else's sweat on her skin. "I'll even by you one beer for every throw you missed."
"Very funny," she replied drily, bumping his shoulder with hers, "but I think I'll pass." A dirty blonde bun and ruddy cheeks looked good on him, somehow fitting just right into the image she'd always had of him.
"Come on," he coaxed, "who better to get drunk with than the man who single-handedly won our game?"
"To answer that question, just about anyone else." Her every muscle stiffened, her lungs seizing as Mike ambled into the room, his hands stuffed into his pockets and the top of his button down undone. "Besides, hadn't realized I'd just witnessed the Tommy Miller show."
Tommy winked down at her, rapping his knuckles against the bill of her cap before walking over to the door. "No need to be jealous, Lawson. She's all yours."
She glared down at the ground, her body attuned to each step he took, to the rise and fall of his chest.
"You know," he began, "when I was younger, I thought my favorite color would be red. I had a fire truck, this shitty plastic thing that my mom got me for Christmas one year, and I spent hours trying to imagine what it would be like, to see it if everything wasn't gray."
She was in a hell of her own making, dying to bathe the picture she had of Mike in every color imaginable, but terrified of what even one look would bring.
"When I met Rachel, I thought I'd finally get to see. Our hands brushed, and I waited, first time I'd ever showed any damn patience in my life. When nothing changed, I thought maybe I got it wrong, that Rachel wasn't it for me, but then her eyes widened and she let out this scream. God, it scared me shitless. And then she looked at me in this sort of dumbfounded way, a little like you looked at me on the mound, and I decided that she had to be the one. That all this color bullshit happened differently for everyone and she just got her fill before I did. It wasn't until she asked me whether I wanted pink roses or red at our wedding that it hit me. I might've been Rachel's soul mate, but she wasn't mine. I married her anyone."
Bolting up, Ginny found herself rushing to the door before she had the chance to reason why. "I've got to go."
Mike's hand darted out, catching her by the elbow and sending a shiver up her spine. "Purple," he whispered, staring straight ahead but his fingers warm on her skin. "I was wrong as a kid, but I was also a bit of a dumbass back then so you can't hold it against me. Red is alright, but I think purple might be my favorite color. Or second favorite," his gaze finally locked with hers, and she felt something in her chest click into place. "As corny as this makes me, God help me, Rookie, your eyes may just come first."
She huffed out a pitiful chuckle, wrenching away from his grasp. "First, it makes you endlessly corny, if you were curious, and I might have lost all respect for you – "
"Duly noted – "
"And second, nothing happened to you out there. It was like something was trampling over my brain, but you just stood there. You were okay."
"I can take a decent amount of pain, and I'd say the same for you seeing that you were practically silent for, what was it, something 'trampling over your brain'."
"I was?"
"Yeah," his gaze dipped down to her lips, igniting a warmth in the pit of her stomach. "You were." She was sinking, into the flecks of watery green and seaglass blue in his eyes. His gray eyes, the irony of which Ginny wouldn't be prodding with a six-foot pole. "But now, how do you feel?"
"Good," she responded without thinking, and as she tentatively scanned the room, she found that it was true. Her mind was created for this, and while it still felt a little like a marathon on tired legs, it was also a relief. "Really good."
"Yeah?"
They were gravitating towards one another, stuck in an orbit four million years in the making. "Yeah."
"Yeah," his voice came out in a rasp, dark and rough and filled with so much longing that it left her aching. But before his lips could touch hers, she staggered back, feeling drunk and heady and so, so stupid.
"No," she panted, "no. We're teammates."
"We're soul mates," he countered, his eyes narrowing with an annoyance that felt familiar. "And if I had it my way, we'd be doing a lot less talking."
"Mike," she grit out, "we're teammates. Playing with you, it's been a dream of mine since I was a little kid, and it's been more than I could've imagined. It's made me happy," her words caught in her throat, and she scowled down at the ground, collecting herself, "and all this will do is ruin that."
"Ginny – "
"Soul mates hurt one another, and I don't ever want to hurt you."
"Bullshit."
She shook her head. "It's not. People just expect for this to be good because we get some gift alongside a human being we essentially belong to, but all it means is that you're forced to love someone because of something as arbitrary as biology."
"Bullshit."
She glowered at him, tunneling down into the anger swirling in her belly. "Stop saying bullshit."
Mike inched towards her, regarding her with what she liked to call his "you're a dumb shit" expression. "You really think anyone or anything can force me to do something I don't want to do?"
"That's not the point."
"No, it's exactly the point. I fell in love with you the minute you called Dicaprio a fish, and not much has changed since then beside the fact that now I don't have any excuses for when I roll past a red light. Color or no color, soul mates or no soul mates, there's no one else I would want to be having this pointless, idiotic conversation with, because there's no one else I would want to do anything with. Ever. Except for maybe karaoke with Blip, the man has a voice like an angel, and if your humming is any indication, I'm pretty sure you're tone deaf."
"Am not!"
"Are too," he slid his hand along her hip and jerked her forward. "Now, we done with all of this or what?"
She blinked up at him, her fist curling against his chest. "What if it doesn't work out?"
"Then it doesn't," his breath tickled the top of her lip, "but we're both real stubborn, Baker. So I doubt either of us is gonna let this thing slip through our fingers. We are ballplayers, I might add, our job pretty much requires, you know, not letting things slip through our fingers. I wish I didn't have to spell it out, but you seem to be having a rough afternoon."
She pressed up onto her toes, her mouth hovering over his as she whispered, "I like purple too." His arms wound around her waist, and even with the lingering bits of terror clinging to her every move, his kiss kind of helped.
No, his kiss most definitely helped.
It shouldn't have surprised her, that the man that came with her first glimpse of color was the man she was meant to spend the left of her life with. It didn't hurt that he just happened to be her best friend and the person who infuriated and exhilarate her in equal parts. And he had been right, although she would never admit it. Finding out that Mike Lawson was her soul mate wasn't the moment she fell in love. It was the moment she was forced to accept how long she'd wanted him to herself. How every late night phone call and lingering look across the clubhouse was just another moment that tugged her towards him.
"I don't think brown is really your color."
Ginny could imagine the exact moment Evelyn's forehead crinkled. "Are you kidding? I look killer in…wait, how would you even know? Unless…" her voice trailed off, and Ginny grimaced as Evelyn attempted to burst an eardrum with her screech.
"I told you I would call."
"Details," Evelyn screamed, her voice bright as it streamed through the speaker of her phone. "Now, now, now!"
"I will," Ginny whispered, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and casting a quick glance over to her bed, Mike's eyes on her and her sheets draped over his impressively sized and very skilled pelvis. "I just wanted you to know."
"He's no Drake," Evelyn sighed wistfully, "but, Mike Lawson. Damn."
"You can drop the last name now." She bounced up onto the mattress, folding her legs into her side and biting back a smile as Mike's fingers crawled up her thigh. "I think the past evening has lent itself to a bit of informality."
"Or," Evelyn offered, "an introduction of Ginny Lawson?"
"It's been a day," Ginny giggled, Mike's lips warm on her neck and his hands lazy as they roamed. "I don't think we're there yet."
"Please. You were there five months ago when he called your ass perfect."
"And it is," he murmured, nipping at her collarbone. "Perfect." She swatted him away. He mouthed at the spot behind her earlobe that would definitely be bruised come morning.
"Look, how about I call you tomorrow and tell you everything then?"
Evelyn gasped. "He's still in your bed, isn't he? You dirty, dirty – " Ginny ended the call, tossing her cell phone onto the chair across the room before looking at Mike.
"Evelyn says hey."
"Evie said a lot of things," he said, his voice silken as it washed over her, "none of which were directed at me." His biceps flexed, and Ginny ran her fingers over his wide expanse of mouth-wateringly tight muscle. "But on the topic of marriage…"
"Stop." She giggled, a surprised squeal ripping up her throat when he tipped them over and onto her back.
"You may not know this about me," he murmured, brushing her hair away from her forehead, "but I clean up real nice in that monkey suit I've got hanging the back of my closest."
"You're not funny."
Arching an eyebrow up, he hooked a hand underneath her knee and knocked her leg to the side. "I'm fucking hilarious, Rook," he settled between her hips, his lips screwing into a smirk at the sound of her aroused gasp, "but, believe it or not, I'm not kidding."
She traced his thumb along his bottom lip. "So what? You fuck me senseless and then propose marriage? That work the last time?"
Mike scoffed. "Me and Rachel stopped having sex three months in." His eyes slipped shut, and for a moment, it took all of their combined concentration to focus on the rock of their hips and the wild, dizzying, electricity that coursed through them wherever their skin met. "And trust me, even if we hadn't, she never made me see red the way you do."
It was building in the pit of her stomach, fireworks glittering with the colors of the rainbow and everything in between, and a part of her wished she hadn't waited. That she had grabbed his hand on the very first day and watched the world explode. But even though she regretted every second of self-doubt and fear she'd lived through since she was ten years old, it led her here, with Mike staring down at her and her body still hers but also somehow maddeningly his. And damn, he was worth it.
She laid on her side an hour later, his arm a pillow underneath her head and her heart still moving at a steady trot. "I want it on the mound." She finally said, breaking the silence that clung to their sweat-cooled skin. "And no white dress."
"You gonna clue me in to the part of the conversation I missed?"
She rolled over to face him, peeking up at him through her lashes. "This whole…getting married idea. It can't happen for a while. I get it, we were into each other before this whole soul mate thing or whatever – "
"Eloquently put," he snorted.
"But," she jabbed at his side, "I wanna get to know you like this, get to know us. So, it won't be happening for a while, no matter how much Evelyn tries to persuade us."
"So?" Mike rested his cheek in his hand, the beginnings of a smile curling on his lips. "You got to say it, Baker."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Again," his mouth slanted over hers, stealing the breath from her chest.
"Yes," she clutched at the comforter, slipping underneath him and wondering belatedly how long it would take two professional athletes to run out of energy.
"I can't hear you past all the ear hair."
"God," she laughed, "yes, Old Man, I'll marry you."
He winked down at her. "Bout time."
"Shut up, Lawson, and kiss me."
"Aye aye, Rookie."