“What?” Deidre turns. “Hmm, he’s handsome in real life, too.” She scrunches up her nose. “I heard he just got divorced, poor baby.”

“What?” Tami doesn’t mean to sound shrill, but the question comes out like a squeak. “You’re sure?”

Deidre nods. “I told you, Tami, you have to join Twitter.”

Tami puts her hand on Deidre’s shoulder. “Deidre.” Tami’s talking to her friend, but watching the outfielders walking toward the bar, toward them. Her stomach does a somersault. He’s getting divorced?

“I know, I know.” Deidre rolls her eyes. “You want a Tamara Special.”

Tami hates that she calls it this, that they’ve done this so many times it has a name at all. But her friend is right. Yes, a Tamara Special.

Deidre sets down her tumbler, straightens the straps on her dress, and gives Tami her “I’m ready” nod. The men are getting closer; Tami can feel the zaps of their electricity on her bare arms. She opens her mouth, mumbles some nonsense, and Deidre breaks into near-hysterical laughter. “Oh my gawd, Tami! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.” Just as he’s passing by, she grabs Jason Goodyear by the arm and pulls him to her. He stiffens momentarily, then loosens when he realizes it’s just another done-up divorcée.

“This woman,” she says, pointing at Tami, “she’s a riot. Tell it again, Tami.”

Tami demurs, eyes on the floor. “It wasn’t that good, Dee. Leave the guy alone.”

Jason starts to turn away, but Deidre tugs at his elbow again. “Well, stick around for a drink, at least? Maybe if we loosen her up she’ll let us hear it. Woo. Haven’t laughed that hard in years.” Jason looks over Tami’s shoulder to his teammates. She can see the question in his face: Two old broads? Tami wonders if Trey Townsend recognizes her. Unlikely. Her efforts that night had been a blip, a nothing moment on his carousel of springs.

They must’ve signaled for him to go for it, because in the next moment, his face softens and his blue eyes light up. “Why not?” His voice is deeper than she expected, just a few steps from a rumble. There’s a bit of brashness there, which she also didn’t expect. Who knows—maybe she looks better than she feels.

“Great.” Deidre gives his arm a little squeeze. “Oh,” she says, feigning surprise. “You a body builder or something?”

“A baseball player.” Half his mouth curls up, something like a smirk. What does that smile mean? Is it prideful or embarrassed? Tami’s not sure, only knows that she’s never seen it. On the field he’s all steely determination; most of his ad campaigns employ that same serious-competitor persona. The thin line of his mouth and the square, set jaw, the narrowed eyes of supreme focus. And in interviews he’s all, Yes, sir; no, ma’am, polite as a piece of toast, smiling for the camera when the cue cards tell him to.