Charlie held Kennedy's hand as they side-stepped past other sports fans across the aisle to their seats at the ball game. Their seats were half-way between home plate and first base, a dozen rows back. The Sargents were a minor league team, but they had a major following this year, and more seats were full than empty in the stadium.
It was a gorgeous late September afternoon: blue sky, warm enough to sit outside in jeans and a sweater, with just enough of a cool breeze to assure the crowd that they wouldn't swelter as they sat in their seats for the afternoon. Although Kennedy considered herself a Sargents fan, she was grateful that Charlie hadn't shown up wearing the over-sized foam military cap so popular among the crowd, nor had he painted his face or brought an air horn.
Kennedy hadn't called Charlie when Chandra had handed her the phone. Instead, she'd emailed and asked for his number, then talked to him by text for a couple of days before finally agreeing to see him again. She'd needed the time to establish firmly that they were not dating and that their relationship was strictly casual. Charlie had balked at first, but had finally relented.
He had, however, insisted on picking her up today. When he'd arrived, she'd hurried out of her apartment before he'd had a chance to introduce himself to the drooling Chandra. Charlie had driven them out to the city's modestly-sized stadium in his tiny Toyota hatchback, back bumper papered with stickers from various events, brands, and schools of thought. When she asked him about them, he said they were holding the bumper together after a run-in with a concrete barrier late one night.
Charlie looked distractingly good today in his dark wash jeans, red knit sweater and lightweight black scarf, looped casually around his neck. Kennedy liked the look so much that, before setting eyes on Charlie, she'd chosen something quite similar. She wore boots over her slim-fitting jeans, and her sweater was white, to better suit her fair coloring, but her black scarf could have been from the same rack as Charlie's.
"How long has it been since you last saw a ball game in person?" Charlie asked once they were settled in their blue plastic seats.
"Oh, not since my first week of my first year here."
"So long? I thought you were a fan."
"I am. I've just been, you know, busy with school and such. If they'd have games over Christmas break, I'd watch a ton of them. Mostly I kept up with the team by watching highlights online and watching the scores in the newspaper."
"If I'd known that, I would have asked you to a game a long time ago. There's nothing like the buzz you get from watching the game with a crowd, seeing it happening in front of you. Real people playing a real game on real... astroturf."
Kennedy laughed. "That's a generous thing to say, considering you've known me for less than a week."
Charlie bumped Kennedy's shoulder with his. "If I'd known you earlier, I would have asked you earlier."
Kennedy was saved from having to reply by a booming voice over the stadium's loudspeaker.
"Ladies and gentlemen, here to throw out the first pitch, the winner of the Simonstone Summer Science Fair, Georgie Hassen!" called the announcer. The crowd cheered as a high school girl approached the mound, accompanied by a couple officials and a few people in Sargents uniforms.
"Oh, I heard about her experiment! She did some very interesting stuff with her analysis of patterns of slime mold growth."
"Good for her, but ick," said Charlie.
Kennedy turned to look at him. "Slime mold are fascinating creatures. They grow these long, skinny tendrils to connect their colonies with food supplies, and the pattern of growth is remarkably similar to that of roads and electrical systems connecting major human centers." Kennedy spread her fingers flat, then touched the tips together to illustrate the phenomenon.
"Huh. So the slime molds are making predictions about human behavior?" Charlie asked with a victorious expression.
"Exactly! No, wait. Not predictions. More like models."
"What's the difference, exactly?"
"A model is a small version of a real thing. A prediction isn't based on fact or science."
"Science obviously hasn't discovered everything there is to discover. Otherwise people would have stopped doing research years ago."
"Shush. She's getting ready to throw the ball."
Kennedy turned from Charlie and looked out at the field. Despite standing half-way between the mound and home plate, the catcher still had to run and dive to catch Georgie Hassen's throw. The girl waved to the crowd's gracious applause, then hurried to the edge of the field.
The digitally amplified announcer then introduced a local singer that Kennedy hadn't heard of, and they stood while she did a decent job of singing the national anthem. Kennedy and Charlie cheered when their home team took the field, stretching, swinging bats, and generally loosening up before play began.
Weak cheers from across the far side of the stadium barely reached their ears when the opposing team took the field, though some people in the home team's section applauded politely as well. The players arranged themselves around the field, and the game began.
The visiting Kingfishers had scored one run and landed a man on third before Charlie spoke again. "I know we're both cheering for the Sargents, but who do you think will actually win today?"
"I shouldn't make predictions. My data is riding on this game."
"We're not in the lab. Besides, you don't strike me as the superstitious type, believing that what you say out loud will affect the outcome of the came."
"Of course not." Still, it took Kennedy a moment to overcome her initial resistance and talk about her predictions before the data analysis was complete. "Looking at their performance so far this year, and the players on today's roster, and comparing that with the Kingfisher's success rate during away games, I'd predict that the Sargents will win, and chances are high that they will get double the number of runs that the Kingfishers do."
"Even though it's one-zero so far?"
"Yep. That first run is a statistical outlier. The Sargents will catch up."
The first half of the inning ended without the Kingfishers getting any more runs, and Kennedy was settling into a comfortable pattern of alternating conversation and quiet observation.
"How about you? What's your prediction for today's game?" she asked as the teams changed places on the field.
"The Sargents will trounce the Kingfishers, for sure."
"You're just saying the same thing I said!"
"Well, I am trying to get you back to my place after the game," he said.
He emphasized his words by putting a warm hand on Kennedy's knee and dragging it slowly up as high as he safely could in public. The warmth of his hand lingered along the path it had traveled, and Kennedy felt a growing warmth in places he hadn't touched, too. Nine innings seemed like far too many.
To keep herself paying attention to their present location, she asked, "Why did you pick the Sargents?"
He flicked his eyebrows and squeezed her thigh.
"Other than that."
She moved his hand closer to her knee. He patted it, as though getting it comfortable in its new, exiled location.
"The vibe of the crowd. The energy here is fantastic today. The team's got to be feeling it. Playing at home always makes them more comfortable, too, better at settling in and doing what they've been training to do since age eight."
Kennedy wasn't sure if it was Charlie's proximity, or the power of suggestion, but when she looked for it, she thought she could feel the combined excitement of the people in the crowds.
She gave her head a small shake. Charlie was so charismatic, it was easy to agree with what he said, especially when he described the ridiculous in a way that made it seem so plausible.
Four innings, one hot dog and one plastic cup of beer apiece later, the Sargents were ahead three-one. Kennedy wasn't sure she cared who won the game any longer, data and playoffs be damned. While Charlie kept his attentions subtle, they were constant, causing a slow burn throughout Kennedy's entire body. He kept his hand from climbing any higher than her knee, but caressed what he was allowed to touch with long, sure strokes, including the ticklish spot behind her knee. He pressed his shoulder against hers so often that she felt cold when he momentarily moved away. When he spoke to her, he'd speak softly, like he was telling her a treasured secret, and would move close enough to her ear that she could feel his breath on her skin.
Twice, he'd kissed her. Little chaste kisses on the cheek both times, but the fire in his eyes told her that he was holding back a volcano's worth of heat that he would happily release at his first opportunity. She didn't know whether to hope that he did it again, or pray that he didn't, lest they get themselves kicked out of the stadium.
Somehow, she endured the next two innings. She had a vague impression of each team scoring once more, but she'd stopped paying to the game some time ago.
With an effort, she tried to figure out what was happening now. Which team was at bat? Kennedy noticed the man one seat down from Charlie watching his hand on her thigh like the guy wished it was his own. Crud, they were getting carried away.
The announcer's voice echoed through the autumn afternoon announcing the beginning of the seventh-inning stretch.
"There's a lot of people here today," Kennedy said.
"There are."
"Cars will be lined up for ages trying to get out of the parking lot." Kennedy kept her voice even, but excitement surged through her.
Charlie sat up straighter, catching her line of reasoning. "It would be smart to leave before the crowd."
"I think so."
"When should we leave, Kennedy?"
"A lot could happen in two and a half innings."
"Should we stay for one more?"
"Well, the Sargents are ahead. We've probably seen most of the action."
"If we leave before the end, it's not like the team will notice."
"So we'll go now."
"Now sounds good."
Hand in hand, Charlie and Kennedy wove through the seventh-inning stretch crowd as quickly as they could and when they reached the relatively open space of the parking lot, they ran.
They slowed only to change directions once as Charlie tried to remember where he had parked. Kennedy's hormone-addled brain was no help at all. She had a vague impression of something with four wheels sitting somewhere with asphalt, but had no idea where it was.
Eventually, Charlie located his car. He escorted Kennedy to the passenger door of his car and reached for the handle, but the move brought his body flush with hers. He dipped his head and covered her mouth with his. Kennedy melted into his touch, wrapping her arms around him to pull him even closer. She gave in to a couple hours of frustration at not being able to properly touch this man in her arms.
He smelled like she had the day she'd been followed by thoughts of him. Not that she'd stopped thinking of him in the meantime, but that first day, the memories were the most fresh, the most distracting. She desperately wanted to relive those memories.
But not in the parking lot. A wolf whistle from a few rows of cars away brought Kennedy back to her senses and she broke the kiss with a gasp.
"I need to get you back to my place. Like, now," said Charlie.
He pulled open the car door and Kennedy collapsed into her seat. Charlie dropped into the driver's seat a moment later and stuck his key in the ignition.
"Drive fast, please," Kennedy said.
"Try and stop me."