Mikey
Honestly, there isn’t much to do around here. This isn’t like Tampa, where I could easily take Macey somewhere and just enjoy being out.
Nope, this is Northeast Ohio, and it is also late fall on a Thursday night—there isn’t anything to do. But I know what I did when I was seventeen.
Who said we can’t act like teenagers again? So either I’m a big i***t for bringing her here, or it’s actually a brilliant idea. Who knows? It’s too late now that I drove us to the ballpark.
We got out of the truck, and I met her at the front when I reached for her hand.
“Come this way,” I told her, holding her hand in mine.
“I’m not exactly a ball player,” Macey said to me.
I chuckled. “We are not playing ball. You’ll see,” I said as we entered one of the baseball fields.
We walked past home plate
