Love's Little Instruction Book by Mary Gorman Page A

want to watch Todd O’Connor putting the moves on Denise anymore, but since his triple had saved the team from total defeat and stolen the win from the Stars’ pitcher, he didn’t see any graceful way out of going.
    The pizza place was congenial, full of dark wooden booths and bentwood chairs padded with red vinyl. Stained glass swag lamps hung over plastic tablecloths and wait staff in forest green polo shirts skirted through the crowd, trying to keep up with the sudden influx of business.
    Dave had settled himself in a booth and was sipping a beer, accepting congratulations and compliments from teammates and opponents alike. Presley had scooted onto the bench next to him, effectively trapping him, but he didn’t mind. When people came over to talk to him, he could count on Presley to take over the conversation after just a few words of acknowledgement, and that suited him just fine. He didn’t really feel much like talking.
    He was trying not to watch Denise, yet somehow he felt aware of her wherever she was in the room. Just now she was standing over by the jukebox, talking and laughing with Todd O’Connor and his flight school buddy. He forced his attention away from her and back to whatever it was that Presley was saying. One beer, he told himself, and one slice of pizza. Then he could excuse himself.
    “You all right?” Presley asked him suddenly. He was surprised to realize that they were momentarily alone, their well wishers having momentarily dispersed to join in other conversations.
    “Fine. Why?”
    “You just hit the tying run. You’ve got bragging rights galore here, and here you are, letting me do all the talking. What gives?”
    “Maybe I’m just trying to be classy by not gloating.”
    “Nuh-uh,” she replied, shaking her head so that the miniature softballs dangling from her ears swung wildly. “You’re not the classy type.”
    Dave snorted. “Then what type am I?”
    “You’re a guy,” she said. “You know. Back slapping, sports loving … Normal. You’re a normal guy. You should be loving this moment.”
    He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just famished. The pizza should be here any minute,” he told her, trying to divert her attention to the food.
    “Nuh-uh. I’m allowed to be hypoglycemic. You’re not.”
    “Because I’m a guy?” he asked incredulously.
    “Yeah!” she replied brightly, setting the balls to swinging again.
    Just then, Denise slid into the bench across from them as Todd and Tom stood at the end of the table. “The guys are going to bail out early. They’ve got tickets to a show.”
    “We wanted to congratulate you both again on a great game,” Tom said. “Presley, if you ever want to work for a daytime drama, just let me know. The team could always use a ringer on the mound.” He flashed her a two hundred watt smile. Presley pretended to swoon against the back of the booth. Dave resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “And Dave, that was a great hit you made at the end there. We were damned lucky that you didn’t make it home.”
    “It was a lucky shot,” he said self-deprecatingly, all the while thinking that he wished he had knocked a homer instead of just a triple.
    “Lucky, hell,” Denise interrupted. “You let me score. That makes you my hero.”
    Dave smiled wanly as Tom said, “We’ll do better next year.”
    “You can try,” Presley returned gallantly.
    “Have a great weekend, guys.” Denise smiled. “And don’t forget to show up for work on Monday, Todd.”
    O’Connor laughed, throwing back his head and showing off his straight, white teeth. “I’ll do my best.” Then he turned and smiled at Tom Ford. “You ready to go?”
    “Ready and raring. Goodnight, everybody.”
    As Dave watched, Todd slipped his arm around Tom Ford’s waist and was rewarded with a reciprocal arm around his shoulders. They slipped off through the crowded restaurant with their arms around each other, through the glass door and into the evening light.
    Dave