When It Hooks You (It #1) by Nicki Elson Page A

her face. A few minutes later, they plopped into their mid-level seats. The players warmed up while more and more fans filtered into the stands. A welcome breeze and more sips of the icy beer helped cut the heat of the day. Adam’s eyes feasted on the lively scene before them—the bright green stripes of the field, the arched scoreboard topped with candy-like decorations, and the constant parade of cotton candy, hot dogs, and giant foam fingers.
    Trish was content to watch him enjoy the scene. When he eased back into his seat and glanced at her, she asked, “Does the whole thing still mystify you?”
    “Yes. But I’m beginning to see how this is more than watching someone do a job.”
    “Have you never been to a professional baseball game before?”
    “I have, but it’s always been work. Usually in a skybox, either schmoozing or being schmoozed. I’ve never come strictly for fun.”
    “Not even with your dad when you were a kid?”
    He shook his head. “Not even then. How about you? What makes you such a fan?”
    “Um…” She sucked in her lips and looked at the vast blue sweep of the sky. Only a few strips of wispy clouds broke the solid block of color. “I’m from a long line of Sox fans, so I sort of inherited it. Plus I like the underdog nature of the team. It’s not easy being the bastard brother of the beloved Cubbies.”
    “I see.” He nodded, taking a slow sip as his mirrored lenses stayed steadily pointed toward her, his beautiful, pale eyes studying her from underneath.
    “What do you see?” She sat forward, turning more deliberately toward him.
    “The team. It’s become like a character for you. You assign it a backstory and personality traits, and it becomes something bigger to you than what it actually is.”
    She wrinkled her nose in skepticism. An eruption of cheers circled the stands as the players trotted onto the field and the announcers took to the microphones. “Puzzle away at it all you want, Mr. Deep Thinker. These people like-a da White Sox. Some things in life are beyond explanation.”
    His forehead pinched slightly and the corners of his mouth tilted down. “Yes, I suppose that’s only too true.”
    She reached to mold her palm over the back of his hand and give it a squeeze. She saw a persistent heaviness in Adam Helms. He was like a man tied at the ankles being held in the suffocating depths of the ocean, weighted down by an old sadness. Every smile felt to Trish as if he was breaking through the surface for a gasp of much needed levity. She wanted to give him more of those moments, maybe even make them last a little longer. “I’m gonna turn you into a believer by the end of the game.”
    He flipped his hand around so they were palm to palm and squeezed her back. “You’re welcome to try.”
    They kept their focus on the game for the first couple of innings. Trish pointed out nuances she thought he might find interesting, and he asked occasional questions. Under her tutelage, Adam did an excellent job flagging down the beer vendor during the third inning. By the fourth, Trish noticed he’d become more interested in studying his program than watching the players.
    “Time for a field trip,” she said, folding his program shut and standing.
    “Where to?” he asked, remaining in his seat and looking up at her.
    “Just a walkabout.”
    He set the program under his seat and followed Trish down the steps. They stood at the rail for a while, watching fans across the way pose with the furry, green mascot. They then wandered to the centerfield plaza, going from sculpture to sculpture of White Sox legends. While Adam read one of the plaques, Trish studied his mellow, almost tired, expression. She stepped behind and to the side of him, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “This feels sorta touristy, doesn’t it?”
    He let out a soft chuckle. “It’s fine. But yes, it does.”
    “I’ve failed.” She curved around him and buried her face in his chest. Even in the