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not just because she let me have first dibs on the chicken. Her forgiveness lifts a huge weight from my shoulders. I just hope I can keep myself together next week when we play the Mets.
    More so than any place we play, the chicks in New York City are hot for the opposing team’s players. They practically throw their pussies on us while foaming at the mouth. Yeah, it’s going to be hell to deny them. Maybe I should discuss that look in the eye thing with the guys.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Cali
     
     
    I’m wearing my trusty, worn Chicago jersey—the one with the name Luck on the back. I might have slept in it a few nights since my short encounter with Brady last weekend, but I washed it yesterday afternoon, so at least it’s clean.
    It’s been a stressful week as a Chicago fan. Brady hasn’t hit a homerun since the night I fell at his feet. He’s barely stepped on first base, which has everyone in Chicago holding their collective breaths. The city feels wound up tight, like a coiled spring. It’s a mix of crazy dread and fear that this year isn’t going to be any different than the last one-hundred.
    Digging in the top drawer for my Chicago earrings and necklace, I finally locate them hidden beneath my blue scarf. It’s too warm for the scarf today, so I push it to the back of the drawer—my way of organizing.
    “Hurry up, Cali,” Taylor shouts from my living room, which is only separated by a thin wall. But it’s a wall, an amenity I’ve earned since my new job as a PA let me upgrade from a studio to a one-bedroom. It’s the little things in life that make me feel like an adult.
    “Coming,” I say, inserting my earrings and tying the side of the baggy jersey into a knot. The thing is several sizes too big and I could almost wear it as a dress. I have on a pair of skinny jeans so I don’t get mistaken for a dude.
    “Why are you hiding your curves under that tent shirt?”
    “You mean T-shirt?” I ask.
    “No, tent is more like it. You could be hiding a circus creature under that thing. Go back in your room and change. We have a mission today and it’s getting you a date for next weekend.”
    “No! I’m wearing Brady’s jersey, and that’s final,” I shout back at her, stomping my Chicago blue Chuck covered feet.
    “Okay, okay. I give up on you. I truly do.” Slinging her purse over her shoulder, we head out my door while I preen about getting my way. Maybe even skip a bit, too.
    Winning in the clothing department doesn’t happen often with Taylor, or at all. She has an innate style from shopping at the finest department stores since birth.
    Me? I’ve never had enough money to shop much beyond Target, so I kowtow to her suggestions. Only Brady Luck himself could get me out of this jersey, though. The thought of that makes me tingly. Maybe Taylor is right, I do need to get laid—caveman-style.
    We exit my building and hear the roar from Wrigley Field, Chicago’s long-standing ball field. My place is almost in sightline of the stadium. After walking a block, the brick sides of Wrigley come into view. It’s a baseball institution and I love being its neighbor since it was a big part of my childhood.
    My father left my mother when I was small, but her brother filled in the gap as my dad. I still send him Father’s Day cards. He would bring me to Wrigley as often as he could on his tradesmen’s salary. He hasn’t married and likely never will. I think his high school sweetheart broke his heart when she ran off with his best friend. Some heartaches just don’t heal.
    I rub over my chest, knowing mine has some ways to go too. I don’t know why Mitchell Davis did such a number on me. I guess I made the mistake of giving him every piece of my heart and suppose it takes time to have them all return to the same place.
    “So, what do you think is up with Lucky?” Taylor asks me as we join the mass of humanity walking on the cobble-stoned sidewalk toward the stadium’s entrance.
    “I don’t know, but