She couldn’t blame him if they did. She’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want a boyfriend.

And he’d flat out promised never to fall in love with her—not that that had ever been a serious possibility. They were really just co-workers who slept together, on weekends, but not the entire weekend, apparently, because he had plans.

So who was she to judge him if he dated on the side? Perfectly acceptable.

Even if the thought of another woman putting her hands on Cole made Penelope a bit…stabby.

And it was these wicked, torturous thoughts of him undressing another woman…of him kissing her neck…making her gasp…

It was these torturous thoughts that made Penelope realize she needed a distraction.

Penelope flopped on her couch and pulled out her cellphone, scrolling through her favorites until she found the one person who could soothe her nerves even when she was at her most jittery.

“Hey, Dad,” she said, as soon as he picked up.

“Penny!”

Both her parents had called her Penny for as long as she could remember. She didn’t mind, but neither did she exactly bring the nickname outside the Pope household. She didn’t need a childish nickname to make her appear younger than she was. She seemed to manage that all on her own.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I was just thinking of you, actually. Thinking of heading over to the Sox game today.”

She lifted her eyebrow. Her father was a die-hard Cubs fan through and through. “Oh yeah?”

“Your mother’s having her book club over, God help me, which means I need to get out of the house. Cubs are away, so I figured…why not?”

Why not indeed. Rick Pope was single-handedly responsible for teaching Penelope her love of the game—all games. Her dad was an avid sportsman, and rather than bemoan his lack of a son, had dragged both Janie and Penelope into the world of athletics.

He’d had only partial success with Janie. He’d had to spray-paint her bat hot pink in order to get her to play softball on long summer evenings, and the only sport she’d stuck to for more than a month was tennis, and she quit that in seventh grade.

But he’d hit the jackpot with Penelope. Janie was the spitting image of their mother in looks and personality, while Penelope was her father’s daughter, from the dark hair to the love of sports to the flat chest.

She didn’t exactly love that last one.

“So tell me, how’s my little New Yorker?”

“Missing you,” Penelope said.

Just because New York was starting to feel like home didn’t mean that a huge chunk of her heart wasn’t still back in the Chicago suburbs at the house where she’d grown up. Right about now she could have used one of her mom’s famous oatmeal cookies, or her dad’s bear hugs…

“What’s got my girl down? Is it a boy? If it’s a boy, I know a guy….”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You know a guy, and what? You gonna break someone’s kneecaps? Come on, Dad, Janie and I figured out around age fifteen that you’re all talk.”

“There are nonviolent ways to break a man,” her father said in a faux-Mafia-style voice. “And don’t think I missed that you didn’t deny having a boyfriend.”

Penelope blew out a long breath and said nothing.

“Penny…”

“If I tell you, you’ll tell Mom, and if you tell Mom, she’ll start sending me pictures of mother-of-the-bride dresses.”

“I can keep a secret if you need me to.”

She blew out a breath. The thing was, he probably could. And the thought of talking to someone about Cole was tempting, but her father? Much as she loved the man, and forward thinking as he was, there was no way she could even think about telling him about her and Cole’s weekend-only sex rule.

“I’m just in a thinking place right now,” she replied.

“Ah yes. Understood.”

Penelope smiled, knowing that he really did understand. Rick Pope had forever been telling his wife that Penelope was in a thinking place, back when Penelope’s well-meaning mother had tried to coax Penelope to talk about whatever was bothering her as a kid.

Janie and her mother were extroverts—they liked to talk about anything and everything, and tended to solve problems best by discussing them.

Penelope was more like her father—outgoing when they needed to be, but introverted at heart, especially when she was mulling over a problem.

“Sounds like you need to go to a thinking place, if you know what I mean,” her dad said.

Penelope sat up on the couch as inspiration struck. “Dad, I know exactly what you mean. And you’re a freaking genius.”

Ten minutes later, Penelope had hung up with her father and was out the door heading to the place where she’d always done some of her best thinking: the ballpark. Any ballpark.

She headed out to see the Mets. Partially because the Yankees were away, and partially because she’d only been to one Mets game so far, and she had yet to get a sense for the fans and the stadium.

Baseball was more than the game itself. It was also about the experience.

No two ballparks were the same, no two fan bases interchangeable. Understanding these home-team nuances was Penelope’s favorite part of the job. Yes, she was good with the stats and the plays and could probably outcall any ump…but it was the human element that had drawn her into sports in the first place. That coming together of people.