Bet he’s regretting asking me to lunch so he could convince me to play for him. Type 1 to be exact and it’s obvious by how this guy continually shifts that I must be the first potential player he has had with the disease. If I should so choose, this guy could be my new baseball coach, and me flirting with a girl has to be a hell of a lot less awkward and more normal for him than what we have been discussing-my diabetes. On my left, my father tilts his head toward the guy who’s smiling like a Cheshire cat. Yeah, the waitress is interested, but I’m not sure if I am. It’s crowded here, most places in Louisville are, yet my glass has never been empty. All three TVs over the bar show the Reds game, and thanks to the last home run, the people in the stands are going wild. I wink, the waitress blushes, my mother nudges my arm in approval. The waitress wouldn’t be the first college girl I’ve dated and she wouldn’t be the first girl I’ve taken out because I’ve got Abby on the brain. Thinking of Abby causes me to consider asking this girl out. Her eyes are brown, but Abby’s are darker. The waitress smiles at me when she refills my water and our eyes meet. It’s what I expect someone to mumble as they walk by, but we’re in Louisville and the odds of me running into anyone from Bullitt County High School are low.
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