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cat opened one eye and glared with it, as if to say, Human, you’re lucky I’m allowing you the honor of petting me. Which was why she ended up getting a cat in the first place from the animal shelter. That, and she liked saying, Gotham needs me ; Gotham’s in trouble; and her favorite; What would Gotham do without me ?
    Plus, she felt like Gotham got her personality—more than anyone else in this town, including Willow.
    Growing up, she had discovered right away that she was different from everyone else. Due to her grandparents’ influence, she had a love for sixties music, comic books, and all things retro. In a small, southern town, when her love manifested into her everyday wardrobe and weekly changing hair color, it was met with perplexed stares and more than a little ribbing.
    Especially once she hit high school.
    She knew the only reason she’d made it through those four painful years without becoming a recluse was because of her unlikely friendship with two of the most popular and nicest girls in their age group. To this day, she had no idea why Bella and Daisy had looked past her sharp words and befriended her.
    Now that they were married and living a world away, she’d become closer friends with Willow—a woman who got paid to blend in for a living. From what she remembered of Willow in high school, it wasn’t out of character.
    Still, it was odd that the girl who purposefully stuck out like a sore thumb considered the girl who’d blended in with the wall her closest friend.
    And now… she had to ask her childhood enemy to become her husband.
    Life was funny like that.
    *
    Clarkson Field was hot, humid, and designed so poorly that even the crowd couldn’t get a decent breeze, but it was home to the annual Carolina Charity Games, and every bit of the money that was made today benefitted the charity of whichever team won, so none of that mattered today.
    Sweat trickled down the back of Heath’s neck as he squatted behind home plate. He was covered in dust and grime and his knees were sore, but he wouldn’t have given up his position for anything.
    Resting his right hand on the edge of his inner thigh, he signaled to Rodriguez, who’d just begun the windup. Rodriguez, a rookie pitcher from Alabama who was already making his mark, usually listened to him since he’d been playing longer.
    But not today.
    With seconds to spare, Heath tipped his mitt back as the hitter looped the bat.
    “Strike!”
    “Shit,” he muttered. For the second time this inning he’d had to adjust because the kid went rogue. At least it was the last inning and an off-season game. He rose slightly and threw the ball back, narrowing his gaze.
    Rodriguez winked, gave him a shit-eating grin, and shrugged. It worked on most people, but not on him.
    Heath liked Rodriguez, thought he was a hell of a pitcher, but all the kid wanted to do was take selfies to post on Instagram during practice, spend money on women, and party six days a week. If he didn’t watch it, Rodriguez would be like the rest of the new guys who went hog wild their first couple of years—broke, divorced, and miserable because they ended up getting cut.
    Thing was, Heath knew exactly how Rodriguez felt about being in the spotlight, although catchers weren’t exactly fronting the pages of Men’s Health and cereal boxes. Despite that, he had caught the eye of a few Hollywood types—though he suspected that his actor/producer brother-in-law might have helped with that a little—and he had actually been featured on the covers of well-known magazines. He’d enjoyed it. Actually, he’d enjoyed it a lot. The attention, the money… everything .
    It was a source of ribbing from the team. The Face , they liked to call him. Yeah, it was stupid and juvenile, but what could he do but take it?
    Hell, if his teammates didn’t joke with him like that, then he’d worry. Earning a nickname was like a rite of passage that never ended, since it stuck for the rest of a