I want my first date to be at Dodger Stadium.
I want to be picked up in his dad's car close to 5 on a Friday night.
I want to sit in the passenger seat as we drive down Vin Scully Avenue.
I want to hold his hand nervously as we climb the mountain of stairs to the top deck.
I want to buy overpriced stadium food so that we can scarf it down while Turner is up to bat.
I want to lose my voice singing during the 7th inning stretch, only to chant along with the crowd in the 8th.
I want to laugh at him dancing on the outfield screens for a few foolish seconds of fame.
I want to clutch onto his jersey too tight when Bellinger hits a walk-off in the 10th.
I want to listen to Randy Newman as we walk back down to the dark pavement.
I want to look into his eyes, losing myself in them until the rims of our Pantone 294 caps come together.
I want to kiss him under the parking lot lights and dim city stars.