Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
We lie there for a minute. I try not to wipe my fingers against his bedspread. Possibly sensing my discomfort, he hands me a wad of tissues, then tells me the bathroom is just down the hall. A dismissal, though not a surprising one. There’s no point in me lingering, I tell myself. This was only a one-night stand, a way to get Talia worked out of my system. Sticking around would make a weird night even weirder.
When I return to the bedroom, Derek has his boxer briefs pulled back on.
He’s lounging against his headboard, scrolling through his phone. “I was gonna get something to eat,” he says. His eyes meet mine in a hopeful question. Is he asking me if I want to join? Or is that my cue to leave?
I’m so rusty when it comes to the rules of hookups. I kinda want to stay, but the words that come out are, “I was about to head out.”
Since that’s easier. I think.
“This place does pretty good tacos. Your loss,” he says, a little sarcastic but also somewhat let down.
Or maybe I’m imagining his look of slight disappointment before he schools his face back into the challenging, I dare you to strike me out expression I know from game broadcasts.
“Thanks though,” I add. “I just got out of a relationship and…”
Ugh. The stuff with Talia is too much to explain. It all still feels too private, too fresh. Really, does he even want to hear it?
“It’s all good, Chason,” he says, deliberately overemphasizing my name this time.
“Ah, you’re a fast learner,” I remark as I pick up my clothes, trying to futilely unwrinkle them, even if the only witnesses to my walk of not-quite-shame will be whatever desert critters are brave enough to crawl out into the road.
“I am,” he says, then takes a beat, his eyes traveling up and down me again. “So are you. At least when you’re impatient and really want something.”
My face burns. Pretty sure if we didn’t work in the same small world, I might ask him if he’s free tomorrow night. If I can return the favor on my knees.
Hell, with his tacos comment, maybe he was about to do the same.
But once is for the best.
I need to focus on baseball and finding a way to win. Even if that’s not likely for my team this season.
Once I’m dressed, Derek walks me to the door, still clad only in his boxer briefs. He looks sleepy, hair in disarray. Adorable, really. It makes me want to stay, even if I know I shouldn’t press my luck. Derek gets the door, unlatching it, opening it so that he won’t be visible to the street.
“Enjoy the tacos,” I say.
He gives a small smile. “Enjoy spring training.”
Then, impulsively, I grab his face and press a hot, fast goodbye kiss to his lips.
When I break apart, he looks unsteady, whispers, whoa.
A small dose of pride spreads in me. I knocked him off kilter, like he did to me tonight. “By the way, is five your lucky number?”
With that, a you remembered smile. “I think it was. Night, Chason.”
And I’m dispensed out onto the porch. The door closes. For a second, I consider raising my hand, knocking to be let back in. But no, that’s not how this works. So I pull out my phone and enter the address of my rental house. At least I can cleanly navigate my way home.
For the rest of spring training, I only see Derek once. The Arches play the Pilots at their park, and we both start. I reach first on an error then advance to third base on a single, flying past him at short.
Mostly, I’m thinking about scoring.
But partly I’m wondering what I’ll say if I run into him later. In the corridor. Outside the park. Want tacos? How’s your spring training? Have you learned how to play craps yet?
Why am I even practicing opening lines?
That’s a good question.
One I don’t find the answer to as I field my position in the next inning. As I watch Derek work a walk. As I wonder what it would be like to tag him out on the next play.
The batter at the plate hits a weak grounder to our second baseman, who’s set up in the shallow outfield. He flips the ball to me as I hurry to cover second; I drop my foot on the bag as Derek hustles down the basepath, then throw onto first for a bang-bang double play that ends the inning.
My teammates begin their retreat to the dugout, but Derek is still there, uniform streaked with dirt like he can’t believe I turned two on him. Huh. I’ve never played against a guy I hooked up with. It’s kind of awesome. A little like having a delicious secret.