For weeks he’s been courting me. With his words. With his looks. With his kisses.
He texts me every night after his away games. Sometimes he even calls. Sometimes we talk on the phone for hours. Sometimes we just listen to each other breathe, having run out of things to say, but not wanting to hang up.
Two more weeks until June 1st and I can hardly stand it. I long for his hands to be on me. But he’s been the perfect gentleman, never pushing me to give more than what we’d agreed upon.
He came for Sunday dinner again and my mother is completely enamored with him. Of course it could be because she thinks he’s my dad.
And he’s trying with Stryker, too. No matter how much I know it hurts, he’s trying. He brings my son a stuffed animal representative of each city he visits. He’s still standoffish with him, however. Understandably so. But we’re a package deal. And no matter how much Brady and I get along, this will never work if he can’t fully accept my son.
My phone pings and I smile. Eleven o’clock. Just like always.
Brady: Did you catch the game?
Me: I saw the highlights. It looked good.
Brady: It was. God, Ry, you have no idea how much I want to be out there.
Me: I know you do. It will happen. You’re getting stronger every day.
Brady: You tell me that all the time. But it’s been almost three months and I still can’t throw a baseball better than my grandmother.
Me: That’s not true, Brady. You are throwing well. And once your grip comes back, you’ll be throwing better than before. Every single time I measure your hand, you improve. Every millimeter of progress you make is one step closer to your goal. Someone once told me that the best things in life are worth fighting for. You need to keep fighting and you’ll get what you want.
Brady: Are we still talking about baseball, Ry?
I reread my text and realize what I said. And I wonder if he thinks I’m worth fighting for.
Me: So you get back tomorrow, right?
Brady: Way to deflect the question. Yes, tomorrow. Is it okay if I come by for a minute and drop off Stryker’s animal?
Me: What is it this time?
Me: Wait. Let me guess. You are in San Diego … um, a seal?
Brady: Guess again.
Me: A sea lion?
Brady: Nothing from the water, but you’re close on the name.
Me: I give up.
Brady: A mountain lion.
Me: Really?
Brady: Yeah, San Diego is close to the desert. It was either that or a bobcat.
I look at the shelf where Stryker keeps all the stuffed animals Brady gives him. He gets so excited when he knows Brady is coming home. We often play guessing games on what kind of animal he’s going to bring. It’s been fun for Stryker. And surprisingly educational.
Me: Remind me never to go walking at night if I go there.
Brady: I’ll go with you if you do. I’ll always protect you, Rylee.
I know he will. I feel it. But the question is, can he ever feel the same about Stryker?
Brady: Are you still there?
Me: Yes.
Brady: I know you must be tired. I just wanted to say hi. I miss you, Ry.
Me: I suppose I miss you too.
Brady: You suppose? Come on, throw a guy a bone.
Me: Okay, fine. I miss you.
Brady: How much?
Me: Now you’re pushing your luck.
Brady: See you tomorrow night, Ry.
Me: See you then.
I put the phone down and think about how much I miss him. I miss the way he kisses me until he knows I can’t stand it and then he does something mundane like picks up a magazine or turns on the television like he didn’t just wreck me. I miss the way he follows my every move with his gorgeous brown eyes when he comes for physical therapy. I miss the way he holds my hand when he takes me to the movies.
I miss everything about him.
And I realize I also love everything about him. Or at least the man he’s proven himself to be.
I just wonder if he’s capable of loving me. Of loving anyone.
~ ~ ~
There’s a knock on my door. I check the time. It’s just after nine o’clock. He said he would stop by, but I figured he was too tired when he didn’t show up at the usual time.
I check the peep hole to make sure it’s him and I see a … mountain lion?
I laugh and open the door. Before he even says hello, he sweeps me into his arms and plants a kiss on me. But he releases me almost as hastily. “Oh, shit,” he whispers, looking past me into my apartment. “Is the little guy around?”
I shake my head. “He’s been asleep for an hour.”
A devious smile comes up Brady’s face. He picks up his duffle bag and drops it inside my door then he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the couch.
“How light of a sleeper is he?” he asks.
“A freight train couldn’t wake him.”
He laughs. Then he looks into my eyes. Deep into my eyes. I swear he’s telling me all the things he’s afraid to say out loud. And I’m saying them right back to him.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, leaning down to give me a proper kiss hello.
His kisses start out light and feathery. He explores my face with his lips. He tickles my eyelids with them. He traces a path down my jaw. He tastes the lobes of my ears.
I take his head into my hands and pull him towards my lips. I need to taste him. I need to feel the connection that I long for when he’s away. I force his lips onto mine. I kiss him long and hard.
My hands wander across his biceps, along his back, even down to the seat of his pants. His hands never leave my face, my shoulders, my arms.
When I can’t stand it any longer, I grab one of his hands and put it on my breast. “Touch me,” I say, breathlessly.
He pulls back. “Are you sure?”
I haven’t felt his touch on my body for far too long. I crave it. I need it. I grab his other hand and pull both of them to my chest. “Touch me,” I say again.
His eyes close as he feels me beneath his hands. I’m wearing a t-shirt and yoga pants. I didn’t bother with a bra so I know he can feel every part of me.
“Jesus, Ry. You’re incredible.”
“Put your hands under my shirt.”
He obliges without question, lifting my top to get a full view of what he’s touching. He stares first, before putting his hands back on me. He traces every inch of my creamy flesh with his eyes, causing my nipples to pucker.
He sees my reaction and reaches out to roll my nipples between his fingers. My head falls back against the couch at the sensation. And without thinking, I grab his shoulders and pull his head to my chest.
He takes me into his mouth, giving equal attention to both my breasts. The one he’s not tasting, he’s fondling. He licks and sucks and laves me until I’m squirming beneath him. My hand goes in search of his lap, needing more.
When I find what I’m looking for – when I find his manhood straining beneath his jeans, he stops me, removing my hand. “No, Ry. That’s not why I’m here.”
I question him with my eyes.
“We still have two more weeks,” he says.
My head falls forward in frustration. “What if I tell you we should change the rules?”
For a second, I see hunger in his eyes. For a second, he wants to change the rules, too. But then he pulls my shirt back down. “We’re not changing the rules. You’re not ready.”
“I am,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “Do you trust me, Ry?”
I study him. “I think I do.”
“That’s not good enough.”
He jumps up off the couch and holds his hand out to help me up. “Do you have a sitter this week?”
“Chloe can come on Tuesday if that’s okay.”
“Tuesday is perfect. I’ll pick you up at ten o’clock. I’m sorry it has to be so late.”
“I get it, Brady. You have to be at the games. It’s okay. But Chloe can only stay until eleven thirty.”
He leans down to kiss me. “That’s not nearly enough time with you, but I’ll take anything I can get.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
I shrug. “For understanding my schedule. For bringing presents for Stryker. For being patient even when I can’t be.”
He grabs his duffle bag and opens the door. “You’re worth it, Ry. You’re worth waiting for. You’re worth fighting for.”
I watch him walk down the hall before I retreat into my apartment. I lean against the wall wondering how this man could be so perfect.
Then again, however, maybe he’s not. How can a man go from being the playboy of baseball to being the ideal man in just a few months?
My father once told me a leopard never changes his spots.
But perhaps Brady never really had spots. Maybe his spots were camouflage, hiding who he truly is.
I go to bed and dream of my leopard, thinking that maybe I can be the one to break down the walls he’s built up around his heart. Hoping he has room left in that heart for two more people. Praying he can find his way to love me the way I love him.