I took an Uber early to Marseille Club for my professional dinner. The restaurant sat along the Chicago River in the downtown area, on Chicago’s historic Hubbard Street, which was home to many of the best restaurants in the Midwest. I had given Steve the heads-up that I was going to be meeting with Jake, and he even gave me the company card.

For the professional dinner (as I kept emphasizing to myself). I finally said, eff it, and wore the three-inch heels that I had been staring at in my closet since I got to Chicago. Wearing them put me in the six-foot-three range, which gave me the interesting experience of feeling like somewhat of an ogre towering over most of the people I walked past on the sidewalk. Eff it, because if I couldn’t wear them to a non-date with a six-foot-six baseball player, when would I ever wear them?

Plus, the heels went really well with my sleeveless cobalt sheath dress.

Amy was right. What was my problem? Why couldn’t I just enjoy the fact that a very entertaining, charming, and yes, sexy man was trying to take me out to dinner? I took a deep breath before heading inside and reminded myself of the new mantra I had adopted, thanks to Amy.

It’s about the journey, not the destination.

I went through the revolving door, past the coat check, to the host stand.

“Good evening, miss. What’s the name?”

“It should be under Napleton,” I said with a businesslike smile. I tried not to fidget with the strap of my purse.

The host, who was in a white suit coat and black tie, straightened his posture noticeably at hearing Jake’s last name.

“You’re with Jake Napleton?” he repeated, very slowly, as though he were having a hard time processing it.

“Yes,” I said flatly, staring back at him.

He arched an eyebrow at me, still not convinced. “The pitcher for the Chicago Jaguars.”

I tossed my long hair back, shot the man a Tennessee smile, and mustered my best Southern twang. “Only Jake Napleton I’ve ever met!”

He shook his head and touched his finger to the tablet he was holding. “Mr. Napleton has not checked in yet. You may wait in the lobby until he arrives. Thank you Miss, uhh...”

“Diggers. Andrea Diggers.” I sighed. Before I headed toward the lobby, I peered into the main dining room. The interior decoration was impeccable. Overhead was a glass roof that let in a fair amount of evening light. On the far side of the room there was a row of five booths that were slightly raised from the rest of the dining room. All of those raised booths were occupied, except for the booth in the middle. A giant kitschy-looking white-and-blue sign above the empty booth said YES, and nothing else.

My mind started to wander, wondering if the YES sign was some sort of subconscious marketing strategy to get diners to order more. I was about to dig into my purse for my phone and check the time when I felt a hand on my bare shoulder.

Must be Jake.

I turned around, and my heart nearly crawled up my throat when I saw the face of my ex-boyfriend—and the main reason I no longer dated baseball players—Grant Newman.

“Grant,” I said, feigning a smile. “Wow.”

“Not who you were expecting?” He flashed a grin at me and came in for a hug. “So good to see you!”

I angled my hips away from him and gave him a quick side hug. I felt so fake, going through the motions of politeness. I wanted to slap him and call him an asshole, but confrontation had never been my style.

“Really good to see you. How have you been?” he droned on.

I was an inch taller than Grant in my heels, and it felt so good, because he’d always been self-conscious about his height. Oh, how many days I’d daydreamed about what I would do and say when I saw him again. He’d been a senior and I’d been a junior when he’d crossed the line, forcing me to break up with him.

It wasn’t an easy decision, but in hindsight, I knew the breakup was for the best. He was controlling, possessive, and didn’t like anyone telling him no. I’d learned the hard way what that meant to a man like Grant. There came a point when I knew I had to stop making excuses for him, but sometimes, I’d remember the good times and forget how scary he could be when I defied him.

This was the moment I’d been dreaming of. He had a stupid smug look on his face. A tiny platinum blonde stood behind him, her boobs literally bigger than her head. I’d known he was in town for the four-day series with the Jaguars, and since then, I couldn’t forget the picture etched into my head—of him with a big smile on his face as he held up his Bulldogs jersey on draft day.

And it was hard to miss his face being rubbed into the dirt by my new client yesterday; I had taken a screenshot in my mind and saved the mental image for my own personal archives.

Jake was actually pulling on my heartstrings with his asshole behavior. It was hard for me to admit, but seeing Grant get a taste of his own medicine had been satisfying.

Though now, quietly, I was seething that he had the audacity—the effing nerve!—to ask me casually how I’ve been. After everything he’d done, he still acted like he was an angel. With his good looks, he got away with a lot. Knowing I was better off without him gave me confidence.

“Actually, I’m doing great, thanks,” I said, lifting my chin and batting my eyes. I gave his body a quick sweep. Was he always this short? Then again, I realized I was wearing three-inch heels. And I had Jake on my mind, so maybe that gave me a distorted sense of a normal person’s height.

“I’d really like to get together with you soon,” Grant said, on his best behavior.

I couldn’t believe how I’d pined after him for months, pathetically watching his Instagram updates with him and a new model every week. Seeing him in the flesh, ironically, was an affirmation that I had made the right choice.

“Are you sure your girlfriend here would be okay with that?” I motioned to the tiny blonde who was playing on her phone. I wondered if she had even heard what I said.

Grant’s face turned red. He was obviously shocked. “Oh come on, Andrea. You know we’re meant to get back together. Admit it.”

I stared at him, speechless. When Grant said things like this—in texts or through one of my social media accounts—it scared me, and I didn’t know how to respond. So I usually said nothing. I should block him and get a new phone number, but he wasn’t harassing about it. He always seemed to stay just on the outer edge, and I’d forget until he started up again. Like now.

He’d had a rough upbringing, and he was somewhat delusional at times, that was for sure. It was true he did have a hold on me for a long time, but not anymore. Just being around him put me in a stressful state. I could feel my heart rate elevating in his presence, like I needed to be on guard. My earlier confidence was gone. I needed an easy out to remove myself from the conversation, but there was nowhere to go in the small lobby where we waited. The air hung between us uncomfortably as his little blonde thing played on her phone, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. Either she didn’t notice or didn’t care. If Grant was willing to flirt so openly with me in front of her, my guess was that she was only his arm candy for the night.

Thankfully, Jake entered through the revolving doors. Somehow, all my anxiety and tension seemed to level out upon seeing him. Grant couldn’t see him because he had his back to the door, but I did, and it made me feel better. But I did a double take, thinking this might not actually be Jake Napleton, but instead, a model for one of those men’s razor blade commercials.

Up until that moment, I had only seen Jake in workout clothes or in his baseball uniform: sweaty, gritty-looking, and manly—a bastion of raw masculinity.

Tonight, on the other hand, I was shocked at the role change. He wore a light-blue chambray shirt with a tan vest and a dark chestnut suit coat. Below that, he had on white dress pants and brown loafers. The look suited him well, and made him appear to be half California beach boy, half New York businessman. I didn’t hate it.

His eyes roamed the room, and he ran his hand over his smooth face. I was pretty sure every single person in the lobby was watching him walk in, which was understandable. At six feet six inches tall, The Big Unit definitely stuck out.

Jake’s eyes found mine, and he instantly grinned from ear to ear. In fact, his whole face seemed to light up at seeing me.

A chill went through me involuntarily, from my toes all the way to the hairs on the top of my head. Was he smiling like that because he was looking at me? Or did he have some secret that he hadn’t let me in on? Jake, I was sensing, was going to be full of surprises.

He came toward me with long, confident strides, not even noticing Grant. But my ex noticed Jake, and he did not like it. That much was clear from the hard expression on his face.

“Hey, sorry I’m a few minutes late. God, you look amazing,” he said as he touched my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek. He brushed into Grant in the process. “I—”

He stopped speaking mid-sentence when he registered that Grant Newman was standing next to me. His eyes narrowed, and the smile disappeared for a moment. Then his grin returned, this time slightly sinister, as opposed to the pure joy he’d expressed when he had seen me.

Neither man extended a hand to the other.

“Grant,” he said in a low growl.

“Jake,” Grant returned, jaw tightening.

“I see you finally got the dirt off your face.” Jake smirked, relaxing his body. “Did your mommy wash it off for you? Because I hear you still live with her.”

I coughed, trying not to laugh, since I knew it was actually true that Grant hadn’t moved out on his own yet. He lived from hotel to hotel on the road. The platinum blonde was analyzing her nails, apparently bored while I was being thoroughly entertained.

“That was a cheap shot and you know it,” Grant said hotly, ignoring Jake’s dig.

I glanced down, seeing his hands fisted so tight, the knuckles had turned white. Now things were getting serious, because Grant knew how to use his fists, and he tended to lash out quickly.

“Ha. You have the nerve to charge me on the mound and say that I’m the one throwing cheap shots? We both know you were the one who should have gotten the suspension, not me.”

The tension in the air was so thick, I wanted to request that the chef come out here with his steak knife and cut it. Their “discussion” was also drawing the attention of people around us. People with phone cameras pointed our way. Great.

I touched Jake’s hand, and he blinked at me. “We should get to our table…” I said, signaling for him to end it and move on.

“What’s going on here? Are you two on a date?” Grant asked, scrunching his brow.

Jake turned to me, smiled, and arched an eyebrow, deferring to me to decide how I wanted to define the night.

I didn’t answer, looking Grant in the eye and leaving it open to his interpretation. When Jake took my hand in his, I didn’t shake him off. Grant’s expression was one of complete shock and disbelief.

Yes, I’m on a date with the guy who kicked your ass yesterday. Even if it wasn’t true, it felt good to wipe that smug look off his face.

“Well, we’re going to head in and enjoy our meal,” Jake said, so smooth and suave. Jake was standing a hair’s breadth from me, his other hand on the small of my back. Not many men could make me feel small, but next to him—even in my heels—I felt like I was tiny.

I was in a daze, my emotions all over the place. My face was warm, and I had to breathe in controlled breaths as Jake guided me away from Grant and his blonde. Disaster barely averted, in more ways than one.

“What was all that about?” Jake asked as the host took a couple of menus from the shelf for us while we waited at the stand.

“We…know each other from high school,” I muttered, then glanced over at him.

Jake gave me a surprised look. “You’re from the same town?”

I nodded stiffly. “It was a long time ago,” I said. Hopefully he’d take the hint that now was not the time I wanted to get into this.

Jake merely nodded, seemingly accepting my lack of a response, or maybe the look on my face was enough to scare him off the topic. He made a hook with his arm for me to grab as we walked to our table. “Shall we?” he said, with his classic easygoing smile.

It eased some of my stress away and I was grateful. I didn’t know if I was crossing the line, but I stuck my hand into that hook and wrapped it around his forearm. Besides, it kind of seemed like it was just a little Southern-style hospitality Jake was extending me. Date or non-date, he noticed that I was off-kilter in Grant’s presence and was attempting to steady me.

I should have guessed that they would seat us by the YES sign, which was the centerpiece of the entire restaurant. We ordered a bottle of wine to start. To be more specific, he let me pick whatever bottle I wanted and ordered it. I settled on a bottle I had never heard of in the two-hundred-dollar range called Stag’s Leap, because I liked the name.

“Good choice,” Jake said and smiled. But to my surprise, he declined a glass, sticking with water.

“You don’t like wine?”

“Not as much as beer, as you well know,” he said, giving me a big grin and a wink. I rolled my eyes. “But I don’t drink much unless I have an off day the next day. Otherwise, if I go out, I keep it to a three-beer limit.”

I was about to pounce on that when our waiter arrived. Since we hadn’t looked at our menus, he made a few suggestions.

After we ordered appetizers and the main course, I broke the ice with shop talk, which he instantly took to. We had baseball in common, and it was like talking to a whole new person. It was refreshing, and kind of hard to align with the Jake I knew, not just from my research, but with the way I’d viewed him since college.

Then, with him relaxed, I told Jake about my plan for his branding strategy. How he needed to ditch the frat boy image and keep his antics cleaner, or he was going to end up being the next Ryan Lochte. I also broached the topic of doing some brief interviews focused on a more personal side of him, where he wouldn’t be giving smartass, short answers, but he immediately balked at that idea. I wasn’t surprised, but I’d have to figure out a different approach. A sneaky one.

“I know you do things besides drink, sleep around, and play baseball,” I said, taking a little break from all the business talk. “At least, I really hope you do.”

He chuckled at that. “Not much.”

That was the typical non-answer he loved to give me. I tried from a different angle. “I know there’s more to you than shoving your opponents’ faces in the dirt. Tell me about the real Jake Napleton.”

His resistance was getting predictable. “Jesus, I feel like I’m doing a biographical interview on ESPN or something,” he said, frowning slightly at my choice of topic.

“It’s just you and me, Jake. Two people getting to know each other.” I paused, letting him absorb that. “So, where did you grow up?” I asked, thinking back to the team’s profile on him and all the Googling I had done, which offered little insight. I started off broadly. “Born and raised in Chicago…right?” Nothing. “Why baseball? From what I’ve read, you were pretty good at other sports, too.” Still, zero response. “I read somewhere you were in and out of the system. I think it was in an interview your sister did when she got a full ride to San Diego State—”

“We’re not doing this,” he said, cutting me off. He wasn’t disrespectful about it, just very firm. “My background really isn’t interesting at all, and I don’t like talking about it. End of story. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s just not something I like revisiting.”

Wow. Well that was a lot like running into a brick wall.

I leaned back in the booth and swirled the red wine around in its big glass.

Maybe I was pushing Jake too hard. “You know, I can actually relate to that. I have some stuff about my past I don’t like to bring up either.”

“Great. So you understand that there are some things about the past that are just better left alone and not discussed.” Jake took a sip of his water, as though to signal to me to move on. I could take a hint.

Jake was definitely interesting, and more complex then I’d initially thought. I was also beginning to realize that I’d been judging him through a lens that he provided. And he made it so easy. I learned from watching interviews at how evasive Jake was. In fact, he was an expert at it. Anything personal, and he became guarded, refusing to spill one little detail. His party persona off the field and his dirty plays on the mound were all people talked about, all they cared to discuss. Was it real? How much of it wasn’t? He had the same issues with his last team, the exact same, which was why he was traded. That had to have stung. Ultimately, his defensiveness was telling. While I could relate to not wanting to talk about certain things and let him win this round, we’d have to revisit it. If I didn’t know as much as I could about Jake, his re-branding would be next to impossible.

“Um, okay. Well, I do have another question—something I’ve been wondering about. Where were you going when you rushed out of the locker last Saturday?”

The appetizers came out right as I asked the question, providing a convenient out for him to shake me off. I sighed, wishing I’d come up with better ways to get him to open up.

“Handmade burrata cheese, housemade country pâté, and the local tomato and blue cheese salad,” our server announced as he filled the table. My tummy was rumbling, and I decided maybe now wasn’t the best time to press Jake on his personal life. He was, after all, being surprisingly cooperative in terms of my branding advice. Suspiciously cooperative, I thought.

I spread burrata over a piece of French bread.

“Enough about me,” he said, taking a sip of water. “Let’s talk about you. So you and Grant Newman went to high school together, huh? Were you also going to mention that you two went to college together, since I know you both went to Tennessee State?” He nodded in the direction of Grant’s table. I felt nervous when I looked in his direction and caught Grant staring right at us. Creepy.

I had taken a big bite just before he spoke, so I had to finish chewing. I chewed very slowly to eat up some time as I figured out how I would spin my conscious omission of the fact that, yes, Grant and I had attended the same university. I’m sure Jake approved of my delay tactics.

“Take your time, Diggs. Geez, the only time you aren’t awkward is apparently when you’re out there on the softball field stealing bases,” he jabbed with a smile.

I finished chewing and was finally able to talk without embarrassing myself. “That seems like a personal question. I thought we were keeping this dinner professional.”

He cocked his head and spread cheese on his piece of bread. The knife looked tiny, and that was when I realized how absolutely humongous his hands were.

“So you’re saying you and Grant know each other personally? Interesting.”

I could barely stutter a coherent word, realizing that I had subconsciously provided Jake with more information than I wanted to. He grinned, knowing he had just backed me into a corner.

“Listen, you obviously don’t want to talk about it, whatever it is that happened between you and him. And that’s fine. The only reason I care is because my, uh, friend, wants to take you on a real date sometime in the future, if you’d let him. And it’s really important for him to know. Especially because I—I mean, my friend, who wants to take you on a real date—is under the impression that you don’t date players.”

I picked up my wine glass, swirled it again, and took in its aroma. “Oh. So this friend of yours is a player.”

“Yes. He is.”

“Is he a clean player or a dirty player?”

“My friend is as clean as they come. He’s not a cheater, if that’s what you mean. And he’s extremely loyal to those who earn his trust. He does have a tendency to rub some players’ faces into the dirt, however. But only when they deserve it. Like Pudge over there.”

Jake thumbed toward Grant, who shot us another dirty look. My heart began to speed up, and I didn’t know if it was because I was sitting across the table from a man I was incredibly attracted to, or if it was the fact that the man who had left me with emotional scars was sitting twenty feet away.

“You’re killing me, Newman!” Jake quietly belted in the direction of Grant’s table, loud enough for Grant to hear, but quiet enough not to make a scene. Then he turned toward me. “Of all the places he could have eaten tonight. Pretty goddamn coincidental if you ask me.”

When I thought about it, it was pretty darn coincidental. Perhaps too coincidental?

No. I was getting paranoid again, like I used to be when I was dating Grant. But then I glanced across the room and saw Grant gazing—no, glaring—at me. At us.

I extended my hand across the table and touched Jake’s forearm, which he was resting on the table.

It felt good to touch Jake, even if it was just his arm. His eyes searched mine for a signal that would indicate he might actually be making headway with me in the romantic department. I kept my gaze neutral, trying not to give away my position. Not like I knew exactly what position that was, anyway. The simple fact was that he had a magnetism about him that comforted me and drew me in.

“You have ginormous hands,” I said, wrapping a hand around one of his fingers. He, of course, took it a step further and wrapped his around mine.

“I thank God every day for these hands. They make me able to throw a hell of a curveball, and an even better cut fastball.” He flashed me a grin.

“Do you need big hands to throw a cut fastball?” I asked. I’d heard the name of the pitch thrown around a lot by my brothers, but I wasn’t sure how the grip was performed on the ball.

“If you have small hands, you can’t get them all the way around the ball, and it won’t work. You need to be able to wrap your two big fingers all the way around the ball. Like this.”

He balled my hand up into a fist and wrapped his huge index and middle fingers around it. I couldn’t concentrate on what he was showing me, or anything going on around me, for that matter. I wondered if Grant was still looking at us, but I didn’t really care anymore. Outside of Jake and me, everything went blurry.

I stared into Jake’s eyes, which were traveling all around my arms, hand, and face. His deep voice kept speaking, saying words that I no longer understood, and his enthusiasm for talking baseball was evident. I didn’t give a damn what he was saying. He could have been explaining Einstein’s theory of relativity—and I still would have been smiling and nodding.

All I could picture—all I could think of—was how those fingers would feel wrapped around my waist. Interlocking with my fingers. Caressing me behind my neck and pulling on my hair. I wondered how they would feel traveling down the sides of my abdomen, down the lengths of my thighs and calves, and back up.

His fingers were strong and rugged, yet long like a piano player’s.

Something strange was happening inside me. I felt overheated, and my stomach churned as sheer panic enveloped me. I was thinking things I hadn’t thought in a year. Things I wasn’t sure I wanted to think again for a very long time, if ever. I could feel Grant’s eyes. His presence was ruining this, and I was letting him affect my mood. Suddenly, this dinner date, or whatever this was, was a bad idea. Jake wasn’t Grant, but this was me likely repeating the same mistake if I didn’t stop it. Sure, Jake was as charming as Don Juan, but I had a very good reason for not dating players. And I couldn’t break my rules. But I also couldn’t control myself with Jake.

This was a very bad combination.

I yanked my hand away from his suddenly.

“I’m sorry Jake, I have to go,” I said, standing up abruptly and grabbing my purse.

I’d never seen a man look so shocked. “Are you okay?”

No, I’m really not. “I just realized that I forgot to…respond…to...an email...”

My voice trailed off as we stared at each other, but I felt pulled by his gaze, and I had to look away. All I wanted was to run…away from Jake and the fact that I let this dinner become more than it should have. To Jake, I was just a girl he wanted to get into bed. For me, he was stirring up things I didn’t want stirred up anytime soon. As in, never.

“An email?” he asked slowly, confused. “Don’t you have email on your phone?”

“Yes. I mean, no. It’s complicated,” I rambled, probably sounding like a crazy woman.

Jake ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his booth. “What’s this really about, Andrea?”

Great question, but I wasn’t about to get in depth about my true history with Grant and why he made me want to remove myself from this restaurant in typical, awkward Andrea fashion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about…” Why the heck was I even still standing there? “Gotta run though. Byyeeiiii.”

I walked briskly into the lobby and through the revolving doors.

As soon as I was out of eyeshot of the restaurant, I ran. Tears started to stream down my face uncontrollably. I hailed a cab and gave the driver Amy’s address.