Bryant
WATCHING HER WALK away three days ago was torture. I’ve resisted texting or calling her because I don’t want to spook her. Since the moment I realized how deep my feelings for her are, I became a coward. I hid behind the excuse that traveling and baseball were not good enough for her and Gracie. That I needed to focus on the game. But the truth is, Conor was completely right when he called me out on my shit. I can’t focus on anything but her, and it’s not because we’re together. It’s because I watched her give up and did nothing to stop her.
I knew the moment she turned away from me in the hospital I was making a mistake by not fixing things immediately. But I felt like I had time.
Until this moment.
Because as I sit watching her, my dinner growing cold, I can’t tear my eyes away from her. She looks so beautiful, eating dinner across from another man.
Her hair is down in big flowing curls, and she has more makeup on than I’ve ever seen her wear. She has on a black dress that hugs her body in all the right places. Her eyes sparkle as she laughs at something the man says to her, and I instantly want to rip his throat out for thinking he has the right to talk to her. To my Layne. But she’s not mine, and that’s my fault. The guy looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.
They continue to talk and flirt, and I continue to drink more beer than I should considering I have practice tomorrow morning.
For the last hour, I’ve been hoping she’ll look this way and see me. But her eyes have not strayed from him. She’s giving him all of her attention, and it makes my heart fall a little more. She really likes this guy.
On the one hand, I want to storm over there, pull her into my arms, and profess my feelings for her. But on the other hand, she looks so happy, and it makes me wonder once again if walking away from her would be the best thing for her.
Nope.
I’m not letting myself go there again. I need to talk to her, but right now is not the time. She is on a date, and it would be a total dick move to go over and interrupt.
I pick at my cold food, my stomach not so happy about the amount of beer and the lack of food in it. Probably wasn’t the best idea. My interior rant gets me sidetracked, and when I look up, Layne is heading to the restrooms.
I quickly pull my phone from my pocket and shoot her a text.
Me: How are you?
I set my phone down and finish my cold dinner. I need to get out of here before more beer finds its way to my table.
Layne: I’m good. How are you?
I’m pretty surprised she responded. Last time we spoke sounded pretty final.
Me: I’m okay, but I miss my friend.
Is that an asshole thing to say? Maybe. Do I care? Not at this point, no.
Layne: You have plenty of friends. Tell Conor I said hi.
I’m not sure how to respond, and so I don’t, and within seconds she’s returning from the restroom. I wave the waitress over and ask for my bill. As she hurries away, I send Layne another message. For some reason, I need to know if she’ll tell me about the date.
Me: What are you doing tonight?
I watch her flinch when her phone vibrates on the table. She picks it up, looks at my text and then sets her phone back down without responding. She’s not going to be rude and text me back while she’s sitting with her date. As the waitress arrives with my bill, I see movement from their table, and when I peek over, Layne’s date is stepping away from the table and heading to the restrooms.
Layne picks up her phone, and a second later my phone vibrates.
Layne: I’m on a date.
I can’t say I’m surprised she’s being honest with me. She made it damn clear what she is looking for a few days ago. Dickhead comes back to the table a few minutes later as I’m gathering my things to leave. He takes her hand and leads her to the front door.
In my beer-induced state, I figure sending one more text is a good idea.
Me: You look beautiful tonight. I hope he told you that.
I wait until they are out the door before I hit Send. As they wait out front for valet to bring around his car, I watch them through the front windows, unable to take my eyes off her beautiful face. When she pulls her phone from her pocket, I’m shocked when a small smile spreads across her lips and she turns around, staring into the window I’m behind.
When her eyes connect with mine, I give her a flirty smile before winking and turning away. I can feel her eyes on me as I make my way through the restaurant, heading for the other door.
I need to talk to her, and soon. Dickhead is a major road bump.
THE HOT WATER from the shower is cathartic. Rubbing shampoo through my hair, I pull at it, trying to rid my thoughts of what is going on at the end of Layne’s date. Is he kissing her? Is she letting him touch her?
Letting my mind drift back to the night I had her pinned to her front door, the memory of her moans and her demanding kisses has me hard as a rock. Running my hand down my stomach to where the throbbing is, I take my shaft into my right hand and groan at the sensitivity. Slowly stroking my flesh, I hear her soft moans in my mind, the way she clawed at me and let me press her body against the door makes my release come quickly.
The idea anyone other than me is touching her makes me feel a little bit crazy. I finish cleaning up in the shower and quickly dry off, throwing on my favorite sweats. The moment my eyes connect with my lit-up phone, I can’t help but smile that it might be Layne.
And then the smile fades because it’s Conor.
Conor: You talk to her yet?
Me: No. Believe it or not, I just witnessed her on a date.
Conor: Oh hell. Are you drunk now?
Me: No, but if we didn’t have practice first thing tomorrow, I would be. I need to talk to her.
Conor: I told you that already. Pull your head out of your ass.
Me: Thanks for the pep talk. Go to bed.
Conor: You’re welcome… and stop being a pussy and call her before I go tell her you’re in love with her and embarrass the shit out of you.
Me: Fuck off.
Conor: Get some rest.
I throw my phone on the end of my bed and go back into the now cold bathroom to brush my teeth. Unable to keep my mind from wandering to what she’s doing right now, I switch on the TV and try to lose myself in something other than my self-loathing.
When my phone lights up again, I roll my eyes, reaching for it and wondering what torture I’ll be subjected to from Conor this time, but freeze when I see Layne’s name instead.
Layne: Thank you. He did tell me I looked beautiful, since you were wondering.
Me: Good. My hate for him has dropped a skoosh. Are you at home now?
Layne: Yep. Are you okay?
Me: Are you alone?
Layne: I feel like this is a question that opens so many doors to a discussion I don’t think we want to have.
Me: I only want to know if he’s staying the night.
Layne: Why?
Me: So I can torture myself.
She doesn’t respond for several minutes, and I’m afraid I’ve pissed her off. I’m fidgeting with the remote, trying to find something to watch, when my phone chimes and I almost hurt myself trying to get the text open.
Layne: I’m alone, Bryant. I don’t jump into bed with everyone who pays attention to me.
Ouch. Okay. She thinks I think she’s a slut. Not good.
Me: I know. But I don’t know how long you’ve known this guy or how long you’ve been dating him. We don’t really talk about relationship shit.
I watch as the text is delivered, read, and then the bubbles pop up showing she is typing. Type. Bubbles. No bubbles. Type again. Bubble disappears. Type.
Layne: It was our first date, but I doubt it will be our last. He’s a nice guy.
Fuck.
Me: I need to talk to you.
Layne: So talk.
Me: No, like in person. I need to tell you some things. Can I come over?
I watch as she starts and stops typing several times over a few minutes before she finally sends a reply.
Layne: Can we meet in the morning for coffee?
Me: I start final prep training tomorrow morning and then things get crazy.
Me: Please.
Me: I can’t go into tomorrow without seeing you.
Layne: It’s almost eleven.
Me: Please.
Layne: Fine.
Me: Be there in 20.
ALTHOUGH I’M NERVOUS as hell to tell her how I feel after the shit I’ve put her through, I’m also ready to not feel like I’m living in limbo. I’d convinced myself I was not the settling down type, but as soon as Layne walked into my life, I knew she was special, even when I was trying to fight it.
I’ve watched too many of my friends swear they’ve found “the one” only to turn around six months later and cheat on their “one” and ruin it all. I’ve seen friends swear they were marrying their soul mate, only to turn around a year later and file for divorce because they do nothing but fight. I’ve never wanted to be in that position.
What I’ve realized in the short few months I’ve known Layne is those people had no idea what they were doing. That wasn’t their “one” or “soul mate,” it was the person they were attracted to at the time. I mean, who am I to judge whether they were actually in love with each other or not. Maybe they were just convenient.
What I do know is Layne is the only woman that has ever made me want “that life.” The one with the white picket fence and two point five kids. The normal job so I can come home every night and hug a wife who loves me and enjoy the normalcy of life with.
When did I become this person?
I’ve always loved traveling and have never had the desire to have roots, until Layne and her beautiful soul came into my life.
The walk from my car to her front porch seems a mile long. There is one small light on in the kitchen area, and I can see shadows flickering around through the window. I assume Gracie is with her dad since Layne was out tonight.
Knocking softly in case she’s not, my heart starts to race when I hear the locks on the door clicking.
My brain goes haywire at the sight of her. Her face is scrubbed of all the makeup she had on earlier, her hair is up in a huge messy knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing a tank top and loose fitting sweats hanging low on her hips. She’s breathtaking, and everything I want to wake up to every single morning.
There is no stopping me at this point, I step inside easily and shut the door behind me before leaning back against it.
I can see by the rise and fall of her chest she has the same reaction. She feels the same electricity between us.
For a few moments, we stare at each other, neither making a move nor saying a word. This is the moment that will either bring us together or help me say goodbye.
My throat is suddenly drier than the Sahara. Does she even understand what she does to me?
My whole life has revolved around baseball. I’ve been selfish about it, giving all of my energy and attention to baseball for as long as I can remember. The only reason I have such a good relationship with Conor is because we are together all the time. I’ve watched Conor try to find “the one” for so long I feel like I’d do a better job of picking a woman for him than he does.
Holding out my hand to her, I’m relieved when she takes it and turns to the kitchen. She must be reading my mind because she pulls two Blue Moons from the fridge, handing me one. I take a seat at the kitchen bar, never taking my eyes off of her.
“Want an orange to go with it?” she asks, her voice a little tight.
“Sure,” I whisper. My voice is failing me. It’s like my brain realizes I’m about to word vomit all of my feelings for her and is making it harder.
She pulls an orange from the fruit rack on her counter and cuts it into wedges, before pulling frosted glasses from the freezer. She squeezes one wedge into each of the glasses, before handing me one. I watch her as she tilts her glass to the side to pour the beer into it without leaving too much head on top.
She takes a long, slow drink from it before her eyes lift to mine. She looks unsure of me and worried about this conversation. I break eye contact long enough to take a big gulp of beer, the coldness calming my parched throat immediately.
“So, you said you needed to talk to me about some things,” she leads the conversation. By the tone of her voice and the posture she’s carrying, I can tell she’s nervous. She shouldn’t be. I’m the one who’s nervous. What if she laughs in my face and tells me I’m crazy? What if she doesn’t feel the same way?
“Um, yeah. I wanted to talk to you before things get crazy tomorrow. I won’t have an opportunity again before the big games start.”
She doesn’t respond, but nods in understanding.
“The thing is, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I said a few weeks ago. About just being friends.” I pause, taking a deep breath before returning my attention to her, her eyes widening in concern. “I was wrong.”
“I don’t understand. Wrong about what?” Her cheeks are turning a lovely shade of pink, and I know she knows what I’m saying. She wants to hear the words.
“My entire life, baseball has been my focus. I’ve never wanted to plant roots somewhere, and have never wanted someone waiting at home for me to screw up. I’ve spent so many years watching my friends and teammates lose everything after botched relationships, one after the other. Being in a relationship with a ball player probably isn’t the easiest thing in the world, but they all sign up for it knowing what it means, and what it entails. I never wanted that kind of life. I didn’t want to worry if my girlfriend or wife was at home banging the pool boy because I was never home to give her the attention she desired.” I chug down a large portion of the beer and set it down on the countertop, wiping the cold condensation from the side with my thumb.
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this now. We kinda skimmed over this when you told me you weren’t looking for a relationship. I get it.” Her tone is irritated and her face a little more on the angry side. She throws back the little bit of beer left in her glass before turning away from me to put it in the sink.
“Wait,” I stumble out. “That’s what I’m trying to explain. In the past, I’ve never wanted that.” She doesn’t turn back around to face me, and my first instinct is to wrap her in my arms, but I don’t. I continue before she gets mad and kicks me out.
“Layne, look at me,” I say gently. As if in slow motion, she turns to me, tears in her eyes she is refusing to let go of. “I’ve never wanted it before. But over the past few months of knowing you, I’ve realized something about myself. You’ve made me realize something. I’ve been a coward. I watched too many of my friends get hurt by relationships, and I didn’t want to go there because I was scared. You make me want more. You are worth the risk of having my heart broken.”
Her eyes go wide and her chin quivers enough for me to notice.
“But you said you’d never want a serious relationship,” she whispers.
“I know what I said. But I was wrong. When I heard Gracie was hurt, a child I’d never met but already feel attached to, all I could think about was getting to you both. I had to know you were both okay.” I close my eyes and scrub my hands down my face, scratching my beard in irritation. This is harder than I thought. “When I saw you having dinner with dickhead tonight, I literally felt sick to my stomach. The way you looked at him and laughed with him made me see I was losing you before my very eyes. Losing you because I was too much of a chickenshit to admit how I feel about you.”
Something in her eyes changes and her gaze turns into a glare. “So, seeing me with another man made you jealous. That’s basically what you’re telling me. It made you jealous enough to want to come to my house in the middle of the night to tell me you now want a relationship with me?” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “That’s not caring about someone, Bryant. That’s rivalry and childish. You actually had me believing for a moment you really had changed your thoughts about relationships, but I see now it was jealousy.”
“That’s not it, Layne. You’ve got it wrong,” I stumble out. “But I won’t lie and say seeing you with him didn’t make me realize I’ve been an idiot. I’ve been telling myself since the day I walked into your bar that I am not good for you and Gracie. You need stability and someone who’s going to be around and not traveling all the time. You don’t need the bullshit that comes along with being in a relationship with an MLB player.”
I know I’ve said something wrong the minute that her face starts to turn blood red. Her eyes turn into slits as she glares at me and her mouth becomes a firm line of distaste.
Oh shit. What did I say?
“This is a perfect example of why a relationship with me would never work for you, Slam,” she snarls, making me cringe at both her anger and her use of my shitty old nickname. “You don’t get to tell me what I need. You have no say in my decisions. You don’t know what’s good for me and Gracie and what isn’t. What you are good at is being afraid, and that is something I definitely don’t need in my life. Our lives. You making a snap decision to tell me you now think you’re ready to try out a relationship only after you saw me with another man is absolutely ludicrous. In two weeks, you’ll change your mind when you see a hot piece of ass to chase, and then where will that leave me? Still alone.” Her voice has gone from angry to sad in her tirade. Man, she’s really pissed.
“You’re wrong. I would never do that,” I say strongly. “I may be afraid of relationships, but I’m not someone who makes rash decisions. This wasn’t a decision I made only because I saw you with him. I’d already been thinking about what an idiot I was being when I saw you two at dinner.”
She looks less irritated but still not convinced. She doesn’t trust me, when I’ve been nothing but 100 percent honest with her from day one about how I feel about relationships. For her to doubt my sincerity right now irritates the shit out of me.
“Look, I appreciate you care about me and Gracie, I really do. But I think you are confusing your feelings for me with being attracted to someone you can’t have.”
I almost argue with her. My mouth opens and closes several times to retort, but I know this conversation is not helping her understand what I need her to understand. Maybe this was a bad idea. She’s too worked up to have this conversation anymore. She’s mad.
After racking my brain for several quiet minutes, I move from the stool and walk slowly to her. She moves back, stopping when she’s pressed against the counter. I need her to let go of some of her anger, and the only way I can think of is to kiss the hell out of her. Both times I’ve kissed her, she’s turned into a puddle in my arms.
When my hands are buried in the back of her hair, making her mouth open in a gasp, I waste no time sealing my lips over hers. Her body instantly tenses, her hands coming to my chest, slightly pushing me away. It only takes a few seconds before she relaxes into my hold. When I can feel the tension release completely from her body, I pull away, placing a few tender nibbles to her bottom lip before watching her eyes open slowly. They’re filled with lust, and I almost hate I’m going to have to back away from her. I’d give anything to have her under me. But we aren’t there yet, and I won’t chance her hating me afterward.
“Promise me when the games are over and the craziness has settled, you won’t be married to the dickhead, and you’ll give me a chance to prove to you I’m serious.”
The anger that was in her stare a few minutes ago has transformed into a look of skepticism instead.
“I’m not jumping into anything with anybody. But I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I won’t go out with him again. His name is Malcolm, by the way. He’s a good guy, so stop calling him a dickhead.”
The growl that comes out of me even surprises me. “Please keep an open mind about us dating. I get you don’t believe I’m fully serious about this, but I’m going to prove it to you. You’ll see.” I place another tender kiss to her lips, but this time she doesn’t melt into it. She returns it chastely and pulls back.
“I’ll keep an open mind,” she whispers. I place another quick kiss to her lips before grabbing my glass, downing the rest of it, and placing it in the sink.
She heads for the entryway with me, and I feel a little less unsettled about leaving when she gives me a genuine smile before allowing me to kiss her cheek one last time.
“I mean it, Layne. Please don’t count me out yet. Let me try.”
“I will. Now go win the World Series. We’ll talk when things settle down.”
I remain silent, unsure of what else to say. I laid my feelings out there, and she didn’t tell me to fuck off, so I guess it’s a step in the right direction.
When I’m almost to my car, I turn back to the house and see she’s standing on the front porch watching me. She waves before turning and going inside.
That was painful, and she’s going to make me work for it. The thing is, I expect her to. She’s an amazing woman, and just handing her heart away is not something she’ll do. She’s smart and determined, and the ache in my stomach at the thought of her finding happiness with someone other than me is killing me. My dad was right.
Malcolm might be a nice guy, but does he make her feel like I do? I think not.
By the time I get home, I’ve orchestrated a plan. A good one that will show her how serious I am.