Bryant
THIS DATE HAS gone way better than I could have ever imagined. I haven’t decided yet if that’s good or bad. This woman could totally derail me. I have to focus on the series. I have to keep my head down, work hard, and do everything in my power to help this team make it to the World Series. She is a distraction I don’t need, but she’s pulling me in more and more, and I can’t deny the attraction I feel for her.
As soon as I pull up in front of her place, the energy around us becomes awkward. There is no denying the massive chemistry between us. I felt it the first time I laid eyes on her weeks ago when she walked into the bar. But no matter how much I want to bury myself in her so deep neither of us knows which way is up, I know I have to concentrate on my game. This is my last damn season, I can’t screw it up over a woman I barely know.
Walking her to the door, the air around us sizzles. I’m going to make sure she gets inside safely, and then I’ll turn and leave.
Focus.
Focus.
World Series.
Focus, Nash!
When she reaches the key to her door knob, my hands fly to her waist, halting her movements. Her body stills, but she doesn’t try to pull away from me. It surprises me the way she almost melts backward into me. With her body lightly pressed against mine, I can’t think straight.
Pulling her fully back into me, my head falls to her hair, breathing in her scent. A combination of peppermint and lemon, a scent I’m becoming a huge fan of.
“Bryant,” she whispers.
As much as my brain is screaming at me to run from this woman, my body is on a totally different playing field.
I’ve had sex with some of the most beautiful women in the world, and not one of them compares to the attraction I feel for Layne Scott. I’m not sure how to comprehend this. She is everything I never knew I wanted. She’s beautiful, but in a natural way, not in an over-the-top way. She’s smart. She loves sports. She genuinely cares about other people. She’s perfect.
I slowly turn her around in my arms so I can see her face. When her eyes meet mine, they are full of desire and it takes me less than a second to know kissing her is no longer only an option, it’s a necessity. The second my lips taste hers, my arms wrap around her waist, drawing her fully into me. She comes willingly, opening her lips to mine, allowing me to deepen the kiss. When I reach up and thread my fingers into her hair, her hands find their way to my chest, sliding down and around my waist. In less than a minute, I have her pinned to her front door, devouring her. The moment a tiny moan fall from her lips, my body freezes.
What the hell am I doing?
She must feel the change in my body language because she pulls away from me and places her hands on the door behind her like she’s steadying herself.
For several seconds, we both stand silent, trying to catch our breaths.
"What was that?” her voice whispers, nervousness lacing it.
“I dunno,” I reply, my voice sounding even deeper than normal. “I should go.”
I take several steps away from her before I hear her mumble something about knowing this was a bad idea, but I don’t stop. I need to focus. This is not focusing.
As my hand hits the car door handle, I hear her irritated voice.
“Hey, Slam!” I cringe at the name and turn back to her, watching as a smirk appears on her face. “Thanks for dinner.” And then she calmly walks through her now open front door and shuts it without another word.
Awesome.
What the hell was I thinking? This was not the plan. The plan was simple. Dinner, nothing more. Then I’d focus on the rest of the season. She’s messing with my focus.
Me: What are you doing?
Conor: Reading War & Peace. What are you doing?
Me: WTF?
Conor: Kidding. I’m sitting at home watching TV and drinking beer. S’up?
Me: I’m coming over.
Conor: By all means and bring more beer.
I need Conor’s advice. He’s been in relationship after relationship since I’ve known him. He was even married once a long time ago.
He’s going to bust my balls about this.
Here goes nothing.
PUSHING MY WAY through Conor’s front door, a half rack of beer in one hand and queso and chips in the other, he stares at me as I barrel into his kitchen.
“Nah, I don’t need any help, thanks.”
“Whatever. You can obviously still open a door by yourself. What do you need my help for?” he says with a laugh as he heads into the kitchen.
I know he’s heading straight for the queso, so I smack his hand when he reaches for it. He ignores me, grabbing it and the chips, before heading back to the couch.
After I put the beer in the fridge and make myself at home on the couch with one, Conor wastes no time before jumping into it.
“Spill it.”
“I don’t even know, dude,” I reply, pausing to take a deep breath. “Truthfully, I don’t know where to start.”
“Start with how the date went.”
“It was good. Great actually. We chatted and had a great time. Herein lies the problem.”
“I’m confused. What problem?”
“I don’t do relationships. You know this and you know why,” I snap.
“Wait. Who said anything about a relationship? You don’t have to have a relationship with every girl you take out on a date, dumbass.” He laughs before shoving a handful of chips and queso into his mouth.
“I know that!” With my elbows resting on my knees, I put my head down and press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to rub away the headache that’s setting in. “I really like this woman, and I shouldn’t. I need to stay away from her. I need to focus, and she doesn’t need someone like me in her life. She’s a mom for Christ’s sake!”
Conor freezes with the beer in his hand halfway to his mouth, before dropping it back to the table.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? She doesn’t need someone like you in her life?”
Maybe this conversation wasn’t what I needed.
“What can I offer her really? I’m a thirty-six-year-old ball player who’s avoided relationships his entire adult life. I thought once I retired maybe I wouldn’t be so opposed to a relationship, but then I got offered the coaching job, which means I’ll still be traveling with the team.” I shake my head at how pathetic my whining sounds.
“Dude, you know the right woman is going to accept you travel for your job. You only assume no woman will ever want to be in a relationship with someone who travels, or that all women cheat when their man is away, and it can’t work. It works with the right person.”
“What about what happened with you and Trish?” I ask, cringing at the sound of her name coming out of my mouth.
“You act like saying her name out loud will make her show up,” he chokes out through his laughter. “I was a stupid kid when I married her, man. She was hot arm-candy, and I misinterpreted it for love. Plus, it was a lesson learned.”
Trish is the crazy bitch Conor was married to. She was cheating on him from day one, but he wouldn’t believe it. I thought he was so in love with her he was blind to her bullshit. After one of our away games, he decided to come home a day early to surprise her and got the surprise of his life. Trish, in bed, with some random guy she’d picked up at the gym. When he caught them, her apology consisted of “but you’re gone so much and I have needs” and basically blamed it on him.
Their divorce took approximately three months from start to finish. He managed to take a few pictures with his cell phone before they could get dressed and had proof of her cheating. He wrote her a fairly hefty check to go away, and she did. Hasn’t heard from her since.
“Look, Bryant, relationships are amazing. The right ones. I’m gonna get a little sappy here. As much as I love baseball, I’m getting to a point in my life that I don’t want to be alone anymore. I’m looking for the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Not someone who is into me because I’m a baseball player, but because she likes to watch reruns on Netflix with me all weekend while eating pizza and drinking beer.”
I look at my best friend and realize the relationship train he’s been on lately makes a little more sense now. And spending time with Layne makes me understand exactly what he’s saying. She makes me feel comfortable. I don’t feel like I have to put up a front for her. She asks me questions about myself that have nothing to do with who I am as an athlete, although she likes baseball. Like for real.
“I need to meet this woman who has you tied up in knots,” Conor says with a smirk.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. I may have ruined any shot I had with her tonight.”
“What the hell did you do?” he barks out.
I replay the evening, leaving out no details. When I’m done, Conor has a smirk on his face the size of Texas.
“What?” I bite out.
“You really like this chick,” he replies. “Your face like, lights up and shit, when you talk about her. Now I really have to meet her. What’s the name of her bar?”
“Oh no, that’s not happening. Did you not hear what I said? She didn’t want to go out with me in the first place, and then I acted like an idiot. She probably will never speak to me again.” Even I hate the sound of my whining.
“Send her flowers. Chicks love flowers.”
This causes me to roll my eyes. “Hard pass. I don’t do flowers.”
“Well, you’re not doing her either, and if you want to get back on her good side, send her flowers.”
I shake my head before cracking open another beer. “So what are we watching?”
“What Happens in Vegas.”
“You’re watching a chick-flick?”
“It is not! Have you seen this movie? It’s freaking hilarious!”
For the next two hours, we drink beer, eat pizza, and watch Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz fight their feelings for each other.
When the chick-flick ending is over, I’m several beers in and it’s after midnight, so I decide to crash here.
Lying in Conor’s spare bedroom in the dark, the apartment completely quiet and still, I remind myself why I need to stay away from Layne. I have the rest of this season to concentrate on. I need to worry about getting to the World Series.
But the idea of seeing her beautiful face in the stands as I bring home the title keeps replaying in my mind.