Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
She smiles, a little giddy. “A big one. I love when you blow kisses for the fans.”
“I’ll do what I can to hit a home run for you, then.” I add a wink because I love my fans, and I am damn grateful to have them.
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” she says with a laugh. We stop near the exit and tie up loose ends. “A few details. We have the New York kickoff next month, but we’ll be sure to schedule it around your baseball games.”
“Excellent. I’m looking forward to that.”
“We’re so excited to show you off. It’s going to be a fantastic event.”
“Is . . .” But I stop myself from asking if Rafe will be there. If he wanted to see me, he’d reach out. He hasn’t. I’m not going to fish for intel.
I glance around the mostly empty warehouse. Besides, if Rafe isn’t here today, he probably won’t be at the New York event. Rafe is my past.
Baseball is my future.
That night at the ballpark, I put everything into the game. It pays off with a home run in the seventh. When I touch home plate, I blow a kiss to the stands.
A few innings later, we finish with a glorious W, clinching a playoff spot, and I rush the mound to pile into a hug with the pitcher, the catcher, and the rest of the team.
I am raring to go and celebrate with my teammates, but before I can hit the clubhouse, Erin, the sports reporter, pulls me aside for a quick interview on the sidelines.
“Congratulations on making the postseason. I know our viewers would love to know who the kiss was for tonight.”
This time it wasn’t for a secret lover.
“For a friend and a fan,” I say from the bottom of my heart.
I go inside the clubhouse with my teammates, high-fiving them and putting Rafe all the way behind me.
I’m sure he’s kicking ass as he works his new deal just like I’m kicking ass here on the field. Life is good. It’s so fucking good.
I don’t miss him.
I don’t miss him at all.
I don’t miss him one bit.
But when I get home and my phone flashes with a text, my insides jump with excitement. Maybe I do miss him a whole hell of a lot.
41
RUNNING FROM HIM
Rafe
I run along the River Thames, fog chasing me, tiny raindrops nicking my skin. My mobile is getting wet but I’m not putting it away for anything. The San Francisco Dragons are one out away from clinching a playoff spot, and I’m streaming the game. Gunnar said radio is better, but some things you need to see with your own eyes.
Like how he plays.
Gunnar mans third base, fierce concentration in his stance and the set of his jaw.
“C’mon,” I mutter, desperately hoping they win.
When the Devils batter delivers a sharp line drive Gunnar’s way, he lunges for it, sticking out his glove, and claiming that ball tight in the leather.
“Yes!”
I shout into the early dawn as Gunnar runs to embrace the pitcher, then the catcher, then the rest of the team. I beam at the melee on the mound. “Fucking yes!”
Another five AM runner smiles and gives me a nod then cruises on by. I keep running, watching the jubilation on the field. He must be ecstatic. I’m so damn happy for him but devastated I can’t be a part of his celebration.
A reporter pulls Gunnar aside and asks about his home run in the seventh.
When he answers that he blew that kiss for a friend, I nearly stumble. It’s as if a fist reached into my chest and ruthlessly squeezed my heart.
Who is this friend?
He first blew a kiss for me, dammit. It was a secret sign, and here I am, thousands of miles away as he does it for a friend.
I’m so ridiculously far away and still I can’t escape my feelings. I’m stupidly jealous and terribly empty when I should be happy.
I slow my pace to a jog, tuck the phone into my pocket, and gaze at the boats that cruise along the murky brown ribbon that cuts through my hometown.
Where are they going? Where are they coming from? What are they doing?
What am I doing?
I have meetings day and night while I’m here and a deal to finalize. But afterward, in the larger sense?
I don’t know how to navigate this empty ache in my chest when I return to San Francisco. I thought I was safe from my obsession. I’ve put an ocean between Gunnar and me. Yet he still occupies my head and my whole damn heart.
I take out my phone, click on my texts, and set my jealousy aside. Whether he’s with someone or not, I do want to congratulate him.
Rafe: Congratulations on winning your division. The postseason looks good on you. Also, that was quite a catch.