by Alexis Anne
How many times could someone die in a conversation? I was now at three. I hoped I lived through it so I could take this project. “Again, thank you so much, Carmen. Your praise means everything to me.”
“So you’ll consider it?”
“Absolutely. What will the schedule look like?”
“I’ll warn you first. It’s intense. I have twenty-five interviews set up over the next four months, plus about a dozen locations to shoot. If things go as planned this will take up a better part of your next six months.”
I knew I should think about how I was going to be there for Linc and do this much traveling, but all my brain could process was that this was a chance of a lifetime. In the back of my mind I could hear a miniature version of myself chanting “hypocrite” over and over. I shushed her with the reminder this was a one-time project, not a lifestyle.
“Can you send me the agenda?”
“I’ll send you all the details and a contract to your agent. I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better, Olivia.”
I stared at the computer for a long time after the call ended. I was still sitting there when Carmen’s email pinged into my inbox with all the information I’d need to make a formal decision and start planning a very different life for the next few months. A quick scan of the agenda calmed my nerves. Yes, I’d be gone a lot, but it was all manageable. Summer was taking a break from touring to record her next album, so she’d be able to cover most of this.
Chris would probably happily help, too. The thought popped into my head and while I knew it was true it also reminded me of how I was asking him to prove he would be around all while I was about to spend time away.
And of course Beau would be available as well once football season was over, but picturing him trying to be happy here even for an occasional week made me cringe.
But then I thought about how alive I felt these last few weeks. I was off the shelf, the dust cleared away. I followed my creativity and my heart. I couldn’t put myself back into cold storage because I was afraid of a few complications.
Right?
This project was the opportunity of a lifetime. It was the kind of platform that could open doors for me I didn’t even know existed. But it would also take me away from Chris just when we finally had a chance to spend real time together.
I closed the agenda and paced around my office, trying to clear my mind of possibilities and doubts. And when I couldn’t think straight, I called my little sister.
I rounded the kitchen counter with a bowl of popcorn. “So what’s your sisterly advice?” I’d just finished pouring my heart out to Summer. All the sordid details of how I gave Chris the green light, a quick overview of the night, and our earlier phone call. Then I dropped the Carmen Ayres documentary news.
Summer grabbed a handful and began thoughtfully munching. “You’re falling for him. And from the sound of it, he’s already fallen for you. I don’t see what the problem is.”
I sighed because I made my concerns—and Chris’s—abundantly clear. “His lifestyle, my past, this little thing called my son…”
“Yes, I heard all that the first time. I still don’t see what the problem is. He’s not Beau. I love Beau, but you two were never going to grow old together. You were always friends first and foremost. He loves nightlife and parties. You...don’t. And now you’ve found someone just as happy with a quiet island as you. Someone who seems to really like Linc. I’m all for taking your time because you do have Linc to think about, but I don’t see how self torture is going to do anything but make you both miserable unnecessarily.”
The last thing I wanted was unnecessary misery. “I wish I had a crystal ball that could tell me everything works out in the end.”
“Olivia, everyone wants that. No one has one. We’re all taking leaps of faith. Do you think agreeing to that world tour was easy? It meant delaying my next album, but it also meant exposure I’ve never had before. It was a risk and I’m still not a hundred percent it was the right thing to do.”
She never once mentioned doubts about the tour. Summer was all confidence from the moment she announced her decision to the day she came home. “Well for what it’s worth I think it was the right thing for your career. I just...ever since I found out I was pregnant, I get stuck whenever something isn’t clear. I know I have this overly intense maternal instinct, and I try talking to myself logically, but nothing terrifies me more than making a choice that negatively impacts Linc’s life.”
Summer frowned. “You have analysis paralysis, sister dear. And as you well know, that is the death of creativity and good times.”
Our parents used to say that all the time. Seeing our interest in the arts, they took it upon themselves to guide us early on. According to them, the world is deprived of the art it deserves because too many creators are spending all their time striving to be better, to find perfection that will never come.
Was I striving to be a better mother, to find maternal perfection? It was entirely possible.
“But you want to know what I really think?” Summer scooped up another handful of popcorn and sat back, dropping one kernel at a time into her mouth.
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what she had to say. At all. But Summer didn’t offer up advice unless she thought it was important. So I steeled myself. “What do you really think?”
“I think you use Linc as a shield. You love it here, but you also hide here with Linc as an excuse so you can justify not dating, not traveling, not putting yourself out there. And you can do that because we’re lucky enough to have paying careers in the arts. Even without Beau in your life you could have made ends meet with just your celebrity photography business.”
Guilt started to paint over my doubts. Here I was debating the merits of dating Chris and taking a job with a famous filmmaker, meanwhile there were artists all over the world struggling to be noticed.
“You’re privileged to be able to choose your projects, to be able to stay home with Linc, to hide here. That privilege naturally makes small problems into big ones.” She sighed and squeezed my hand. “And I’m not trying to diminish your problems. They’re yours and they are real, but debating whether you can trust a smokin’ hot ballplayer who lives next door and has already professed undying devotion to you, is small potatoes compared to wondering where your next meal is coming from. Take the job. Let us help you. Stop hiding.”
14
A man with only one night
Chris
Throughout the interviews, the parades, and everything else, there was something distant about Olivia. She was there. We talked. She brought Linc to the parade. But there was something in her eyes that had changed. It had me nervous, especially when she invited me over for dinner my first night back.
Alone.
Just the two of us. Linc was at his dad’s.
It felt final. And I was never going to be okay with final. Of course I had no idea what was going on. She could throw herself at me, declare her undying love, and insist we get married this weekend. I liked the second option. It was a very different kind of final.
“Hello?” I called out. She texted and asked me to come in the back. The house smelled delicious and I could see our meal set out at a table all properly set with a tablecloth, wine, and a plate of caprese. Liv was real proud of her tomato and basil crop this year and often had this prepared as an appetizer. It was just one of the little things I knew about her, loved about her.
“Hi! I’m here!” She came rushing out of the hallway that led to her bedroom. And fuck she was a sight, her hair down and straight, just a little makeup, and a comfortable sundress. “Oh is that for Linc?”
I looked down at the bag of souvenirs in my hands. I completely forgot I was holding the thing. “Uh, yeah. World Series merch. There were some limited edition badges and stuff around. I made him a bag.”
“Thank you.” She took it without quite looking at me, and definitely not kissing me. Then hurried into the kitchen to
check a pot on the stove. “I made stir fry. It’s an unusual recipe but it’s amazing. I promise.”
“You have yet to make me anything but amazing.”
“Can you pour the wine?”
“Of course.” I sampled some tomato and mozzarella as I uncorked the bottle and served us each up a glass. “Everything smells delicious.” But her distance was only making me more nervous.
“I have something to tell you!” she blurted out, her cheeks flaming red.
I steeled myself. “Okay.”
“Drink some wine first.”
Definitely not good. I handed her a glass and we each sipped. “Don’t leave me hanging, Liv.”
Her eyes darted down and away, avoiding me. “I got offered a job. An amazing job!” She took another sip of wine. “It will mean a lot of travel for the next few months.”
I heard all the words she said, but they ended up scrambled in my brain, mostly because they weren’t what I was expecting. At all. “A job? What kind of job?”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, breathless when she finally spoke. “A dream job. My work these last few weeks caught her eye and she—Carmen Ayres who is my very favorite documentarian—offered me a job as photographer for her next project. It’s about baseball and she said they couldn’t find anyone who captured the sport the way I do.”
I didn’t need to fully understand everything she said to get that it was a big deal to Liv. Maybe even the opportunity of a lifetime. “This is great news.”
“It is. At least I think so. It will complicate everything though.”
I wanted to touch her. To soothe her. But the way she held herself away from me still set alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind. “Why don’t you tell me everything over dinner.”
“Yes,” she began nodding over and over, “yes, that’s a good idea.”
And that’s how we spent the next hour. We ate slowly and drank a lot of wine, which also loosened up our shared anxiety about seeing each other. She explained who Carmen Ayres was and why she was a hero of Liv’s, all the project details, and finally her worries.
“I’m always going to be nervous about how change affects Linc.”
“He’s a happy kid. I don’t think this is going to affect his life.”
She smirked. “Are you saying I’m irrelevant.”
“You know I’m not.” I shot her a look that told her I thought she was very relevant.
“Intellectually I know six months is nothing, plus seeing his mother pursue her dreams with as much excitement as his father does will be very healthy for him, but…” she went back to worrying her lip.
“But?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m a control freak. I’m having trouble with the idea that someone else will pick him up from school. Someone else will tuck him in at night.”
“His life will be richer, not poorer, for having more people in it.”
She blinked at me. “You’re right.”
“What else worries you?”
She glanced away from me, taking a slow, deep breath and blowing it back out. “You’re trying to show me that you’re here, meanwhile I’m going to be the one traveling.”
Ah. Now we were really getting somewhere. “You know what?” I rapped my knuckles on the table. “This will be even better. Life changes all the time. I know that better than most. We picked up and moved constantly, or lived in an RV on the road, waking up in a new city everyday. I’m going to play ball until my arm can’t throw anymore. I don’t know what I’ll do after that. Maybe I’ll just fish all day for the rest of my life. The point is...I don’t know. My career could end tomorrow or maybe I’ll learn I’m hilarious on camera and become a sports commentator. This could be the first in a long line of new and interesting projects for you. If you really want to know if we have what it takes to stay together and make each other feel loved and appreciated, then this is it.” We were not breaking up over good news. It wasn’t happening.
She finished her wine and stared into the glass. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Then why do you look so sad?”
“Because,” she swallowed, “I’m scared.”
We’d been moving closer and closer as dinner wore on and conversation took over, so I finished the job and pulled her chair to mine. “Why?”
“I’ve never done anything this big before. I’ve...I’ve never taken a real chance on my career.”
Sometimes—rarely—it felt like we switched places. She was the younger and less experienced of the two of us instead of the other way around. I cupped her face. “Babe, you’re going to do great things. I’ve seen your work and it needs space. Room to grow. You’re ready.” A tear slipped out and ran down her cheek. I swiped it away with my thumb. She was so worked up I could feel the anxiety coming off her in waves.
It reminded me of the first time I got called up. They’d been talking about me ever since I signed my contract, ranking my potential, stoking the fires of excitement, so when I finally got my shot, walking on that field felt like walking into the Colosseum as a gladiator. I either survived or I didn’t.
Luckily I survived that day. It wasn’t amazing, but it was a solid first showing. They decided to keep me up and I focused everything in my life on making my debut stick, proving to everyone I was an elite professional pitcher. I didn’t date. At all. I didn’t even look at women for the rest of the season. I worked out every spare minute and followed my trainer's advice to the letter. I didn’t go out with the guys except to dinner. I stopped drinking. Not even a celebratory beer.
I dedicated my life to making my big chance as big as it could possibly be.
I spent a lot of time over the last week thinking about what happened between Liv and me, and where I wanted things to go from here. I already felt like I knew, but now I was confident. I tucked her long hair behind her ear and cupped her chin so she looked into my eyes. “I think we should keep things slow and friendly until this all settles down. You need to focus and things will be complicated enough without adding a new relationship to your plate.”
Her eyes darted between mine, searching. Then her lips trembled and I almost took everything back. “I think you might be right.”
“I don’t want to back off, just so you know.”
She nodded silently. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
I heard the echo of my own words from the week before, so I knew how genuinely she meant it. “Then I’ll stay.” There was a finality to our kisses that I didn’t like but I ignored it and instead focused on the intensity.
The zings turned to a five alarm fire when she climbed into my lap and took my face in her hands. “I’m not good at relationships. I’m pretty terrible, actually. But I’m trying to figure it all out for you.” Her eyes darted between mine and I found it really damn hard to breathe with that much desire directed at me.
So I put my hands on her hips and pulled her down against me, giving me something to feel to balance out everything else. “I’m just a boy, sitting under a girl, telling her I’ll be here when she’s ready.”
She smiled and ground against me. “I’m ready to have some fun, Hugh Grant.”
I smiled right back. “Then that’s what we’ll start with.”
And I meant it. If we had fun tonight and she didn’t touch me again for a few months, I would live with it. If she wanted to sneak away and relieve stress with me, I’d be okay with that too. Hell, if she changed her mind and wanted to have a full blown secret relationship, I’d figure that out.
She fumbled with my shirt. The moment her hands touched my chest I hissed. It was incredible how something so simple—her hand on my skin—could change everything. My mind switched off. I stopped thinking about the future and all the different possibilities.
“Liv, we need a bed,” I groaned. As hot as the idea of chair sex was, I needed to move, to touch every inch of her, and, quite frankly, to be in control.
She nodded as she kissed my neck. I took that as pe
rmission and stood up with her in my arms. Her legs automatically wrapped around my waist as I walked us to her room. Last week I was a ball of adrenaline and need.
Tonight I was a man with only one night.
And I was going to make the most of it.
I set her gently on the bed and removed her clothes one piece at a time. Her eyes remained locked on me, watching my every move. I never thought of myself as a controlling kind of guy. In fact, I was usually pretty go with the flow. Whatever felt good or right in the moment. But with Liv, I was beginning to realize, I felt a powerful need to please and pleasure, and I couldn’t do that if I wasn’t in control.
Like when I was pitching. On the mound I was in control, the game designer, the master of puppets. I loved knowing the game was mine to win or lose. Those games mattered to me.
Olivia mattered to me.
I ripped off my own clothes and condomed up, then took her slowly so I could savor and memorize how it felt to be with her. It was all eyes and hot breath as I filled her. I felt every inch, every quiver, the build, the tension, the need.
I loved her legs around my hips, her ankles at my back, her breasts in my hands or against my chest as we kissed. I held her hips in place as I drove into her over and over again.
“Chris! There. Please?”
Her words drove me wild. I wanted to hear them for the rest of my life. “I can feel it. You’re close, babe.”
“Yes.” She nodded furiously, eyes screwed shut as she arched up to me, meeting my thrusts.
“Eyes, Liv.”
She forced them open. They were unfocused and wild. The connection from our eyes to our bodies complete. “Yes,” she whispered, her hand coming to my face and stroking my cheek.
I drove into her again, deep and powerful. Her eyes rolled back as her orgasm took hold, but she blinked, refocusing on me, and all the pleasure I saw, mixed with her naked adoration, pitched me over the edge with her.
