by Holly Kerr
“That was a proposal?” Patrick asks skeptically. “It doesn’t bode well for a marriage.”
“There won’t be a marriage. I think it must be a PR thing. At least he’s a nice guy and I like how he kisses.”
“And…” Patrick wiggles his eyebrows expectantly.
“And that’s all,” I say firmly.
“You’ve been floating from boy to man since you were old enough to walk.” Patrick gives a disappointed pout. “I think it’s time you share some details with me.”
“There’s none to tell.” There’s seriously none to tell—not with Colton, not with any of my three former fiancés or countless boyfriends. I may move in and out of relationships faster than a meme of Baby Yoda goes viral, but I don’t give much of myself. Not my heart, not my soul and definitely not my virginity.
I’m twenty-five years old, with a string of broken hearts in my wake, and I’m still a virgin. It’s probably why none of my relationships have lasted more than a couple of months.
Of course no one knows this is the reason why I keep moving on. Men may flock to me because I’m fun and outgoing and just an overall amazing person, but when they start asking or even demanding anything more than kisses from me, I’m out of there.
Patrick shakes his head. “Maybe Adam can get them out of you.”
I’ve dropped countless hints over the years, but Patrick refuses to consider that I’m telling the truth—there are no dirty details of my boyfriends, other than the way they kiss. It’s not like I’m some sexy beast but no one will see that I’m as pure as the driven snow.
Maybe after a few hours of lying around.
Leaning over Patrick, I snag the remote and find an episode of The Bachelor on demand.
“Are you going to tell me anything?” he continues. “You used to tell me everything.”
“I still tell you everything,” I say patiently, settling in to watch Nick Viall’s unsuccessful search for love for the third time.
“You don’t tell me about your man problems,” Patrick complains. “I never even heard a word about that ultimate fighter guy until it was over.”
“It didn’t last long.”
“How about the jockey? I would have paid money to see the two of you together—him so short and you so not.” He laughs.
“That lasted even less.”
“So who is it this time?” He catches the hand holding my beer and tugs it closer. “What’s that pretty piece of—plastic? Are you really wearing a plastic ring?”
“He didn’t have time to get a real one,” I say defensively.
Patrick heaves a loud and exasperated sigh. “Who is he this time?”
“Colton Pruitt.”
“The baseball player?”
“The one and only.” I turn my attention away from the television to find Patrick staring at me with what can only be a mixture of admiration and astonishment. I shrug. “You were with me when I met him in Buffalo a couple of months ago. We kept in touch. He came for a visit.”
“And you continued touching.” Patrick shakes his head with amazement. “What I’ve always wondered, cousin dear, is how you end up with all these famous athletes tripping over you and showering you with jewels.”
I hold up my hand. “This isn’t a jewel. The candy was big and tasty, but no jewel.”
“But I’m sure one is forthcoming. Have you told auntie yet?”
“No. Dean…”
“Probably knows him quite well,” Patrick finishes. “They move in the same baseball circles.”
“I’ll tell them soon,” I promise. “When there’s more to tell.”
The last thing I want is news of another engagement to reach my family. The first time I accepted a proposal, my mother, Annette, showed the first sign of happiness and pride towards me that I can recall. The break-up that followed shoved that away in record time. The subsequent engagements and break-ups only added to her disappointment of me, my lifestyle, my choice in men—everything really. The way my mother looks at me suggests she thinks the same as everyone else—that I give everything I’ve got to these guys. Just throw it all away, moving on to the next when it doesn’t work out.
I’d love to see the look on her face if I admitted I’m a virgin. But I won’t, because it’s none of her business. My mother doesn’t deserve any insight into my life.
“If you don’t, you know I’m going to have to.” He looks searchingly at me. “Why aren’t you over the moon? Colton is adorable, with all that floppy hair. He looks great in baseball pants, too, by the way.”
“Would I pick anyone who didn’t look good in baseball pants? Or any other kind of pants?”
“Have you seen him without pants?” Patrick says bluntly.
“Don’t beat around the bush much, do you?” I tell him, getting up and heading for the tiny kitchen to rummage in the cupboard for the bag of chips I know Patrick has hidden from me. I’m one of the few women I know who doesn’t have a sweet tooth. I crave salt and carbs and salty carbs. Potato chips and French fries, but popcorn most of all.
I love popcorn. I can eat it all day, every day.
“Ruthie?” Patrick calls.
“Yes, I’m looking for the chips,” I retort.
“This isn’t about your stomach.”
I lean out of the cupboard to see Patrick staring at me with concern in his brown eyes, so much like my own except the colour. “What?”
“Why do you keep saying yes to them when you’re only going to break their hearts?”
I shut the cupboard door without finding the bag of chips. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Trev
I join Dean Monday night at the Baseball Zone, the training facility where he’s been working for the past year.
He won’t be here much longer, I realize as I watch him in the batting cage. Such a sweet swing.
“When are they sending you off to the big leagues?” I ask as he pushes open the door of the batting cage for me to take my turn.
“I report to Dunedin in February, and then we’ll see.” Dean’s not one to show his emotions, but even he can’t hide the smile. After making it to the major leagues after rising through the Toronto Blue Jays’ farm teams, Dean blew out his shoulder after his very first start. He doesn’t like to talk about what happened next, but he was out of baseball for two years, other than playing for my team.
We’re one step up from a bar team. Most of the guys are like me and Clay—consistently good players who have played all our lives, never to venture further than college ball. But when Dean joined, everyone saw the difference. He’s just so good and deserves another chance to play for the majors.
If things work out, he’ll get that pretty soon.
I’m excited for him, and hope it goes well. But it goes without saying that I’m more than a little jealous as well. Lucky Dean is such a good guy.
“Where’s Clay tonight?” I swing and miss the first pitch, connect with the second, sending it flying into the netting.
“With the baby. But he’s happy,” Dean adds. “Him and M.K. seem to be good about things now. Speaking of which, how are you and…what’s her name, again? I can’t pronounce it.”
“No need to start now. Freyka broke up with me.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.” When I glance over, Dean smiles ruefully as he leans his shoulder against the thick netting.
I take a step back. It’s not easy having a conversation when seventy-mile-per hour fastballs are flying at your head. “Not really. Six weeks and she thinks we’re ready to get married. I had no idea it even crossed her mind.”
Dean winces. I’m not sure if it’s about the concept of a wedding or my predicament. “She didn’t give you any hints?”
“Like the stack of wedding magazines in her apartment? Or the scrapbook of flowers and destination weddings that she made me sit through one weekend?” I give a humourless laugh and step back into the batter’s box. “I guess I should have taken it more seriously and gotten the hell
out of there sooner.”
Dean laughs. “I guess so.”
“I thought it was like a woman thing,” I continue, taking another swing.
“I can guarantee you, it’s not a woman thing,” Dean says. “Even with Evelyn, she never had magazines or a scrapbook. Of course, they would have collected dust in her mind, and she wouldn’t have stood for them in the house.”
I glance over my shoulder. This is the first I’ve heard of Dean mentioning his ex-girlfriend who left him at the altar. No one wants to bring up the subject of Evelyn, and besides, men don’t talk about feelings.
Except for me. “You seem pretty good about things lately,” I point out.
“Things are great,” Dean says with enthusiasm. “I’ve got Flora now and the baseball stuff…who’s Evelyn?” He laughs.
“I’m glad, man. Really glad.”
“Me too. Hey, now that you’re not with Freyka, maybe you should give Ruthie a call. I saw you talking at the party.”
I laugh at the suggestion. “Yeah—no. Hard no. No offense, but I remember trying to set you up with one of Freyka’s friends. That didn’t go well and you might be holding a grudge.”
Dean laughs. “I’m not holding a grudge but don’t write Ruthie off just because of one little spill.”
“Did you see my sweater? It’s ruined.”
“Now who’s holding a grudge?”
After that, I can’t hit anything. The brief conversation with Dean seems to completely throw me off my game. Talking about Ruthie must have cursed me.
I don’t consider that my thoughts of Ruthie are distracting me, because that would mean I’d have to admit I’m thinking about her.
Which I’m not.
Only a little bit.
It’s not until we finish with the batting cage that I take a look at who else is there tonight. The Baseball Zone is the premier training facility in the city and often they have professional players stopping in for a workout in the off-season, as well as up-and-coming players moving up through the divisions. As Dean and I walk towards the weights, my attention is caught by a player in the end cage, with a swing as good as Dean’s.
I whistle as he slams a ball right on the sweet spot of the bat. If it wasn’t for the netting, that one would have taken the roof off the place.
“Who’s this?” I ask Dean under my breath, not recognizing him with the helmet on.
“Colton Pruitt. He’s in the city for a few days, been in here twice already.”
“No way! I saw him the other night when Freyka and I were out. Actually, it was just after she dumped me…or maybe it was during.” I watch him swing again, connecting with every pitch. “You meet him?”
“The first time he came in.” Dean folds his fingers through the netting separating us from the pitches. “He came right up and said how much he admired my pitching when I was in the show.” He winces. “Made me feel like an old man. He’s just a kid.”
“It’s not like you’re an old man.”
“Yeah, but when this is your second go-around, I guess you seem old to the kids.”
Colton takes a final pitch and when the light stops flashing, pulls of his helmet, shaking out his hair. He catches sight of Dean and grins. “Hey, man! How’s it going?”
“Looked good in there,” Dean says appreciatively as Colton leaves the cage.
“Easy to do when you’re not facing someone like you.” Colton laughs, flipping his hair out of his eyes.
“Colton, this is my friend Trev. He got me playing on his team after my rehab, really helped keep me in the game.”
I hold out my hand, and Colton takes it with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you, man.”
“You too. Great season you had.”
“Yeah, I was happy with it.” I’d be happy with Rookie of the Year, too. “We’ll see how spring training goes,” Colton adds.
“You and Dean both,” I say, elbowing Dean in the arm. Colton looks between us, confused. “You didn’t tell him?”
“I got invited to join the Jays for spring training,” Dean said as modest as ever. “We’re giving it another try; maybe pitching, but probably first base.”
Colton’s face lights up. “That’s terrific, buddy! That’ll be so cool, playing alongside the legendary Dean Coulson.”
“Nothing legendary about me,” Dean says, practically hanging his head.
“No, really, it’s so cool. And great that we met. I’ve got me a girl in town, so I’ll be back here a lot. We should hang out. Train.” He flips his hair again.
“Sounds good.” I wait for Dean to continue, to maybe invite Colton to hang out but Colton doesn’t give him a chance.
“I met this awesome chick; can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Good for you,” I tell him, immediately forgetting about telling him my story about seeing him during my breakup. “So, you here for a while?”
“Naw, I’m back to Memphis tomorrow. A couple of buddies are taking me clubbing tonight if either of you want to join us. Toronto has the best chicks. Looking forward to meeting more of them.”
Dean frowns. “I thought you had a girl.”
“Well, yeah, but we’re not married yet, so there’s plenty of time for me to check out the other options. She thinks I’m on a plane for the night; she’ll be all tucked in at home, so there’s nothing for me to worry about.”
“What about her worrying?” I ask suspiciously.
Colton gives a wave and his hand flips back through his hair again. “She’s so cool, she won’t even give it a thought. I don’t think she’d care. Probably expects it, because we’re not connecting on that level, if you know what I mean?”
I know exactly what he means, and I don’t like the sounds of it. Or him. My fanboy excitement quickly fades away, but I keep quiet, not knowing how Dean will react. He’s going to be on the team with Colton, the old guy being given a second chance. He might not want to make waves.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Anyway, better run. Got to shower, fix myself up.” He smiles and flips his hair yet again. “Sure you don’t want to hang?”
“No, I think I’ll pass,” Dean says evenly. “It’s not my style. See you in Dunedin.”
“Totally, man. Catch you later.” He nods at me. “Good to meet you.”
“Yeah,” I repeat. I wait until Colton walks away, smiling and waving at a few star- struck players in the cages.
“He plays with his hair a lot,” I finally say.
“Yeah,” Dean says shortly. “Girls like pretty hair. That and the way he plays ball is the only thing he’s got going for him.”
Chapter Six
Ruthie
“Well, don’t you both look comfortable.”
Flora stands in the doorway to the living room, with her eyebrow raised and Cappie’s leash in her hand. Dean and I are on the couch, our feet touching in the middle and covered by a blanket.
An hour ago, I convinced him that it would be a good idea to watch the Hallmark movie, Love at Mistletoe Inn.
“She made me watch it,” Dean protests. “Make it stop.”
I toss a piece of popcorn at him. “You love it and you know it.” I’ve been at Flora’s for almost a week, and still haven’t made it over to stay with Patrick. Spending time with Dean is more fun than I expected, plus he’s a great cook. Unless Patrick asks nicely and throws in a nice present, I’m not going anywhere.
“Do you seriously want to get into a popcorn throwing contest?” Dean asks, tossing the kernel back at me. It hits my shoulder and falls to the floor, where Cappie is waiting to gobble it up.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll win, superstar.”
Dean smiles smugly. “Bet your formerly blonde hair I will.”
Flora steps closer and squints at me in the dimness. “Did you dye it again?”
“No, I asked him for recommendations.”
“I, of course, said the perfect shade of hair is the one I wake up to every morning.” He smiles at Flora, then t
urns and winks at me.
She blows him a kiss. “Yeah, yeah, you’re full of cheese. If you’re finished feeding my dog, I’m going to take him for his walk.” At the magic word, Cappie forgets about falling popcorn and trundles to Flora’s side.
Every time I’m here, Cappie seems to move slower and slower. It makes me sad.
“Do you want me to take him out?” Dean asks, slowly pushing the blanket off his feet.
Flora watches until his feet are uncovered. “No, it’s fine,” she says with a chuckle. “I’ve spent the day making containers. I need a walk as much as Cappie does. C’mon, you big lug.” She leans down and scratches his ears, then clips on his leash.
I roll off the couch. “I’ll come with you. I’ve been on the couch all day.”
“Don’t you want to see what happens?” Dean calls as I follow Flora out of the room.
“They end up together and she saves the inn,” I say.
“Don’t tell me! You spoiled it!” he wails, grabbing at his head.
“Deano, if you didn’t know how it was going to end, you clearly haven’t watched enough cheesy Christmas movies.” I grin at him. “Luckily, I can help rectify that while I’m here.”
I’m still chuckling as I shut the door behind us. It’s a clear night, but cold. I stuff my hands into my pockets, unwilling to let Flora see I’ve forgotten my gloves again.
“So why are you in the city this time?” Flora asks as we set off along the sidewalk, moving slowly to let Cappie sniff everything within reach. “Are you not working at home?”
“I was helping Dad at the nursery, then a few of the university students wanted more hours so Dad fired me.” My attention is held as Cappie buries his nose in a snowbank. I’d much rather watch the dog smell things than talk about home.
“Ruthie,” she chides.
“Flora. You sound like an aunt.”
“I am your aunt. Archie would not fire you.”
“Well, he gave them my hours, so what do you call it? It’s fine,” I say quickly, always hating to make Flora pick between me and my father, which happens to be her favourite brother. It’s the only thing that’s ever threatened our relationship. “They need the hours, and everyone knows they’re more reliable than I am.” I force a laugh, but even in the dim light on the sidewalk, I see Flora’s frown.
