Heartthrob

by Robin Bielman

  “He’s going to be okay, right?” Finn asks when I’ve yet to say something.

  “Yes,” I answer, focusing on the present and trusting Finn with info about my dad.

  He rubs the tips of his fingers lightly up and down my arm. “He mentioned arteritis at the dinner table. I’m guessing that has to do with inflammation of the arteries.”

  “Yes. The ones in his head near his temples. He was having severe headaches, scalp and jaw pain, and fatigue when he finally went to see a doctor. Left untreated it could have led to blindness.”

  “But you caught it early enough.”

  “We did. He’s being treated with corticosteroid medications, but he’s had two relapses, which means for him, the disease is chronic.”

  Finn shifts and raises my chin with the pad of his finger. When he looks into my eyes like he’d move heaven and earth for me and my family, my heart stops. “He’s got this.”

  I press my lips together and nod. He does. My dad is strong. A fighter. And he’s told me he wants another five years, minimum, before he retires from umpiring.

  “And if there’s anything I can do to help…specialists, new drug therapies, whatever you don’t need now but might need later, just say the word.”

  “Thank you.” I brush my mouth against his softly. Reverently. Then I lay my head back down on his chest.

  The last thing to go through my mind before I fall asleep in his arms is that I’m in way over my head.

  Chapter Seventeen

  #WeekendUpdate

  Chloe

  Friday morning, Finn brings me breakfast in bed. Scrambled eggs with turkey and onions and a buttermilk biscuit. We spend the day right where we are, on Twitter for his live Q&A, then listening to the rain outside, finding each other’s ticklish spots, and having sex on repeat.

  Saturday morning, I bring Finn breakfast in bed. It takes me sixty seconds to microwave the mini frozen pancakes, but I do cut up some strawberries to add on top. He shakes his head with a smile when I hand him his plate and mumbles something about a juice cleanse come Monday, but he eats everything—and asks for seconds. We venture out of my room to watch Elf on TV, play backgammon by the fireplace, and have sex on repeat.

  Sunday morning Finn eats me for breakfast.

  Chapter Eighteen

  #HomerunDerby

  Finn

  I’m too old for this. Too old to be on the receiving end of my grandmother’s third degree. She’s like a bloodthirsty reporter who won’t stop with the questions until she’s been given the answers she wants. My only saving grace is Ethan is sitting next to me at a table in his restaurant and getting almost as much attention. He did just spend a week with her in Hawaii so it’s not like she doesn’t know what he’s been up to.

  Me, on the other hand? I’ve just come off one of the best weekends of my life and if my grandmother hadn’t summoned me to join her for lunch today, I’d still be basking in the afterglow. It’s fucking hard keeping the elation off my face, but give Grandma Rosemary a hint of something new and not even a magician could escape her interrogation.

  Until I know what that something is between Chloe and me, my lips are sealed.

  Ethan’s chef delivers our lunch, salmon with some chutney mixture on top, roasted brussels sprouts, and mashed sweet potatoes. Tomorrow I’ll start a cleanse and then return to my regularly scheduled meals with one exception. Hopefully that menu includes Chloe.

  “Are you sick?” Ethan asks.

  “What? No. Why?”

  “Your face just turned colors. You’re either sick or…” He trails off, a knowing smile making me fully aware I can’t even think about Chloe or I’m going to get myself in trouble.

  “Actually, I do feel a little out of sorts,” I half lie. Chloe does have my focus out of whack. I’d done a shit job working out with Dwayne this morning, my brain on Chloe rather than training.

  “Out of your shorts you mean,” Ethan mumbles, then takes a bite of his food. I glare at him. Thankfully, our grandmother is a little hard of hearing.

  “Chloe told me you gave Sammy away,” she says, like she talks to her all the time.

  “You talked to Chloe?”

  Grandmother eyes me with a mix of affection and worry. “I think you might have a fever. I just said that, didn’t I?”

  “Right. I know. I’m just surprised.”

  “You of all people should know it’s important to keep in touch with your social media manager.”

  I choke on a brussels sprout. “Since when are you on social media?”

  “Since my surf lesson last week.”

  Ethan holds up his hand with a pained expression on his face. Don’t ask.

  “I’m on Insta as Musings from Grandma. Chloe didn’t tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t mention it.”

  “Must be some client-manager confidentiality thing. You should follow me.”

  I run a hand over the four-day scruff on my jaw, trying not to laugh, but also not sure how I feel about Chloe being in close contact with my grandmother.

  “Oh shoot,” my grandmother says. “I should have taken a picture of my food.”

  “No worries,” Ethan says.

  “I am worried about you,” she answers.

  I look at my brother. “Something going on?”

  “Nothing important,” he says to me before turning to our grandmother. “And you need to stop. Between you and Mom, I’ve had enough.” He says this with respect, but there’s some underlying irritation only Drew or myself would detect.

  It’s clear whatever it is, Ethan doesn’t want to talk about it, but I’m not one for patience where my brothers are concerned. If something is going on, I need to know.

  “Break it down into a sentence or two, and I won’t bug you about it.”

  Ethan puts his fork down and sits back in his chair. “Last week while I was out of town, someone left a package for me. I had Charlotte open it and it wasn’t something pleasant.”

  “He has a stalker,” Grandmother says, trying to keep her tone even. It isn’t the first time our family has been targeted by a fan or someone looking for a payout, and our security team always handles it, but it’s never something to take lightly.

  “I think that’s taking it too far,” Ethan says. “It was one time. Now, let’s get back to Finn and Chloe.”

  “Finn and Chloe?” Our grandmother is sharp as a tack, so her feigned surprise doesn’t fool anyone.

  I still don’t want to talk about it, though. “Looks like your Cardinals are headed toward a national championship,” I say to Ethan to change the subject. Stanford is kicking football ass this season.

  “Fingers crossed,” Ethan says. “We’re still on for Saturday’s game, right?”

  Shit. I forgot all about it. Stanford is playing one of their biggest rivalries, USC, and every year when the two teams play, Ethan, Drew, and I go to the game.

  “I can’t make it this time.”

  “You’re breaking tradition? What for?”

  I hate the disappointment I hear from my brother. He’s right. This will be the first time in ten years that I don’t make it.

  “Or is the better question, who for?”

  Yeah, I deserve that. I glance at my grandmother. She’s stopped eating to put her chin in her hands and watch her grandsons like she’s watching a tennis match at Wimbledon. “Don’t mind me,” she says.

  Apparently, the topic of Chloe and me isn’t going away anytime soon so I may as well get this over with. “I’m going to a wedding.”

  “Stag?” Ethan prods.

  “No. Chloe invited me.”

  Ethan grins. “Tell us more. Friend of the bride or groom? Black tie? Church wedding? Where’s the reception?” He’s hilarious.

  “You know you sound like a girl right now?” It’s a weak retaliation, but whatever.

  “I know you’re trying to avoid answering any more questions.”

  As cool as I am about letting Ethan off the hook about things—
the mysterious package for example—he doesn’t always extend me the same courtesy. And he damn well knows I like to keep the peace, especially in front of our mom or grandma. “It’s Chloe’s best friend. I don’t know the specifics, only that it’s on Saturday night.”

  “Oh, you mean Jillian.”

  I stare at my grandmother.

  She smiles at me with barely a wrinkle. “I follow Chloe on Instagram and saw them together. Don’t you follow her? You really should if you plan to date her. Showing interest in someone’s social media presence is crucial nowadays.”

  There’s complete silence for all of one second before Ethan and I crack up. And just like that any brotherly tension between us disappears.

  “What’s so funny?” Grandmother takes another bite of salmon.

  “You are,” Ethan and I say at the same time.

  “Well, obviously. Where do you think you boys get your sense of humor from? Your father can’t tell a joke to save his life and your mother thinks mustaches are funny. She can’t look at Tom Selleck without giggling. The man is a hottie.”

  There are some things you wish you could unhear, and your grandma calling someone a hottie is one of them. “This chutney is really good,” I tell Ethan. “Everything is.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let Louis know. I think it would be good on other types of fish as well.”

  “Like halibut.”

  “Or trout.”

  “Even swordfish.”

  “Okay, message received. No talking about hotties with my grandsons. But can we talk about something besides fish, please?” She pats the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “It is delicious, Ethan.”

  “What would you like to talk about?” he asks.

  “How about my birthday? No one is telling me anything.”

  “That’s because it’s still months away and you’re just supposed to show up,” I say. Not that I know anything. My mom is in charge of the plans, along with Drew. Our baby brother got roped into that one.

  My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out without glancing at the caller. Only a few people have this number. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Finn. It’s Chloe.”

  “Hey.” I almost forget where I am and add, “beautiful.”

  “Are you still at lunch?”

  “Yes. Almost done, though. Are we still meeting at the stadium?”

  “Yes, but they’d like you here a little earlier now. Is that possible?”

  “Sure, I can leave here in five.”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

  I hang up and meet two sets of inquiring eyes head-on. “That was Chloe. I’ve got a shoot for Body Shield I need to get to sooner than I thought.” Normally my agent handles this kind of thing, but Chloe approached Body Shield and the startup was thrilled to team up with me and the Landsharks for an online holiday campaign. A big portion of the profits will be going to children’s charities.

  “That’s the new athletic apparel company, right?” Ethan asks.

  “Right.” I push my chair back to stand.

  “Say hello to Chloe,” my grandma says.

  “I will.” I move around the table to kiss her cheek and say goodbye then give Ethan’s shoulder a quick grip. “Thanks for lunch. Louis, as usual, nailed it.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you later.”

  I enjoy the solitude of my car on the drive to the stadium. It gives me time to think about Chloe without prying eyes. I can’t stop reliving the way she moved against me, the sexy sounds she made when she came, the taste of her on my tongue. The way she squeezed my cock when I was buried deep inside her, so warm and tight it felt like I’d died and gone to heaven. She is an unexpected diversion from my off-season regimen, one I should walk away from, but I can’t.

  I like her too much.

  Have from the moment our cars collided. The second I laid eyes on her, there had been something familiar, something I couldn’t put my finger on until she walked into the Landsharks conference room a few days later and I learned who her dad was. I rarely look into the stands during games, especially when I’m up to bat, but one night last June, I remember glancing behind home plate and locking eyes with a woman wearing a Landsharks baseball cap. A jolt of awareness had practically knocked the bat out of my hands. I’d quickly turned away, shaken by the impact, and walked up to the plate where I’d proceeded to strike out. Casey was the home plate umpire. Chloe was that mysterious stranger.

  Which is further proof I need to keep my head in the game and not on a relationship.

  As I pull into the parking lot, I tell myself to stop enjoying Chloe so much. To put some distance between us by putting my focus—and discipline—back where it’s been for the past dozen years. On being the best professional baseball player there is.

  However, when Chloe greets me outside the equipment room, I forget I even play baseball. “Hi. Thanks for rushing over,” she says, being very professional.

  And dumbass that I am, I don’t like it. I want sexed-up Chloe on her tiptoes kissing me hello. Until she darts her eyes down the hall and I see Rena fast approaching. There’s no rule against Chloe and me getting together, but I understand keeping our personal interactions private.

  “Hi. No problem. Hey, Rena.”

  “Hello, Finn. How are you? Thanks to Chloe, we’ve got everything set up already and we just need your body. We’ll be doing…” She barely takes a breath as she runs down the schedule for the shoot with Chloe and me following her into the room. My pinkie finger lightly brushes Chloe’s. She links our fingers for a brief moment, taking the edge off my desire. Things continue to happen with efficiency after that, and I lose track of Chloe. A couple of reps from Body Shield introduce themselves. The four-person production crew, too. I change into their clothing and am positioned in front of the equipment shelves. Shiny blue batting helmets fill most of the cubbies, with white arm guards, shin guards, and batting gloves stacked neatly, in the others. In the corner is a large rubber trash bin full of wooden bats.

  Next, I sit in a folding chair with my glove on, elbows on my thighs.

  I change my shirt, put on a Landsharks cap, grab a bat.

  Sit. Stand. Smile. Look serious. Repeat. I’ve been photographed hundreds of times, as a pro ball player and as a quasi-celebrity with a famous last name, but it’s never comfortable. Tension rolls down my spine, leaving an ache in my lower back.

  Until I find Chloe, watching me. She’s standing at the back of the room against the wall. Hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Off-white sweater over stone-washed blue jeans. Her generous pink lips glossy. If I were to kiss her right now, they’d taste like peaches.

  Every nerve ending in my body relaxes. It’s the weirdest thing. Like a layer of protection has fallen into place around me. In Chloe’s gaze I find peace.

  “Yes!” the photographer says. “Stay just like that.”

  The camera flashes several times before my view of Chloe is obstructed by the stylist stepping in front of me. “We’d like to do a few more without the hat,” Mandy says to me.

  “Okay.” I remove my cap.

  Mandy takes it, places it between her legs, and fusses with my hair. She’s probably a couple years younger than me, pretty, and definitely likes to keep her hands busy. Not that she’s been inappropriate, just thorough.

  “I’ve been wanting to ask how you are,” she says quietly. “Is your injury healed?”

  “It’s getting there, thanks for asking.”

  “I’m a big Landsharks fan.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Maybe when we’re done here I could buy you a drink or something?”

  “Sorry, but I’ve got plans after.” I’ve found subtle rejection works better than a flat-out “no.” Mandy is nice enough and obviously interested, and if it weren’t for a blonde, brown-eyed girl I can’t get off my mind, I’d probably take her up on her offer. But there’s no one I want to be with more than Chloe. I can tell myself a million times over to keep my distance, but it d
oesn’t make her any less appealing.

  “Another night then?” Mandy asks.

  “Actually, I’m seeing someone, so…”

  “Oh. I thought you were single. My bad.” She steps away, appraising my appearance before blending into the background.

  I immediately latch on to Chloe again. She meets my gaze then looks away, her expression unreadable. I’m asked to focus on the camera so I do, anxious to get this over with. After a few more shots, we’re done. I shake everyone’s hand in thanks.

  Mandy is talking to Chloe when I’m free to go.

  “He is so dreamy,” Mandy is saying. “I could stare at him for days. And did you see his body when he changed shirts? I asked him to go for a drink, but he’s seeing someone. Lucky—”

  “Hey,” I interrupt. “Chloe, do you have a minute?”

  “Sure. Mandy, it was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too.”

  I take Chloe’s elbow and lead her out of the equipment room, down the hall, and into an empty office. I shut and lock the door.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, light brown eyes the color of honeycomb nearly knocking me off-balance. Not because they’re uncommonly pretty—which for the record they are—but because there’s reservation in their depths.

  “This.” I step forward to kiss her and demolish any doubts she might have, but she halts my progression with a firm palm to my chest.

  “Hang on there, Mr. Dreamy. You’re seeing someone? I can’t believe I—”

  “You,” I say, cutting her off. I take her wrist and kiss the soft underside where her pulse beats. “I’m seeing you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m a little hurt you thought otherwise, Webster. You know me. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just…we’re not…”

  “Dating?”

  “Right. We’re not doing that,” she says like there is no steam left for her to spar with but she wishes there was.

  “We kind of are.” I thread our fingers together, drop our arms.

  “Finn, I told you—”

  “I know what you told me, but we both know we want to rip each other’s clothes off right now. Is it just sex you want from me? Okay, fine. But it’s exclusive. I’m going to prove to you you’re not cursed. Let’s date and have fun and when spring training starts we say goodbye. Stay friends.” I know myself well enough that come next season I will forgo anything that distracts me. I’d rather be up front with Chloe now than hurt her feelings later on.