He’s asking me to dinner. The inner-teenager inside of me does a wild celebration dance, kind of like it did the first time he asked me out back in Haven. I have to gulp three times before I answer, because I’m scared that when I speak, my heart might just jump out of my throat.
“Yes, I’d love to. I don’t have to go to set tonight, so I’m free.”
He stands, wrapping his knuckles on the table. “Great. Text me your address, you still have my number, right? I’ll pick you up at eight.”
* * *
Riding in the same car I’d been sprawled out in the back seat of a month ago is fairly strange.
I keep wanting to turn my head around and look at the spot where Boone had been between my wide open legs, but I know that if I do, he’ll notice. Not that he isn’t thinking the same thing, I keep seeing his eyes flit to the rearview mirror.
“How has your week been?” I ask, trying to start a conversation.
Boone controls the car with one hand propped up on the steering wheel. He commands it, and I imagine that fist wrapped around a very different kind of stick shift. I can’t help it that everything this man does reminds me of sex. I only got one taste of it, in this very car, and it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Been okay. We have our first game this Sunday, opening day at the ballpark, so it’s been pretty hectic. A lot of media, more practice, plus I have to keep up with my schoolwork. At least there is only two months of school left, so after I graduate I can just focus on the season. But, yeah, it’s just been an adjustment. How about you? Do you work with Ramona and James every day?”
It feels nice, hearing about his day and him asking about mine. It’s … normal. We never did normal. We had the typical high school relationship. Hang out at the movies or mall in a group, and then just fall into being together. There were no dates, no real, deep conversations. We mostly made out and went to parties together. But there was still that underlying spark that kept us gravitating toward each other, and it was still here now.
“Not every day, but most days. We shoot on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I’ll inevitably get called in to a site or their studio at their house to go over some detail probably about two other days a week.”
“Isn’t that intense with your class schedule? And you’re only, what now, twenty-one?”
I nod. “Good guess, yeah, I’m old for my grade, my birthday is in October.”
“October seventeenth, right?” He glances over at me and then puts his eyes back on the road.
“Wow, didn’t think you remembered my birthday.” I am shocked.
Boone just smiles. “So, does the show make you miss class a lot?”
Shrugging, I try to speak through the surprise of Boone remembering a detail about me. “I do, but my advisor helps me butter up the teachers and they all know what great publicity it is for the design program at the college that one of their students is a featured intern on one of the most highly rated home flipping shows on TV.”
“That’s true. Have you ever thought about just doing the show full time?” He seems genuinely curious.
“I won’t lie and say I haven’t. But I want to check the box of having a degree.”
“You always were a perfectionist. Always had to have everything in its right order.” He adjusts his position, and my eyes can’t help but stray to the crotch of his black jeans.
I kind of like that he’s driving and can’t quite fully focus on me. It gives me time to inspect every part of his face and physique.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I give him a small smile. “Says the guy who has a whopping major league baseball contract but is still in college. What’s that about, anyway?”
Boone’s eyes slide to me, look at my mouth, and then flit back to the road. “Eh, it’s a long, boring story.”
His silence tells me we won’t be discussing that topic further.
We’ve been on the road for about twenty minutes, and are somewhere in the suburbs of Austin, when Boone turns the car into a parking lot. Looking up, I see the sign on a building as he maneuvers the car into a spot. It reads, The Alamo.
“Super creative name for a restaurant in Texas.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t knock it until you try it. I know, the name is corny, but they serve the best fried pickles here that I’ve ever eaten.”
My heart leaps. “I love fried pickles.”
“I know.” Boone smiles as we exit the car.
He makes no move to open my door for me, which I kind of prefer. I’m not an invalid, I can open doors and carry bags and I’m just fine with a breakfast smoothie on the go and no tray in my bed. I’ve always been less romantic than everyone around me, and I’m glad that Boone isn’t acting the part of the chivalrous male. Although, I’ll take pink peonies any day of the week. Just because I love the smell and they’re pretty to look at.
“You remembered that?” I’m kind of in awe.
He stops before opening the restaurant door for me. “Annabelle, despite what you’ve assumed, I didn’t totally have my head stuck up my ass when it came to dating you in high school. I know things about you, probably more than you told me or let on. So just go with it. Commit yourself to the idea that we’re going to have a great date.”
So, it is a date. I hadn’t been sure, but he just confirmed it. And to prove that I am committed, I lace my fingers through his in a sign of accepting that this is going to be a romantically-themed evening. Hand-holding with the guy you are out on the town with isn’t cheesy, it’s just good karma.
And by good karma, I meant that maybe good luck and a little fate will find its way to the back seat of his car again.
Twenty-Two
Boone
The afternoon before my first game with the Texas major league affiliate team, I was called into the front offices to sign my contract.
When they set that paperwork down in front of me, and I saw the number of zeros laid out in the contract, my eyes nearly fell out of my head. To have that much money given to me, to know that it was going into my bank account, that my mom and I were going to be okay, that I could support her …
Only kids who came from nothing would understand what that felt like.
And now here I am, standing on the first base line with my teammates as a third-grade student from an Austin public school sings the National Anthem. My first game as a professional baseball player.
I won’t say that I can’t believe it, because that would be a lie. From the time I knew that I had a knack for baseball, I believed that I would get here. By working my ass off, listening to coaches, and keeping on the straight and narrow, I made my dream come true.
Annabelle couldn’t come to the game today, even though I’d invited her to on our date last night. That’s right, two dates in two days. Between the man and woman who formerly hated each other. With each passing second I spend with her, trying to move on and have a fresh start, I realize that I’d forgotten just how much I like Annabelle.
She is witty and has this dry sense of humor that is almost mean but sarcastic at the same time. I don’t feel like I have to pamper her or boost her ego, she’s confident enough to do that on her own. But, it did feel good to take care of the check knowing that she didn’t expect it. It felt good to hold her in my arms and lay my lips down on hers.
Surprisingly, on our two dates, I was able to push past our history and begin a fresh chapter with her. I didn’t think about her betrayal every time she spoke, and my blood didn’t boil when she made a biting, sarcastic remark.
The anthem finishes, and we applaud, and then high fives and “let’s get ’em’s” are exchanged.
Sand and grass crunch under my cleats, and I breathe in the faint smell of peanuts, popcorn and cotton candy. A day at the ballpark is better than any place on earth to me.
When I get out to center field, the crowd begins to go wild. Voices rain down on me, and I realize they’re coming from the giant screen right above my head.
Looking up a
t the video board, James and Ramona’s faces light up the screen. They start to speak, and the crowd goes wild.
“We just wanted to wish the team good luck, and to say that we love supporting all of the young men who work so hard at the sport of baseball. Go Austin!”
They raise their hands in celebration on the screen, and the crowd goes wild. Turning around, I ready myself for the first pitch, hitting my gloved hand with the other fist.
I never expected what happens next.
There’s another cheer from the crowd, and then a familiar voice fills my ears. My back is to the video board, so I whirl back around to see Annabelle’s face shining down at me, large and looming above my position on the field.
“And I just want to give a special shout out to outfielder Boone Graham! We’re all so happy to have you here in Austin, and we know you’ll do great things! Go get ’em, ya’ll!”
Catcalls and hollers rise up from the crowd, and I hear someone sitting in the bleacher seats nearby yell, “Get her phone number, buddy!”
My cheeks are surely redder than a pig on a spit, and I have to pull my hat down low to drown out some of the ruckus and focus on the game. She’s essentially taken us public and hadn’t even consulted me on it. Were we even technically anything? We’ve only had two dates thus far where we managed not to scratch each other’s eyes out, and that did not a relationship make.
Now some stupid local gossip reporter will run this on her Instagram stories, or blog, and essentially start some tabloid nonsense about how we were having a baby and that someone had spotted Annabelle with a bump. That kind of shit always happens, and I had just broken into the echelon where it ran rampant.
Meanwhile, I am still trying to grapple with my feelings of distrust for Anna and resolve them so that we can explore the underlying attraction we still have for each other. But seeing her so vulnerable when she broke her wrist, and taking care of her in the hospital, has shown me just how strong my feelings still are. Even if I tried to bury them deep down inside for so many years.
“Hey man, looks like you have a not so secret admirer. And she’s smokin’ hot!” Kincaid, our left fielder, raises his eyebrows at me as he shouts over the crowd.
I wave him off. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just focus on getting this W.”
Blocking the noise out, I push the questions of Annabelle and me out of my head and let my game attitude overcome me. It’s this place of Zen, of laser-sharp focus that I’ve perfected over the years. When it’s at its best, I don’t even hear the crowd. When it’s at its best, I can pinpoint the ball whizzing down at me from one hundred feet up in the air.
The first, second and third innings are played with little to no excitement, just clean strikes and a couple ground balls. Our team comes up to bat in the fourth inning, and the rotation has swung around to have me picking up my Louisville Slugger first.
I take the plate, grinding my cleats into the red clay and sizing up the pitcher. So far he’s had an accurate targeting of the strike zone, but he’s impatient. He doesn’t like when batters wait him out, and I know that I’m not going to swing until there is a full count. Wear him down mentally, and then take my chance when he whips a fast ball at me.
It’s not arrogant to say that what I predicted ended up being reality. He gets twitchy when I don’t budge at the first two pitches, one a strike and one a ball. Because after that, he throws two more balls and I know I’ve spooked him.
And I take that opportunity to let the crowd in, to take the blinders off for a minute and let their chants and screams become the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Here it is, he thinks this is going to be his ace.
I can already feel it, the tenor of the air, the angle of the ball, before it connects with my bat and I swing for the heavens. The crack resounds through my ears and stings in my muscles. But the burn is so good, my body rejoices at the pain. The noise of the cheers and my teammates whoops greet me as I round home plate, stomping on it like it’s a new land only I have conquered.
My second at bat in professional baseball, and I hit a homer. If it feels this good in Triple AAA, I can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like when I make it to The Show.
Twenty-Three
Boone
The smell of popcorn and gummy candy fill my nose, and the sound of arcade games rings out as I pay for mine and Annabelle’s tickets.
“A movie guy. I never would have pegged you for a movie guy.” Annabelle eyes me scrupulously.
“Believe it. I’ve been wanting to see this movie since the minute I was alerted about the trailer coming out on YouTube.” I check our tickets once more, making sure that we have prime seats.
I reserved them online this afternoon, in between class and practice, when Annabelle told me she could probably shrug out of work early and go on a date. Wanting to do something fun, something high school-ish because we’d never done it back then, I decided on taking her to the local movie theater to the see the new superhero movie everyone is buzzing about.
“You’re a nerd … I guess I never realized that until now. You have comic books instead of Playboys under your bed, don’t you?” She accuses me as I take her hand, lace my fingers through it, and lead us to the snack line.
“No one has Playboys under their bed anymore. Free porn is easily accessible on the Internet.” This makes Anna chuckle. “But, I may have some graphic novels at my apartment.”
“Graphic novels, give me a break. Those are full-on, nerded-out, comic books. Oh, and I want Twizzlers. You’re making me sit through this, you owe me candy.”
I look down at her, smiling. “You’re going to love this movie, I’m telling you. I wish I’d had time to adequately binge the entire comic book universe worth of movies with you, since you’d understand it more, but that’s okay. You’re still going to love it. Then you’re going to beg me to watch all of the individual character movies with you.”
We move up as each person or couple in front of us pays for their snack. “I wouldn’t count on it, I don’t really like movies.”
I drop her hand and turn to stare at her like she’s just told me she is an alien from Mars. “Uh, what? You don’t like movies? I didn’t even think that was a thing humans could do.”
Anna shrugs. “I just never really got into them. And now I have no time. The last movie I saw in a movie theater was probably when I was about twelve?”
She says all this normally, as if the rest of the people inside this theater are the weird ones for enjoying motion pictures. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m floored.”
It’s our turn to buy snacks, and good thing, because I’m not sure I can talk to Annabelle without getting into an argument with her right here in the line. She always has to have some alternative opinion, or make you feel like you’re the one in the wrong.
But as we walk to our designated theater, I take a breath and swallow that emotion. Because I’m fairly confident that she’s going to love this movie. And even if she doesn’t, she won’t be able to get bored when all of those hot guys are on the screen. Or so I’ve been told this is just one of the many reasons women love superhero movies.
We find our seats, which mechanically recline, and I reach for Annabelle’s hand. The lights go dim as the previews start, and I lean over the armrest to whisper in her ear.
“If this were high school, I would try to make out with you the entire movie.” My hand skims up her arm.
Anna pushes up on her elbow so that her lips reach my ear. “And if this were high school, I might even let you touch my boobs. But … it isn’t.”
When I pull back from our hushed conversation, she’s smirking at me. I’d meant to tease her, get her keyed up so that she would think about me kissing her the whole movie, but now I’m the one who has to hide my growing boner.
The previews end and the lights go completely out, and then the opening credits light up the room and I’m engrossed. I hold Annabelle’s hand the whole movie, squeezing it periodically to let her know I
’m glad I’m here with her. Or, at least I hope she can interrupt my hand squeezes that way.
This is nice, sharing a night out at the movie theater with her. A normal date in public, with no mention of our awkward past or the sexual tension that comes with watching her eat and drink across the table at dinner. I look over periodically at my girl, and I’m not surprised that she’s not only watching, but seems to be invested in what’s happening on the screen.
And the movie? Well, the movie is everything I thought it would be and more. Of course, it ends on a cliffhanger and I make Annabelle stay all the way through the credits to watch the twenty-second teaser scene. Surprisingly, she doesn’t object.
As we walk to the car, hand in hand, she looks up at me. “Thanks for tonight. It was … normal.”
I laugh. “Are we not normal?”
She leans over so that I sling one arm around her shoulder, walking with her pressed against me. “We are, sort of. But, we both have crazy jobs that take so much out of us. And we’re in the public eye, I know that you know we both get stopped on the street more than we’d like. But tonight was just so … ordinary. It felt good to not have any expectations, to be able to be myself.”
It’s a hell of an admission coming from this normally closed-off woman, and I bend to kiss her cheek. “That’s how I always want you to feel around me.”
“And because tonight was very sweet, a la high school crushes, I will admit something.”
I know what she’s about to say, but I want the satisfaction of her speaking the words. “And what is that?”
She hangs her head in mock shame. “I really enjoyed the movie and I’m begging you to binge watch the individual character movies with me.”
You’re the One I Don’t Want Page 9
