by Alexis Anne
“Just because you are intimately familiar with the action doesn’t mean you kissing a real man in real life isn’t huge. You picked the right guy to bring you out of retirement. Erik’s hot.”
Drop-dead gorgeous, to be exact. Those brooding eyes of his did me in every single time. “It was just . . . I was having a moment. And he was there. I used him. I’m a user.”
June laughed and laughed at that. “I promise you that Erik felt anything but used.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Oh it’s hilarious. Erik has been waiting on this kiss for a long time. You didn’t use him. You made his day.”
My heart fluttered hard at that idea. “This sucks.”
“What exactly sucks? Not the kiss and not having a sexy, successful athlete hoping for another one.” She nudged me with her pointer finger. “So it has to be something else. Something I don’t understand.”
“This whole twisty, confusing, anxiety process!” I threw my hands in the air, wishing it would somehow clear the air.
It didn’t.
“I know I write this stuff. I actually kind of enjoy torturing my characters. But living it? This is just awful. How on earth did you survive Roman?”
“Oh,” she giggled. “You mean the I think I like him, does he like me, oh god what happens if this is a disaster, process?”
“Yep. That.” In my books I sometimes made it last for chapters and chapters. The tension. The tug and pull of attraction and learning to trust. As a writer—and even as a reader—I ate this part of dating up with a spoon. I was clearly a very twisted soul because the real life version was nauseating.
Attraction? Clearly we both had it.
Kissing? So good it should be illegal.
Personality? No clue.
Habits? Zero information.
Future hopes and dreams? Also a zero.
Worthy of trust? Hell no.
And yet I couldn’t stop reliving our kisses, wondering what an afternoon together would look like, if he even liked the idea of commitment. Even more important, could he put up with the life of a writer? It was a demanding and strange lifestyle. Sometimes I spent days in a row without changing out of my pajamas. And then I’d do a complete turn around, made-up like a movie star for public appearances. Some days I was a regular person with doubts and too much work, while other days I was a sort of celebrity.
Erik was a celebrity all day, every day. If I turned on the television he’d probably be in one of the commercials. His face was on billboards on the highway. Everyone in Tampa knew Erik Cassidy.
Would he understand day three of no showering while on deadline? Did he enjoy sneaking into movie theaters for a quiet two hours of popcorn and candy? Or did he prefer nights at the clubs with adoring fans and a different woman every night?
“Earth to Zoe,” June cooed.
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“I could tell. I can also guess that most of those thoughts were about who Erik is, and I’m here to remind you that you actually know the guy pretty well. He’s exactly the man who shows up to family dinner. He’s a father figure to the team and keeps a pretty low profile.”
“We never really know someone until they choose to show us who they are.” Yeah, it was a super pessimistic view on humanity, but one I’d learned all too well. Maybe it was wrong to hold onto it so hard, but holding onto it was what helped keep me from repeating the mistakes of my past. Trusting too soon was not something I’d ever do again.
“We’re talking about the ex now, right?”
I shrugged because I didn’t even want to acknowledge him with a single word.
“I owe you an ear still. You were here for me when I needed to tell someone about Roman and I promised I’d return the favor.”
And I was absolutely going to call in that favor soon. Just not yet. “I haven’t avoided dating all this time because I’m never going to date again.” Oh sure, sometimes I thought about giving it all up. Love was the most vulnerable thing a person could give. Every so often I let my fears take over and convince me that I shouldn’t ever look at another man, but eventually I talk myself down off the cliff.
I wouldn’t completely close myself off from the idea of love but I also wouldn’t ever run right into it, either.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not ready to talk yet.” I shot her a half-smile. “When I left him I was scared and lost. I knew I needed to get myself together before I did anything. The more I looked back the more I realized one of the major reasons I was even in that position was because I put myself there.”
“Zo—”
I didn’t want to hear her placations so I put my hand up, stopping her. “Before I could ever consider dating again I knew I needed to work on myself. One day, when the time is right, I’ll take a chance with another man, but not before I know for sure that I have my own head on straight.”
She nodded. “Okay. I can respect that. Besides now would be a terrible time for both of you.”
“Exactly. Wait, what?”
She shrugged. “You’re on a meteoric rise. Your days are crazy right now with no chance of slowing for what? Another two or three months at the very least?”
I nodded because she was right.
“Adding confusing feelings and a guy to your stress right now would be silly. And the Mantas are in the playoff hunt right now. That’s because of Erik. He built this team. He’s their leader. They wouldn’t be here now, with a serious shot at the World Series for the first time in over fifteen years, if it weren’t for him. The last thing he needs is a distraction. Not even a beautiful, smart distraction like you.”
“See? The timing is awful.” I heard myself say that perfectly logical sentence and yet I didn’t feel it in my heart one little bit. Nope. Hearing June say that Erik was too busy to date me, that we should wait, it hit me in the gut.
June laughed, standing up, which was when I realized the sneaky little trickster did that on purpose. Tell me I can have something if I want it and I’ll debate all the reasons it’s a bad idea.
But tell me I can’t have it? Tell me it’s wrong?
All I could think about now was not having Erik in my life, how hollow it made me feel.
“I know what you just did.”
June paused in my doorway, impish grin firmly in place. “What? You’re right. You shouldn’t be thinking about Erik right now.” Her stupid eyes glittered.
“The timing is terrible,” I muttered again. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Both were true.
“The timing is never right, Zoe. And no one is ever ready to fall in love. It happens anyway.”
When June said I had big things happening she meant it. My life was one great big big right now. Everything was changing. Some days I did really well with it. I kept my nose down, did the work, and ignored the crazy.
But other days . . .
Other days I got turned in fifteen different directions and ended up curled up in a little ball crying. I was traveling to meet with the movie producers, handing off tasks to the assistant June and Carrie made me hire. I needed her, I admit. But it’s hard to have someone else do the things I usually did myself. I kept thinking, “Oh, I can throw together this email. And make this graphic to share on Instagram. And write this blurb. And write the next chapter in the book.” Except there aren’t enough hours in the day to do that, plus the travel, plus the interviews, plus the new marketing that came up to support all of it, plus remain sane.
So clearly, yes, I needed an assistant. Actually I probably needed two or three at this point, but one was killing me so I wasn’t going to ask for more.
And now with thoughts of Erik dancing in my head I was losing my mind.
So I went back to my roots. I shut off the computer. No social media. No blinking cursor on my partially written book. I turned off the lights, lit a couple of candles, put on my super expensive-because-oh-my-god-they’re-awesome headphones, and laid down in the middle of the floor.
My grandmother loved poetry. She wrote it sometimes.
I never understood it. Poetry just wasn’t my thing.
Or so I thought.
Turns out I loved poetry . . . when it was put to music. Lyrics I understood. I got lost in them. I could spend days analyzing a single line that caught my attention. I’m not sure if it was the addition of music that suddenly made this form of poetry make sense or if it was being able to hear the writer emote the words, but music always got deep down inside me. The words spoke to me like whispers in the dark. Lyrics were essentially poetry—my kind of poetry—and when I was mixed up on a project the very best way for me to dig back into the message of my characters was to get lost in my favorite songs.
On tap today: Imagine Dragons, Twenty-One Pilots, and Fallout Boy.
Yep. A lot of dudes. Which was a little weird since I was starting to get a rep in the industry for my quietly feminist romances, but my soul didn’t ask for my brain’s preferences on who wrote and sung the lyrics currently eating up my brain-space.
I paused the music and picked up my notepad. “What does Jessica feel when she lands her dream job? Is it like ‘Thunder’? Is she thinking of all those people who told her she couldn’t do it?”
I flopped back and closed my eyes, focusing on the bass line, letting the vibrations of Imagine Dragons lull me into a state of catatonic joy.
Fallout Boy wasn’t always my favorite, but damn did they have some lyrics that spoke to me. “Jet Pack Blues” in particular usually got me. I replayed the song wondering how I could incorporate the sound of rain into Jessica’s big revelation, just like in the song.
I went on and on, listening to songs and jotting down lyrics until my phone vibrated. I knew I should ignore it. The last thing I needed was another distraction, but I picked it up anyway.
And holy moly, guacamole, it was Erik. An electric zing sizzled across my skin as I checked the message. He’d had my number for a couple of years but he’d never used it except to respond to group messages about dinners and events.
Erik: “You doing ok?”
I sat bolt upright. My headphones shifted just enough that the chorus sounded distorted.
It was just three words, but it was three words he wouldn’t have texted me before I kissed him. I stared at my phone. What did I do? I couldn’t ignore it. Well, I could but that would be beyond weird. Better to text back with a “Fine” or “Go away” than nothing at all.
Except I didn’t want to dismiss him.
I’m okay. Thanks for asking.
The hair on my arm rose up and my scalp pricked.
I promptly deleted that reply.
Good, thank you. You?
Deleted that too. Why was it so hard for a writer to write a simple, casual reply to a hot guy?
Oh, because he wasn’t just a hot guy. He was a philanthropist with a great big giant heart who I couldn’t stop thinking about.
I took a deep breath and put myself in Jessica’s shoes. What would she say to Ryan? Jessica was someone who knew what she wanted and she didn’t run away from her feelings for Ryan. She was bold and strong. She was who I imagined I’d be the next time I dated.
I took a deep breath and tried again.
Me: Honestly? Still embarrassed.
When I set the phone down beside me on the rug I realized Twenty-one Pilots was singing about fear and anxiety. I shook my head and closed my eyes and took a look at my dark parts, just like they asked me to.
I wrote because it was the only way I knew how to release these demons that lived inside me. Doubt, worry, embarrassment. They all ran wild. I couldn’t tame them or control them at all. The only outlet they had was through my characters. So often I channeled the turmoil in my head to the page.
Not just my colossal fuckup of a relationship with Tony, but also my confusion over my family. I was always the oddball. A family of financial experts, my brother and parents lived for order, mathematics, and bottom lines.
While I daydreamed.
I drove them all crazy and in turn they made me question everything I was. I don’t think they ever did it on purpose—we were just a mismatch of personalities.
My phone vibrated again and this time I took off my headphones. The silence echoing loudly.
Erik: If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me. I’m the one that got greedy. Did I go to far?
A flush crept up my chest just thinking about the way his hands held me, the way he seemed to devour me.
Me: I enjoyed all of your kisses.
I hit send and dropped the phone like it was on fire. What was I doing?
Erik: Not half as much as I enjoyed yours.
I stared at the reply until my phone went dark. Damn. I stared so long my phone lit up again, reminding me I had a text message.
Erik: Not half as much I enjoyed yours.
Yep. Still stunning even a minute later. The screen went dark again, then immediately lit back up with a new message.
Erik: Shit. I went too far this time. I’m sorry. I swear I just wanted to make sure we were cool before the birthday party.
He was sweet. And genuine. I really believed that. So why was it so hard for me to accept that he had a crush on me?
Me: We’re cool. Promise.
I wanted to say that he hadn’t gone too far, that I wanted to kiss him again, but I held back.
Erik: See you Saturday?
My heart thudded with anticipation. Saturday. Two short days and his lips would be in kissing distance again—for better or worse. I still wasn’t sure which.
Me: See you for unicorns and cake.
5
ERIK
Karma, man. Karma.
“Cassidy!” Wes said, slapping me on the back as we ran out onto the field. “Watch that squirmy little fucker. He’s dying to steal.” It was the fourth inning and the game was tied at zero.
I glanced up at the man in question, Ernest Dario. He was on track for a record number of stolen bases this season so it wasn’t surprising he’d be gunning for me, but Dario was the kind of guy you punched in the face if you were out partying together. Total asshole. Kind of like Wes, except I liked Wes.
“I’ve got second under control.” I shoved Wes in the chest padding of his catcher’s uniform. “You just be ready for my incredibly accurate throws home.”
He spread his arms out wide pretending to be shocked. “When am I ever not ready? I know how to do my job.” Then he yanked down his mask and jogged behind home plate before I could tell him to go to hell.
“Fucker, telling me how to do my job? Whatever.” I admit I was in a bit of a bad mood since my unexpected kiss with Zoe Burke. It wasn’t the kiss that was the problem. That was amazing. It was everything else I learned. I’d always known Zoe was running from something and that it was probably bad, but seeing the level of pain she was carrying around, seeing that fear? My bad mood was a simple case of Wanting-to-Kill-an-Asshole-itis. The only known cure was a beat down.
I shook all thoughts of Zoe from my head as dickwad Dario stepped up to the plate. As all consuming as Zoe could be to my brain, a line drive to my skull would be bad. Especially considering I was seeing her in a few hours at a unicorn party.
Sure enough the asshole tried three times to steal second before his teammate got him around to third. Based on the very large lead he was taking towards home plate, the fucker thought he could manage to steal home, too.
Lucky for me his teammate ground out too high and fast. I caught the ball easily and sent it in to Wes at home plate. Our pitcher, Chris Kaine, dropped to the ground just as my throw whistled past where his head had been.
Out, you little fucker.
And that was pretty much how the entire game went. All. Thirteen. Innings.
It was a mess but we finally scored, ending the game at 1-0.
“Bear, you fucking asshole. You almost took off my head,” Chris grunted at me as he yanked off his uniform.
I had earned my locker room nickname for
a reason. It started off as a joke—as all good nicknames do—because I was “Papa Bear-ing” all the out of control kids. But I also had this other side. The protective big brother side. Occasionally I got a bit grizzly.
“Naw, he was just trusting you to get out of the way,” Wes laughed, wrapping a clean, white towel around his waist.
I flexed my right arm and patted my bicep. “Steady as a rock. Even if you hadn’t ducked I wouldn’t have hit you. Laser precision right here.”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Let’s maybe try to not kill me from now on,” he said as he moved toward the showers.
“If Wes would pay attention it would really help,” I called after him, essentially daring Wes to punch me.
Which he did. Right in my left arm. “We got the W so I’m going to let the name-calling slide, just this once, Papa Bear.”
“I told you I wouldn’t let him steal.”
Wes grunted. “Dickwad Dario today, Makai the Maniac on Monday. I’m having a helluva week. I think I actually need a unicorn party.”
“Pink, purple, gold, and glitter. Pretty much the opposite of black eyes and clay.”
“And don’t forget birthday cake.” He buttoned his dress shirt and slipped on his shoes.
Wes never waited around after home games anymore which meant my window of opportunity was closing in three, two, one . . . “What can you tell me about Zoe?”
He froze, his bag in his hand. “Pixie? Not much.”
Tiny fireball. Sounded like the perfect nickname for her. She’d given him the hell he needed while trying to woo Carrie. “You’re close though, right?” I knew the answer but I also didn’t know how else to break the ice on this conversation. Wes was my teammate and a good friend, but not that good of a friend that I could ask about his wife’s best friend out of the blue without getting a shotgun shoved in my face.
He turned to face me with his hands on his hips. “I love that little troublemaker as if she were my actual little sister. Why are you asking?”
