With Daisy, my heart races just from being near her, or just with the knowledge that I’m going to see her. My palms sweat and the anticipation of knowing I’ll be gazing into her eyes has me on edge. It’s a good edge, one that I want to be on.
“I’m sorry I forgot to send an usher for you. Tomorrow, you won’t have to worry. I’ll make sure you have a pass to get into the wives’ lounge.” The fact that I just said ‘wives’ lounge’ doesn’t even faze me. I want her there when I come up. I want to see her waiting for me.
“It’s okay,” she says, as her hand finds mine. I want nothing more than to kiss her right now, but this isn’t the place. Us being here, touching like this isn’t good for her. Fans can be relentless with taunting and I’m only setting her up by acting like a fool in lust… love… in public with her.
“Let’s go.” There’s more to talk about, but not here. In the privacy of my car, or her place, or mine - any other location is better as long as we don’t have an audience.
I pull her behind me through the parking lot. Her smaller strides make it seem like she’s running. I really need to slow down for her. When we reach my SUV, I’m pulling us both in between my car and the one next to mine. There’s slightly more privacy here, but not much. Video cameras overhead capture everything. With her back pressed against my car, my arms lock her in.
“I like you, Daisy.”
“I can tell.”
Not the response I was hoping for, but I’ll go with it.
“I want to kiss you. Would that be okay?”
Her eyes travel to my lips and back to my eyes. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. These simple gestures from her have me getting hard just thinking about what I want to do to her.
“Yes,” she whispers huskily. She wants this as bad as I do, but not here. Not when people are watching.
“Later,” I say with a satisfied smirk, kissing her forehead. It actually physically pains me to have to put this off, but she’s going to have to trust that I’m doing this for her and not because I’m a giant piece of shit. I open the car door and help her get in before running around to the other side. Once I’m in, I reach for her hand and as much as I want to put her hand in my lap, the space in my car is too great, leaving our hands in the middle on the console.
“That was mean,” she says as we pull out onto the streets.
“What was?”
“That almost kiss you gave me. Teasing isn’t nice.”
Teasing isn’t nice? Is she serious? Doesn’t she realize that each day I see her she’s teasing the shit out of me with the way she walks, smells, and bats her damn eyes? When she smiles, the sight of her dimple hits me right in the groin.
When we get to a stoplight, I turn and look at her. “I thought you’d much prefer our first kiss to be a bit more private. I know I would because I don’t plan to just kiss you, Daisy.” I bring her hand to my mouth and press my lips to her skin, never taking my eyes off of her.
“Oh,” she says, as her breathing catches. Unfortunately for me, the light turns green and I’m forced to drive. I take us to a little restaurant on the outskirts of the city. I have a table reserved in the back which will allow us some privacy from the rest of the restaurant. Tonight, I plan to get to know Daisy more and if a good night kiss is in order, it shall be had.
With my hand on her back, I guide her into the restaurant. The hostess greets us with a smile and says she has our table ready after I give her my name. The ambience is subdued with low lighting. Even though the restaurant is busy, the noise level is kept low. It’s almost like one of the Italian places in a mobster movie where everyone is just waiting to get blown up.
Our booth is in the back corner and although I said I would sit next to her given the opportunity, it’s not wise. I won’t be able to keep my hands off of her and I’m not looking to embarrass her.
“I don’t think I should be here.” Daisy leans across the table and whispers to me. I look around, confused.
“Why do you say that?”
“Look at how I’m dressed.” She speaks through gritted teeth, clearly angry with me.
“This is a casual place. The lady behind you looks like she’s wearing slippers.” Daisy looks over her shoulder and stifles a laugh. “Seriously, I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable or embarrass you.”
She looks at me questioningly.
I shrug. “Unless you’re at a game, then all bets are off.”
“What’s good here?” she asks as she picks up the menu. I rattle off a few of my favorites, which ends up being half the menu. When the waiter appears, I order a rib eye and she orders a small salad with a French dip.
“I have something important to ask you.”
“What is it?” she asks.
My hand starts to twitch at just the thought of saying the words that are about to come out of my mouth. Right now, I’d like to cut the stupid thing off, but I’m sure my right hand would take up the slack from missing the left. I place my left under my leg and prepare for her answer.
“What are you doing on your birthday?”
She tries to mask a pained look before she forces a smile. “Nothing. I don’t have any plans,” she says, shocking me. How can she not have any plans for her twenty-first birthday? She should be out celebrating and having dinner and cake with her family and friends.
“Your family doesn’t expect you anywhere?”
“My family is dead, Ethan.” I sit back, shocked by what she just said and wishing she could take it back.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her earnestly.
Daisy looks away, unable to maintain eye contact with me. I get up and move to her side, sliding in next to her. Something tells me I need to give her a hug, so I do. She only lets me hold her for a few seconds before she’s pulling away.
“You don’t need to be sorry. This week is a rough one for me and I didn’t expect you to ask about my birthday. I’m usually at a game. It’s just dumb luck that it’s an off day this year.”
“Its fate or kismet, or some of that other Shakespearean bullshit we learned about in school, because I wanted to ask if you’d go to a charity event with me.” I push her hair off her shoulder and leave my hand on her neck, letting my fingers play in her hair.
“I’ll go, but I’ll have to meet you there.”
“Why can’t I pick you up?”
Daisy shakes her head and I’m starting to put the pieces together.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her chin up. “I don’t care where you live. Material things don’t matter to me at all. I want to pick you up. Hell, I want to drive you home tonight and have been thinking about ways to find out where you live since we met.”
She doesn’t say anything, but rests her head on my shoulder. It’s an avoidance tactic, but she’s touching me so I’m happy.
“My parents died when I was three,” she mumbles. “It was a freak accident. The ice shanty they were in collapsed and as they were trying to get out, my mom slipped into the fishing hole. My dad thought he could save her. They both drowned. I’ve lived with my grandparents ever since, but my grandma died two years ago and my grandfather and I moved into a low income apartment.”
“Excuse me for being stupid, but how do you have season tickets to the Renegades?”
Daisy sits up and pushes her hair out of her face. “My grandfather gave up a luxury to have those.”
“A luxury?”
She nods, taking a sip of water. “Uh…” she shakes her head. “He’s in a wheelchair and we live on the third floor of an apartment building with an elevator that only works occasionally. After my grandma died, he sold his van to pay for the tickets. Said he refused to give up the seats his father worked so hard for.”
“He’s never at the games though.”
Daisy shakes her head. “We don’t have a car and I’m not strong enough to help him walk down the stairs. The Visiting Nurses come to the apartment to check on him and they’ll take him out occasionally, but it’s not l
ike I can ask them to drive us to the game. They’ll take the cost of the tickets and count it as income. We won’t be able to afford them.”
Her words hit home. I’ve never been in a situation where my parents couldn’t afford anything. My sister and I always had everything we asked for. Call us spoiled, but my parents worked hard to provide us a good life. And here sits the girl I’m interested in, spilling her guts on how she doesn’t have any money because I asked about her birthday. If I didn’t know any better, and she was the one pursuing me, I’d say she’s a gold-digger. I know once people find out about her and dig into who she is, they’re going to say shit like that and it’s going to piss me off.
When our meal arrives, I stay where I’m seated. It feels wrong to move back to where I was. Besides, I rather like feeling the body heat radiate off of her. After a few bites, I’m putting my fork down to talk to her.
“About your birthday, do you want to go with me? I understand if you want to stay home with your grandfather.” In my head, I’m silently begging her to say she wants to go.
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
I nod as fear sets in that she’s a strict tomboy. She doesn’t seem like the type, but you never know.
“Is it a date?”
Her question catches me off guard. Have I not given her enough indication that I want to be with her? I lean in and graze her cheek with my lips until I’m at her ear. “Every time we’re together, you should consider it a date. In fact, you should consider us dating.” She leans her head into my lips, trying to hold me there. Another time, another place and I wouldn’t move, but right now, my body temperature is rising and I know I need to pull away from her and try to adjust myself as discreetly as possible.
“You know,” she says, abruptly changing the subject, “that blog is going to mention how many times you adjusted yourself during the game today.”
I roll my eyes and stab at my food. “Well, if someone hadn’t worn my shirt to the game, I probably wouldn’t have had the urgent need to adjust my cup so many times during the game.”
“Is that so?” she asks with a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Yes, it is,” I say quietly as I lean in. “You see, I have fantasies of you in my clothes, in my bed and under me… any bad press I get for that kind of stuff is because you.”
I leave her with those thoughts as I try to finish my dinner. I watch her out of the corner of my eye and try not to laugh. She’s stunned and I love it.
I can’t get Daisy off my mind. She’s in my dreams at night. When I wake, she’s there in the images that I’ve stored in my mind. I see her in every woman I encounter. It’s getting to the point where every smell, every color, even every freaking pizza topping reminds me of her. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, or where I am because I see her everywhere. It’s a curse. That’s what I’ve determined, because with each thought comes another one that takes me down a path I have yet to travel with her.
The other night after our dinner date, I tried to drive her home. She wouldn’t let me and I didn’t force the issue. I like her too much to be that guy – the one who is demanding and overbearing. She’s been riding the trains and walking the streets a lot longer than I have; I can’t come swooping in to save her like some kind of superhero if she’s not asking to be saved. Sadly, not being able to drive her home also meant no good-night kiss. I don’t want to settle for some cheapened peck on the cheek while standing on some street, or on the subway platform. I want to hold her in my arms. I want to caress her face and let my lips linger over hers until neither of us can wait any longer. I want it to be something for her – for us both – to remember.
I also want to stop sounding like a girl. This is the shit I used to make fun of my sister about when she’d ask me to take those stupid tests from her magazines. As much as I try not to, I can’t help but think of Daisy as this delicate flower. I don’t know if it’s because of her name, or the fact that I’m so damn attracted to her, that this mushy shit is flowing from me and I can’t turn it off.
Tonight, the kiss is happening. It’s her birthday and I can’t think of a better way to cap off the night than a good-night kiss. Actually, I can think of about ten other ways to end the night, and if I can get her to come back to my place for a small birthday party, I may try to make them happen.
I grab my phone from my bedside table and scroll through my contacts until I find my mom’s picture. It’s of her holding Shea while my mom beams with pride. I press her name and she picks up on the second ring.
“Hello, Ethan.”
“Hi, Mom.” I’ve never been one to open up about my feelings, but there’s a first time for everything. I don’t know how to tell if what I’m feeling is lust or genuine feelings, and I’m hoping my mom can help me figure it out. I can’t compare Daisy to Sarah – I’ve tried – it’s not working. They’re completely different.
“You had a good game last night.”
“Thanks. We’re still not doing that well. We’re already behind and it’s only April.”
My mom sighs and I can hear her moving around the room. The sound of a door closing makes me wonder if I’ve woken her up.
“Dad says the team is young and you guys have a lot of rebuilding to do. You’ll be fine, it may just take a bit longer than you expect.”
“Yeah, but I’m impatient and used to winning.”
“Well, everyone has to grow up eventually. You can’t win everything, Ethan.”
I want to ask her why not. I’m Boston’s most eligible bachelor. Surely I should have whatever I want when I want it. Isn’t that part of having this title? I want Daisy, yet I have a feeling that if I don’t act fast enough I’m going to be friend zoned. The problem is, if she’s giving me a sign, I’m obviously missing it and finding excuses as to why I shouldn’t kiss her whenever I have the chance. Something is holding me back. It’s as if I’m stuck behind bars and unable to reach her, even though she’s right there.
“I need to ask you something, but I also need you to keep it between us.”
“I’m all ears,” she says, but there’s a hint of worry in her voice. I’d be worried too, I suppose, if my son said this to me.
I take in a deep breath and exhale slowly as I close my eyes and prepare for her reaction. It doesn’t matter that my mom is three thousand miles away; she’ll be giddy and want to know everything about Daisy.
“How did you know you were in love with Dad?”
The slight intake of air on the other end tells me she’s smiling. Knowing my mom the way I do, she has her fist clenched and is doing her own impression of Arsenio Hall. My only fear is that, given our history, she’ll think that it’s Sarah, and I don’t want to disappoint her.
“Is it the girl the BoRe Blogger has written about?”
I go silent and wish I could hang up on my mother. However, I’m sure that action would have her on the next plane out. I’m never too old for a spanking according to her.
“Ugh, Mom, why do you read that garbage?” It’s not all garbage. The BoRe Blogger is fairly accurate with his baseball knowledge, but the gossip part is what kills me. Why can’t the blog be about baseball and only baseball? Why must our personal lives be subject matter?
“I can’t help it. You aren’t forthcoming with a lot of information and the BoRe blog is. Besides, why are you only now telling me about this?”
“There was nothing to tell.”
“Then why do you think you’re in love?”
I stand and walk over to my bedroom window, the line of cars parked along Marlborough Street in the Back Bay make it hard for people to drive down the road. Horns honk and people yell, most of them in their Boston accent, making me laugh and cringe at the same time. I love where I live. I love my neighbors and they like me, even after my Twitter incident. My place is small, but perfect for me. I do long for a house though, with a yard… for a dog…
“Because…” I pause and try to gather my thoughts. I take a deep breath and spill. “Th
is is going to make me sound like a girl, but here it goes. When I look at her, Mom, I see sunshine and happiness. I see someone who is the light at the end of what used to be a dark tunnel. And I know that sounds cliché, but there’s no other way I can describe it. It’s the way she smiles, and the way she watches the game and can carry on a conversation. And her sports knowledge is second to none. It literally scares the living daylights out of me that she may know more about baseball than I do, so I’ve steered clear of any sports talk. I think about her every day. Everything I see reminds me of her. It’s like… I want to call her at random times in the day just to hear her voice. It’s driving me crazy, but in the best possible way. I want to touch her and by that I mean even just hold her hand… I just… ugh.”
“Ethan, it’s okay. I’m not asking about what you’ve done with her.”
“That’s just it, Mom. We haven’t even kissed. I’ve held her hand, and that’s it. I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”
“And I’m sure she appreciates your efforts.”
Well, I’m glad someone does because my freaking Johnson doesn’t appreciate anything I’m trying to do. He’s constantly carrying a semi each time she’s around – but this is all shit I can’t say to my mom.
“Oh Ethan, it sounds like you’ve really fallen for this girl and I can guess from what you’re telling me that this is different from your relationship with Sarah. To answer your question, I just knew. Everything will just feel right, from the tips of your fingers to the end of your toes, every bone in your body will gravitate towards her. Your father was my every thought. He still is, even today.”
Third Base (The Boys of Summer #1) Page 7
