One ding.
Two.
Three more right on top of each other.
“Shit fuck shit fuck shit fuckstop,” he orders his phone.
It dings three more times and crows once, then lets out a loudArrrrggggh, Matey!
I clap a hand to my mouth.
Do I want to laugh?
Yes.
Do I want to cry?
Also yes.
“Shut. The fuck.Off.” He finally mashes his phone right to make the noise stop, cuts a glance at me in the mirror, and then drops his face, eyes squeezed close. “I haven’t hooked up with anyone since I saw you again right before the season. I don’twantto hook up anymore. And now I can’t hit regularly, I’m missing the easy plays and sometimes the hard plays, and management’s starting to ask what my plans are after my contract is up and hinting atcoachingif my game doesn’t get better.”
His body shudders, which he doesn’t seem to notice. But of course he’s shuddering.
Baseball is Cooper’s entire life. It was when I knew him eight years ago, and it’s been apparent in every interview I’ve seen with him, in every endorsement deal he’s had, and you canseeit in every game he plays.
“Facing the prospect of being done as a player shouldn’t be a big deal,” he mutters. “I said the same thing—you should coach—to my buddy Trevor last year, but this is different, and it’s not abut I’m mething. He’s a pitcher. Pitchers don’t last as long. I’m supposed to have more good years.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.
Athletes have superstitions. I watch enough baseball that I hear all about them. Publicly, everyone talks about Cooper’s lucky socks.
I never considered that was a euphemism for a sock hanging on his hotel door.
He shakes his head, then lifts it and looks me straight in the eye. “I don’t want to use you. You wanna go, I get it. Rather watch TV and have a night off here in a comfy chair, I’m game. Ilikeyou. Yes, I want to bang you until you can’t walk, and no, I don’t wantjust one night, and yeah, I’d really like to find my game again. Ineedto find my game again. But tonight I’d rather just…be with you. And that’s scary as fuck, because I haven’t wanted to simplybewith someone, hang out, be friends, talk, put all the naked stuff second, since…well, since the last time I was with you.”
My heart melts.
I know I should guard it better. I know I’m probably signing up to get hurt all over again.
ButI missed him.
I missed the man I thought he was—the man I thought he could be, the man I’d convinced myself he never was—when we spent our short time together all those years ago.
And here he is. Again.
The same but better.
He’ll hurt me again. There’s no question. Both of our schedules are crazy. He lives for baseball, and I live for my fans.
But I can’t walk away from what might happen if hedoesn’thurt me.
So instead, I walk straight into what I want.
18
Cooper
If tonight had a batting average,I’d be in the negative. And negative batting averages are a mathematical impossibility.
