“Smart move,” I sighed.
“So, is this a fatal attraction kind of situation, or did you catch feelings?”
“Fatal attraction?”
“Guy hooks up with a woman, and she becomes obsessed with him. And not in the fun, dark romance kind of way.” He chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it. You gotta go with the classic, though.”
I shook my head. “Nah, not like that. The opposite. She wants to keep us casual, and I agreed with her, figured itwas the best of both worlds. Got to be with this beautiful woman with no strings attached. But now, I’m spending more time with her?—”
“And you want more...” Parker answered for me.
“Yeah…” I groaned. “And I’m not sure what the fuck I’m supposed to do with it.”
Parker sighed as he leaned back on the bar stool, bringing his hands together on the rough bar top. He stayed silent for a few moments, studying the screen in front of him like it held all the answers. The media loved to portray him as a good-time guy, likening him to the mortal disguise of one of those superheroes. But once you dug a little deeper, there was a lot more lurking under the surface.
He huffed a breath then turned back toward me. “There are only two ways to play this. First, bow out now. Don’t get any more attached.”
“Fuck that,” I growled.
Parker smirked. “Figured that would be your answer. Then the only other option is to fight for her.”
I shook my head. “How am I supposed to do that? She doesn’t want a relationship. I can’t force her into one.”
“Obviously,” he said. “Show her you care. I’m assuming she might be wary of relationships because she got burned in the past?” My eyes narrowed in his direction. “I’ll take that as a yes. So it might not be that she doesn’t want a relationship ever, but she’s worried about getting hurt again. Prove to her you're not her ex, that you’d never intentionally hurt her.”
“I can’t promise I won’t, though.” My head fell as I forced the words out. “Not on purpose, but you know this career, Park. It’ll always come first. How can I promise I’ll never let her down when there’s hardly any time inmy schedule for her?”
Parker shook his head as he turned back toward his drink. “Listen, D, I respect you more than you know. You’re a damn good ball player and an even fucking better Captain. But that’s a bunch of bullshit.”
“What?”
He chuckled at my tone. "Yeah, our jobs get intense for most of the year, and you should be honest about that with her, but it’s just a game. It could end tomorrow, and what would you do then?”
I swallowed, having no answer to his question. Truth be told, I had no fucking clue. Retirement was always in the back of my mind, but I never dwelled on it for too long, afraid I’d jinx myself if I put a lot of thought into what would happen after I hung up my bat.
And maybe it was too soon to think I’d want more with Brianna, but for the first time, the idea of a life after baseball didn’t make me nauseous. Instead, a picture formed in the back of my mind, one of laughter, travel, and a life with someone at my side. Someone who looked a lot like Brianna.
Tipping back another sip of my drink, I sighed, turning back toward Parker. “Okay, Romeo. Tell me how I make her want more.”
Parker smirked back at me. “Thought you’d never ask.”
TWENTY-THREE
Staring at the television, I watched as Damien sauntered off the field into the dugout. He’d been gone for almost a week, darting off around the country for back-to-back series. When he first mentioned leaving, I was relieved, needing space after spending so much time with him. Yet, from the moment I left his apartment, I wanted to go back, missing him more than I expected.
I tried to push the thought away, instead focusing on the schoolwork I’d been neglecting all summer. I immersed myself in the updated curriculum, crafting graphs and spreadsheets to track my students’ progress, anything to help me get more prepared when I walked through the doors next month. September was always a time of transition, trying to get to know the new students and teach them the routines. There was also the matter of my co-teacher.
Don’t get me wrong—I enjoyed my career. I'd worked with many incredible teachers over the years, but no matter how much you knew someone, there was always an adjustment period when you shared a classroom. Depending on the mix of personalities, it could be arough transition, two people battling for shared power instead of coming together to best serve the students’ needs.
And this year would be a harder one than most. As if I conjured him with my thoughts, an email pinged into my inbox, Brad’s name plastered on the top. As I scanned his message, my blood boiled. No greeting. No perfunctory questions about my summer. Instead, he’d jumped into a list of documents he wanted me to create and his expectations for me when I stepped intohisclassroom.
As I scanned his words, my hands tensed. The man wanted me to be a body in the room, only managing behaviors, nothing else. In all caps, he wrote: I WILL LEAD ALL INSTRUCTION. YOU ARE THERE TO SUPPORT ONLY.
With a groan, I shot off a reply email, reminding him we were co-teachers and I wasn’t his assistant. If he did not think he could handle the assignment, he was welcome to go to the principal. Then, I slammed the lid shut, not bothering to wait for a response. It was only for a year. I could do anything for a year. Ten months—185 days, if we were being technical.
As I debated exchanging my teaching license for any other career, Ollie crashed through the door, her hands filled with a large package. She plopped it on the table and grinned. “It’s for you.”
My brow furrowed. “It shouldn’t be. I didn’t order anything.”
