“This. Me coming out here. I shouldn’t have come.”
My chest tightens. Fuck, she actually regrets this. Me. Last night.
“I’m sorry. I thought we could have a good time.Ihad a good time . . . with you. And not just because?—”
“It’s just that I don’t do this.This!”She sweeps her palms out in front of her, like a conductor, and I try to regain my train of thought before she hijacked it.
“I’m sorry. But . . . what do you mean bythis?”
Her sudden laugh doesn’t really make me feel better.
“Exactly. See? This is nothing. Which is why I shouldn’t have come.” She huffs again, her eyes darting around the cab with her stream of thoughts. She’s freaking out. And as bad as it feels to be summed up as “nothing,” to some degree, it’s my fault she feels like this.
“I didn’t mean to pressure you, and I didn’t really have expectations or hopes. Well, no, I had hope. Gah!” I pinch the bridge of my nose as I pull up to the stoplight right off the highway.
“You didn’t pressure me. I made a mistake. This was a mistake, is all. I’m sorry. It’s me, okay?”
I laugh, but then realize she’s being serious, and the sound drops from my mouth.
“Oh, wow. You’re really giving me theit’s not you, it’s mebit. Wow. Just . . . huh.” I stroke the stubble on my chin with my palm, my elbow balanced on the driver’s side door.
“Because it’s not you. Trust me,” she says.
If I had half a clue what the hell was happening, I might be apt to trust her. But this actually might be a genuine case of someone getting cold feet. And all I wanted was a second date.
I pull up to her house, her Jeep parked out front alongside what looks like a pricey Mercedes sedan. The black paint is coated with a thin layer of Oklahoma dust.
I shift into park and reach into the back seat to hand Renleigh her bag. She grasps the top strap, but I hold on to the other side for a beat, coaxing her gaze to me.
“We’re heading to Nashville tomorrow. Three days. Maybe when I get back?”
She blinks, her expression devoid of all the passion that colored it pink just hours before.
“Good luck in Nashville. I hope you get the W.”
I let go of her bag, and just as fast, she slips from my truck and shuts the door behind her.
How the hell is this my lot in life—always watching Renleigh Blackwood walk away?
Chapter 12
Renleigh
How did I get here?
I’ve heard people utter those hypothetical words, and I used to scratch my head and wonder how they could be so obtuse.
I get it now.
I have always been a driven, focused, independent woman. And I can’t fathom for the life of me how I landed my ass back in my hometown and put myself into a situationship with, of all the men in the world, a ballplayer. And not just any ballplayer. I went and picked up a number one draft pick. A guy whose face has already been in the media.A lot.A guy who is going to be in the media a whole lot more. A guy who, by his own accord, is only passing through.
And fuck if I don’t kind of like him.
The good news, at least from this warped perspective, is I don’t have time to mentally work through that mess right now. I’ve just learned that my mother isn’t simply visiting. She’s staying. As in . . .moving in.And yeah, it’s her house still and all—half of it—but does she really need to be in her old bedroom? The one I’ve made myself comfortable in? FOR TWO YEARS!
“Renleigh, this doesn’t have to happen today,” my mom says, though her actions contradict her words as she hangs a collection of pantsuits on the right side of the closet.
I glare at her as I grab a handful of my clothes—all mismatched sweatshirts and over-sized T-shirts—and carry them to the spare room I once shared with my sister. Now, it’s the place where my father’s card collection is stored, along with every other abandoned trinket this household has ever seen. The purple floral wallpaper remains; it’s yellowed a lot, and the seams are peeling.
