“Look at you growing up,” Taters says. “I mean, you’ve always been the responsible one, but this is rather mature of you.”
“Can you not make a big deal about it?”
Posey leans forward and whispers, “He’s still having a hard time learning how to communicate with her. He told her he ate an apple today, and that was it. That was his text.”
I shed my pants. “Can we not hash it out, please? I have it under control now.”
“Didn’t seem like it this afternoon,” Posey mutters.
“Why are you going to Posey for girl advice when I’m clearly the one you should be asking?” Taters asks.
“Why are you the one?” I ask. “No offense, but you’re not currently attached to anyone, and the last person you dated . . . well, it’s unclear what happened between you two.”
“Not all of us are a tell-all autobiography for the world, Hornsby. Some people like privacy.”
Smiling, I say, “Well then, take this as a hint. Give me some fucking privacy.”
I take off toward the showers. We have a flight to Denver we have to catch tonight, and I want to get on the bus as quickly as possible so I can call Penny.
I’ve seen the guys on the team with families hustle up after a game because they want to call their wives and their kids before they go to bed. It’s odd to think I’m joining that club now.
Not quite sure how I feel about that other than I don’t really have a choice in the matter.
* * *
Penny:Yes, I’m awake.
Damn. I kind of hoped she’d be sleeping or at least pretend to be sleeping. But maybe she needs to talk just as much as I need to. And when I say talk, I mean just tell her how I wish everything was normal between us.
I grabbed a bowl of chili and a to-go box of cornbread for dinner from the players’ table and then practically sprinted to the bus with the rest of the family men. Needless to say, a few of them were shocked to see me.
I settle myself toward the back and up against the window, set my food and bag down, and then slip my earbuds in before taking a deep breath and hitting her name in my phone.
It rings two times, and then she answers, “Hey.”
I swallow as a wave of butterflies shoots up my stomach. I know it’s not the kind of butterflies people get when they see the one they love or their crush walk by. This is nerves. All fucking nerves.
“Hey, Penny.” My voice comes out all gravelly, so I take a quick sip of my water. “How, uh . . . how are you doing?”
There you go, a solid start to a conversation.
“I’m doing okay,” she answers, and I can already feel the tension. It’s obvious that neither of us wants to be in this current situation—on the phone, forcing ourselves to communicate—but we have to make the most of it, which means we need to learn to talk to each other.
“Okay? Are you having any symptoms?” Symptoms?Symptoms of what, you idiot?Jesus Christ. You’re not her goddamn doctor. But unfortunately for me—and her—it’s the first thing that comes to mind.
Thankfully, there’s a light chuckle on the other end of the phone, and that eases some of the embarrassment from my idiotic question. “Just tired at the moment.”
“Oh, should I, uh, should I let you go so you can get some sleep?”
“No, I think we need to talk.”
We need to talk.
Hell, nothing good comes from those four words. Usually, they’re accompanied by a breakup or a confession like . . . I’m sorry, but I cheated on you. Weirdly, though, none of those scenarios apply to us.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Do you want to go first?”
“I guess so.” And then she’s silent, and I wish I could hear what she’s thinking. I’m sure it would be a world of information that would make cracking her shell so much easier. If only she would talk to me like she talked to me that one night, so free and open. But circumstances are different now. Finally, she sighs. “I don’t know why I’m so awkward around you. Well, I mean, I sort of know why, but still, for some reason, I either ramble on for too long or don’t know what to say at all. It felt so easy the night we were together.”
