Rubbing the nape of my neck, I lean closer to her. “I have to go, I’m meeting a friend and I’m late.”
The column of her throat rolls as she swallows and I don’t miss the annoyed look in her eyes before turning away from me.
“It’s a guy friend,” I spit out immediately, as if to tell her it’s not another woman but she side-eyes me and I realize she knows it doesn’t matter if it’s a guy or girl. “A platonic guy friend.” Jesus, I sound like an idiot.
“It doesn’t matter.”
But her body language says otherwise, and as much as I hate that she’s feeling bothered, I really fucking like it.
“You’re jealous?”I sign with a smirk.
“No.”
“You are. Admit it.”I press my shoulder into hers.
“Stop it.”She palms my shoulder back playfully, finally smiling at me.
“Oh, you like me.”Her fun loving look instantly fades with my statement.
“That was never the problem.”
Annnd she pours ice over my playful banter in a reminder that, although I didn’t really lie to them, I didn’t really tell them the truth either.
I nod once with a tight-lipped smile before standing and grabbing my cup at the pick-up counter.
Turning back, I stop at her table. I want to sit back down but I won’t. This might have not been the exact way I wanted this to turn out but the fact that we’re talking at all, well, it’s a start and I’ll take what I can get right now.
Even though she’s still mad, this little conversation gave me more hope than I’ve felt in the last two months.
“See you tomorrow, Poe.” I wink as I turn toward the exit; I don’t miss the blush that appears on her cheeks at the sound of her nickname.
I’ve been focused solely on ignoring them, trying to forget everything that happened and getting over the fact that I fell so hard for them so fast.
But now, I feel revitalized. Thinking of all the ways to prove to them that I’m not the person they think I am.
34
ETHAN
There’s something about a baseball field that provides an endorphin release like nothing else. The earthy smell of the dirt, the sound of the cleats digging into the grass and the feeling of overall satisfaction when the crowd starts filling the stands, happy and cheering.
Every memory I ever had came flooding back the moment I stepped into the stadium, except it wasn’t the same happiness I’ve always felt. Dread, laced with an overwhelming feeling of sadness knowing I was so close to walking into a stadium just like this one, but as a player, not a spectator.
I glance over the field from the biggest suite in Ford Field where the Seattle Smashers are warming up, holding a beer in my scarred hand instead of a baseball. Dressed in a suit, instead of a uniform. And I hate every fucking minute of it.
I don’t belong here. I don’t know where I belong to be honest.
But I know it’s not in the top-tier suite, listening to my father spew used car salesman pitches to whomever is on his roster to impress.
“Ethan!” My father calls me and I internally cringe at the abrasiveness in his tone.
Steeling my spine, I walk over, my eyes oscillate between the two men he’s speaking with and I hold out my hand as I approach.
“Ethan Russo, nice to meet you,” I introduce myself, shaking the hands of two men as my father provides me with their titles first—because that’s far more important to him than their name apparently.
“Ethan, this is the CFO of Ford Enterprises, Quincy Morris, and the CCO, David Ferguson.” They are dressed in Smashers jerseys of what I assume is their favorite player on the team instead of the suits you would be expecting. It makes me feel even more out of place because my father said nothing less than a three piece suit would be acceptable for thismeeting.
Of course, I opted out of wearing a tie because that’s excessive. I didn’t hear the end of it until everyone showed up and he finally had to stop berating me about it.
