“I like pushy.” Blake wiggles his eyebrows.
“Stop making this about you.” Lance smacks Blake upside the head.
Reed looks one hundred percent bored as he says, “Don’t over-text. Give her space.”
“If I give her space, won’t that just push her away more?” I’ve never been in this situation before. I’m usually the one who needs space from the women I fuck. Not the other way around.
I don’t want space with Savannah.
Savannah’s everything I never knew I wanted. She couldn’t give a shit that I’m a baseball player. She doesn’t need me. She’s strong and independent. She has her own career and life. She’s so fucking good. The light to my dark. Everything I’m not. I’m lucky she even gave me a chance.
“Nah,” Reed says, leaning back like he’s an expert on the subject. “That shit only works on dudes. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. Helps so we can fuck someone else. For women, it’s “distance makes the heart grow fonder”. They miss us when we aren’t around.”
“Sounds like bullshit,” Heath mumbles under his breath.
“How the fuck would you know?” Lance says as he looks at Reed in disbelief. I don’t blame Lance. Reed has less experience in relationships than I do. I don’t even think Reed does repeats.
“None of your fucking business,” Reed grunts.
My phone buzzes, and we freeze as a group. The fist that’s been grasping me around the chest since this morning clenches.
Cam slaps me on the back. “Are you going to look or what?”
I can feel the guys crowd behind me as I reach for my cell and swipe it open. The organ in my chest beats in my throat as I read her message.
Savannah:Thank you for dinner. Play better, baseball boy.
“Looks like you’re not totally fucked,baseball boy,” Heath teases. He gives my shoulder a tight squeeze as he and the guys back away to finish getting cleaned up before we leave for the hotel.
I ignore their musings, rereading the message again.
The air in my lungs whooshes out in relief. It’s only eight words, but they let me know she’s thinking about me.
And watching.
thirty-eight
Savannah
Thecheersfromthegroup of competing contestants performing sultry dances for each other do nothing to improve my mood. Like everything else this week, binge-watching my favorite show has lost its shine.
Flipping streaming services, I turn on the replay of the Evaders game.
I’ve turned into a stalker of sorts. All week, I’ve been watching Nico play. I’ve hardly slept since I left him. I gobble up any glimpse or mention of the man who sets my soul on fire. I even set up a Google Alert for his name so I wouldn’t miss news about him while I’m on shift at the hospital.
I sink into the couch, wrapping my blue butterfly blanket around my shoulders. My eyes catch the brown paper bag on the coffee table, and my lips perk up. The sweet jerk is giving me space like I asked by not texting, but every night I get a knock on the door. Takeout bag in hand, our doorman, Roberto, delivers mydinner with the reminder not to set any fires while my neighbor is gone.
Even after pushing him away, Nico is still taking care of me from the road.
My smile slips, and I sniff back the tears threatening to fall again. I miss him so damn much. My gut churns with regret, thinking about how I left things with him. Every time I close my eyes, I see the hurt look on his face, pleading for me to stay.
My heart felt like it was being ripped in two. Leave and hurt Nico. Stay and hurt my sister. Charlotte is my rock. We’ve always had each other’s backs.
My cellphone rings from beside me, and the butterflies in my stomach flip.Please be Nico. Ditching my blanket hidey-hole, I reach for my phone. Those pesky little flying bugs die mid-flight as my best friend’s name and face flash on the screen.
“Hey, Xanthe.”
“Savannah? Are you okay?” she asks, concerned.
