“Tell me and get it out there,” he says slightly unsure.
I made too big of a deal about it because it’s been hanging out in my mind. I had no idea what affect it was going to have on me. “I have a pack of pregnancy tests hiding in the cabinet and it’s Sam’s fault. So, don’t freak out.”
“Is there anything else you want to share about that? Like, why? Or, how my sister fits in this?” he questions maintaining calm, but I can see his level of relaxation has changed.
“Uh, yea. Sam told me to buy a multi-pack and take a test, because I was being extremely emotional and the pill isn’t 100% effective. She actually suggested the pill might not be able to handle the sperm of a professional athlete,” I share the whole reasoning behind it.
He smiles, “Well, it’s true professional athletes like myself might as well be super heroes.”
I watch his train of thought change, “Did you do a test?”
“Yes, I did a test on Monday,” I take a deep breath because I haven’t said it out loud and I know how I feel about it will show. I hate being a fucking girl that shows her emotions even when she doesn’t want to. “It was negative.” My eyes start to well up and I do my best to somehow suck it back in without Rick noticing.
Rick pulls me to him and holds me against his chest. A few minutes of silence pass and he speaks in the most sincere tone, “Thank you for telling me. Please don’t keep anything from me.”
“I promise. I won’t keep secrets from you. I have always and will always be honest with you.” I take a deep breath, “I didn’t know I wanted it until I was sad when it was negative and I didn’t tell anybody. Well, Sam knows it was negative. I sent her a picture.” A single tear rolls down my face. Damn it! This girly stuff! “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lay all of that on you.”
Rick’s hold on me tightens and he takes a deep breath as he kisses my forehead sweetly. “Someday, baby.”
“Tell me about your happy fantasy, my queen,” trying to steer our conversation into a different direction, and I oblige.
We snuggle under the sheets together and I tell him about my fantasy. “I’ve had a fantasy baseball boyfriend ever since you made it to the majors. I didn’t look at you and consciously choose my fantasy. I’d never had one before. It just happened. I started having dreams about the fantasy. What he’d feel like to touch, from his hair to his hard body. What his beard would feel like when he kissed me. How his lips would taste and his salty neck after we’d worked up a sweat. How it would feel to have his hands on my skin. Would they leave a heated path or goosebumps? The feel of his tongue against mine, his mouth claiming me, taking my body as his and having his way with me, driving me out of control. Waking up in the morning, imagining it was real and checking in the bed next to me to find I was alone. I never spoke to him, but I was at every home game cheering for him more than the rest of the team and wearing only his jersey. I wanted his autograph, but I refused to single him out and specifically go after him and only him. I was waiting for my opportunity at a fanfest or autograph signing, and it’d been years without happening. I was afraid he wouldn’t be anything near what I imagined, or I’d speechlessly lose my marbles when I got close to him. I avoided one of the things I wanted most, him. Men would ask me out and I even went on a handful of dates, but they were all compared to the fantasy and reality was tossed aside. I learned that fantasy is what you believe you want, and there was no reason why I should settle for anything less, other than it didn’t really exist.
“One night after a winning game I felt froggy and saw an opportunity to get a couple autographs, so I went for it. I had a drive to complete my collection and was only missing a few of the current players. I cut through the seats to the dugout while the team was celebrating on the field and hung out a few minutes. I always love to watch the on field interviews after a winning game, and this was the perfect location for it. The rookie walked up to me, I got his autograph and he started talking to me, but I had no idea what he said. I was completely oblivious. I’m pretty sure he saw me drool as I focused on my fantasy who was standing only twenty feet away. I swear I could smell his manly, rustic scent in the air. I tried to recover, told him I needed the autograph for my collection and that he’d been doing a great job this season. I stood there getting my wits about me, while I watched the interviews. My fantasy completely ignored me and walked right passed me to the locker room. I was devastated because both of my fears had come true within a few minutes—my fantasy ignored me, making me consider he might not be who I thought he was and
