I give him a curious look. “You’re still in town? Figured you had left.”
“I’ve got friends and family here,” he says. “I stayed an extra night, but I’m catching a flight back to New York in two hours.”
“Was it good to see peeps?” Holden asks.
Declan’s lips twitch, maybe with the hint of a grin. “Yeah. Mostly.” Distracted, he looks at his watch. “I should go. I’ll catch you on the first home stand. You’ll be on my turf, and we plan to destroy you,” he says to me.
Ah, that’s the Declan I know. He’s the most competitive bastard in the league.
“As if the Comets can do anything but choke on our dust,” I say.
“You’ll be choking at the plate,” he says with a wicked grin, then tugs on the bill of his cap before he tips his forehead in the direction of the airport. “Gotta take off.”
“See you,” Holden says.
Declan takes off, and we head up the block and around the corner, ready to rap on Grant’s door. But he’s already bounding down the steps in his workout clothes, his hair a wild mess, like he stuck his finger in an electrical socket.
I shoot him a look. “You’ve been DoorDashing on a Saturday afternoon?”
He rolls his eyes, flipping me the bird. “Yeah, I had a burger and a blow job. Let’s go hit the gym.”
We do, and the three of us all seem a little lost in our own worlds as we’re working out.
As for me, I can’t stop thinking about Holden’s comments.
Not the ones about what-if women.
The ones about recognizing mistakes.
30
Nadia
Back when I was in my matchmaker phase, I read dating columns religiously—articles on the latest trends in dating, on where to go, ideal topics for discussion on the first date, and how to read between the lines.
And I want to issue a complaint right now.
Someone needs to pen a column on how utterly awkward it is to be friends with the guy you gave your virginity to the night before last.
Here we are at a golf course on the edge of the city, making small talk.
Small talk is painful. Hell, it’s worse than having your plaque scraped. Loudly.
“So, you’re looking forward to spring training?”
“Absolutely. I love it,” Crosby says, all chipper and upbeat.
“It must feel like everything is possible,” I offer, equally peppy so I don’t think of him doing bad things to me or whispering sweet everythings in my ear.
“Yes, that’s exactly it. The world is your oyster,” he says as we chat by a golf cart as the event is winding down. “We have a lot to work on with our oyster, but I’m stoked to do the work. It’s always good to get back in the saddle.”
Ugh, I want to gag.
He’s talking to me like he’s chatting with a reporter at the end of the game.
I chuckle, but it’s mirthless, maybe even frustrated.
Crosby arches a brow. “What’s that for?”
Should I just let it go? Screw it. “You just sounded like you were giving me a PR answer,” I say.
He laughs. “I guess I did. The truth is, I’m kind of ridiculously excited. I always feel a little bit like a lion pacing in a cage, or maybe a bit of a lost soul, without baseball.”
“See? That’s a better answer. Because you love it,” I say, glad to be talking honestly now.
His smile is magnetic, genuine. Like a kid riding a bike for the first time. “I do. It’s definitely my first love,” he says.
In some ways maybe I should feel jealous. But I don’t. I’m glad he has something that he loves that much. That baseball is it for him. “That’s how it is for me too. I’m not out on the field playing, obviously, but I grew up with a football-is-life worldview because of my dad. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Is it crazy that even when I was a little girl, I wanted to run my dad’s football team?”
“No frogging way,” he says, smiling widely.
“I see I’ve rubbed off on you.”
“In more ways than one,” he says, wistful, his eyes a little lost.
I feel the same. My God, I feel the same.
“It was good to talk to you,” I say, gesturing from him to me. “Like this.”
“It was, Nadia. It was great,” he says, and we both shuffle closer.
It’s that awkward moment when you don’t know if you should hug or not.
We go for the full awkward embrace, and the scent of him, the mind-bending, knee-weakening soapy scent of him, makes me feel lost all over again.
My heart is empty, but I know exactly how it would feel full again.
When I return home, I’m ready to write to the dating sites and tell them what to say. How to deal with this frogging mess.
Deal with it by saying it.
I want the friendship.
I want the love. I want to be the girl warrior and the woman who falls hard for the man. I want to have it all. Is that so crazy?
I send a note to Scarlett.
Nadia: Is it insane to think we can actually have it all?
The hour is late in Paris, and she doesn’t answer, but that’s okay. I think I know the answer.
I grab a late dinner with my mom that evening.
After we order yellowtail and edamame at my favorite sushi restaurant, I give her a wide-eyed look. “So, did Jackson Browne grease the wheels for you this weekend, Mama?”
A flush crawls up her cheeks, and my jaw goes slack. “Are you kidding me, Mom? For real?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she says, hushing me, but it’s a half-hearted denial.
“So what are you saying, Mommykins?” I bat my lashes.
She lifts her green tea and takes a sip, her brown eyes sparkling with the kind of delight I haven’t seen
