“I can only hope.” He gives me an easy smile and I realize how comfortable this feels. I never knew a conversation with a man could feel like this. As if we’ve known each other our entire lives and nothing is awkward.
“How was your road trip?” I ask, needing to steer the conversation away from the fact that I want to strip him naked.
“Long. We played well, I feel like I got my timing back around game three, which was a great feeling.”
I nod, smiling as he continues.
“But I will admit I’ve never hated a road trip more in my life.” Leaning into the table, his eyes bore into mine as I blush scarlet.
“I know what you mean.” I take another bite of my food and try to keep the moan suppressed for the sake of both of us. “So, tell me how you started playing baseball?” I know most of what he’s going to say since I’ve stalked his Wikipedia page more often than I care to admit, but I still want to hear what he has to say.
“I grew up in a very small town in Alabama, population of six thousand people.”
I know that and give him a small smile.
“There were a lot of opportunities for me to go down the wrong path, hanging out with the wrong crowd, especially after my dad left.” A shadow passes over his eyes, knowing this is the part of the conversation he’s not looking forward to, but I ask anyway.
“What happened to your dad?” Our eyes meet and from the look of understanding, he knows I’m only asking because I want to know him.
“He went to prison. He was involved in an armed robbery, he shot someone, and they died later in the hospital.”
I gasp because that was definitely not on the internet.
“How old were you?”
“Seven or eight?”
Jesus, that’s young. I thought losing my dad the way I did was hard, but knowing your dad could knowingly kill someone like that? That’s hard. I stare into his eyes, searching for something because I never knew our childhood could be so similar.
“That must have been hard on your mom.” Thinking of my own mother and how she couldn’t handle anything after my dad died.
“It was at first, but we both realized that life was much better without him. He wasn’t the nicest man, so when he was gone, it felt like life was lighter, you know?”
I nod, even though I have no idea what that feeling is like. Losing my dad ripped a hole in my soul that no matter how much time passed, can never be filled.
“So, a year after he went to prison, my mom caught me hanging out with some kids that were bad news. And since she didn’t want me to turn into my father, she put me into as many after-school programs as she could. And baseball stuck. I loved it and my mom loved that it took up all my free time.” The smile that lights up his face tells me that his love for the sport hasn’t diminished over the years.
“Were you always a third baseman?” It’s a question I’ve wanted to ask since we met. I’ve heard stories of players switching positions throughout their careers.
“Nope. I actually started as a pitcher and I was actually pretty good. But when puberty hit and I had a growth spurt, I found that my velocity changed, and I wasn’t as powerful. So, my coach asked if I wanted to switch to third base since my reflexes were still on point. I agreed and the rest is history, I guess.”
I love this side of him. I’ve always loved baseball, and talking to my dad was very different than talking to Josh. Dad always took the game so seriously, and for good reason. He was always trying to improve and get better, but Josh just loves the game and wants to be a part of it in any capacity, very much like me.
We spend the rest of dinner talking about his family. The fact that he and his mom are extremely close, and I shut down the sense of jealousy I feel when he tells me that he talks to her almost every day. He’s an only child but says that his teammates have always felt like brothers, and they annoy him just as much as real brothers would.
When dinner is cleared, and Scott comes back with dessert, my mouth starts to water as I look down at the chocolate lava cake that now sits in front of me.
“What about you?” he asks, snapping me back to reality as I look over at him, confused. “I know you wanted to be in sports medicine, but was that your only dream? Or did you want to do something else?”
I can’t believe he remembered.
“No, I originally wanted to be a journalist, I even took a semester of school for it.” That feeling of shame comes crawling back up my spine at the thought of that being another thing I quit, even though I thought it was my dream.
“What happened?”
“My last assignment was an article featuring interviews with some local live broadcasters. But during my first interview, I realize that they had only agreed to the interview because of my last name.”
“What do you mean?”
“The minute I went into their office and introduced myself as Harper Stevens, their eyes went big and I spent the entire time dodging questions about my dad instead of the real reason I was there. They wanted to know what my life was like after he died, how it happened and what it was like finding him. It was at that moment I realized that I didn’t want my entire career to be a constant reminder of what I lost. I wanted to make my own way and not rely on my name to get me there.”
He leans forward and slips his hand into mine.
“Do you get those questions
