Love's Learning Curve (22 page)

The first two games are done—both wins.  I pitched last night, and tonight, I sat in the bullpen to watch the game, but I couldn’t help thinking about that blue-eyed girl.  Even though I know she wasn’t there, I couldn’t stop wondering where she was or what she was doing.  It’s my own fault, though.  I could text her, but I haven’t, and now, I’m kicking myself.

This spell I’m under scares the shit out of me.  I wanted to open her eyes to new experiences, and somehow, it opened my eyes too.  Then I decided to play it cool and laidback and not seem so eager to get to know her.  I thought if things weren’t so intense with us, maybe it would be better.  Now, I haven’t heard from her in days, and I’m coming unhinged.  I can’t even handle dealing with myself right now. What if she’s found someone more like herself?  That would be a good thing, right? 
FUCK NO!

I fall hard onto my sofa disgusted that I’ve allowed Charlie to seep so deeply into my pores.  Here I am, sitting in my home attempting to feel the release I normally get here, but with only my thoughts, there’s no such luck.  If hours on the baseball field doing what I like to do best can’t fix my head, I don’t know why I’d expect this place to fix it.

Fixing my head is a lost cause while she’s unfinished business.  I left things Saturday night feeling confident that I was going to give this a shot and make this work somehow.  Thinking about her comes so easily to me.  I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.  I fight the urge to text or call her ten times a day, but the more I try convincing myself that it’s too much and I need to focus, the harder I crave it.  The three-mile distance between our houses feels too far when things need to be said between us.

I’ve killed myself to keep busy all week.  I stayed at the field as much as possible even when it wasn’t necessary.  I made damn sure I was exhausted past the point of taking a quick shower and going straight to sleep every night I’ve stumbled home this week.  It was the only way to keep myself from going to her, but now, the reasons I forced myself to stay away no longer make any sense.  One sleepless night isn’t the end of the world, but my performance the next day at practice made me think it could be.

Does it really matter that her father is the governor of the state and is running for president?  No.  What do I care about him?  I’m not changing my career focus to politics to impress him.  I’m going to be an MLB player.  That’s respectable enough.

Is her bitch of a mother reason enough for me to walk away?  No way—I’m not scared of her mommy bullshit.  If anything, she needs me more.  She needs someone to be supportive and remind her of her strength.

Is the fact that she’s perfectly untainted and never been marked by a man making me anxious?  Ha.  That’s the one question I’ve asked myself that makes me feel crazy.  God. I want to be the one for her.  There’s no question about it, but it’s not just about getting her undressed.  I want all of her.

I look down at the crotch of my baseball pants to make sure I still have a cock after just admitting to myself that I want Charlie for more than sex.  Wanting more from her means I want her as my girlfriend, I think?  Is that what I want?  I’m sure my cock will fall off any minute now.  I’ll probably wake up tomorrow with a pussy.

However, for now, my cock is fully functional since it’s raging hard and angrily throbbing.  Thinking about Charlie seems to do this to me.  I reach into my pants and grab it just to double check it’s not’s falling off.  Sure enough, it’s there and not going anywhere, but that doesn’t help my shitty mood.  I need a release.

For a second, I thought about prowling the sports bar for a cleat chaser.  I figured another set of lips might help to get her out of my head.  I went to hang with the team a couple of days ago.  No one was more surprised than I was when the handsy and flirty bartender didn’t make my cock twitch a bit.  Even wearing that skimpy referee uniform with the skirt that barely covered her ass; I couldn’t have cared less.   She asked if we could hang out later, and I told her I had plans.  She was pissed and knew it was a blow off and so did the guys.  Bobby, the first baseman, has given me shit about it every day since, and he probably won’t let me forget it anytime soon either.

My cock seems to have acquired a singular interest, only coming to life for one little distraction.  Something is wrong with me.

You can’t only want one specific distraction.  No strings attached is the rule, remember.
 
You had your chance a couple of days ago to do the right thing and get excited about the little bartender.  You fucked up.  Now suffer.

I can’t believe I’m lecturing my cock.

I jump off the couch and take the stairs two at a time upstairs to my bedroom.  I need to shower.  I throw my wallet and phone onto the dresser to strip out of my clothes, but my phone taunts me.  I pick it up off the dresser and sit on the trunk at the foot of my bed.  I hover over her name trying to decide if I should just call.  It’s eleven o’clock.  She might not even be awake, but I’d know about her sleep schedule if I’d made an effort to get to know her this week.

I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve driven by the park hoping to see her sitting on the swings after a run, and then being glad she wasn’t there so I could continue to avoid her.  I probably need to get a psychological evaluation for bipolar disorder, but unfortunately, I know that won’t help. 

It’s her little witchcraft ways—that’s my problem.

I slide open the text messages and start to type, then quickly backspace to erase it.  What the hell do I say?  I start typing again.

Me: Good night, Buttercup. Hope you had a good day.

I press send and wait.  I stare at the phone willing it to give me answers.  When I see the little bubble with three dots, my heart rate quickly picks up speed anticipating the response.

Buttercup: Good night, Hotshot Baseball Boy.  Congrats on the win.

HA.  She knows we won.  Was she following the game?  Wait … was she there?

Me: Did you watch the game?

Wait.  Wait.  Wait.  Please don’t tell me I sat there all night wondering where she was, and she was there.  I could have touched her.

Buttercup: No, you weren’t pitching.  Surprisingly, baseball is of little interest to me when a certain hotshot isn’t on the field. Hope you had a good night.

HELL YES! And my night just got better.

Me: I’m sure that certain hotshot is pleased with your loyalty and support.  Sleep well, beautiful.

God.  I want to go to her.  Why did I wait so long?

Buttercup: He has more than enough loyal admirers not to concern himself with my support. LOL, I’m sure it wouldn’t make a difference if I were oblivious to his talents or his biggest fan.  There are thousands just like me.  You sleep well, too. *Night* <3

But that fool only wants YOU!  Believe me, if I could keep myself away from her, I would.  I can’t, and I give up trying.  Tomorrow, it’s on.

Me: You bet your sweet ass he’d notice. Thousands of wrong ones can’t hold a candle to the right one.  See you soon.

My run this morning did nothing to expel the anxiety of his last text. 
See you soon.
  What does that mean?  When will I see him?  Not that I don’t want to see him because I do. 
I think
.  No, I completely do.  I just want to know when.  I feel like I need to prepare.

I skip the cooldown portion of my run and stretching and run into the house.  I barge into my room, not the least bit concerned about waking Morgan.  I want her to wake up.  I need her help, so I don’t bother to tiptoe around.

I wanted to talk to her last night, but she was out for the evening doing what she does, and I failed at my attempt to stay up and wait.  I’m dying to tell her about the text exchange, and I know if I wait for her to wake on her own, I could be waiting all day.  That’s just not happening.  The stack of beefy books sitting on my desk that
accidentally
tumbles to the ground creates a much larger rumble than I expected, but it works perfectly.

“Oops … sorry,” I whisper when her eyes pop open, glaring in the direction of my desk where I’m standing.  I attempt a sly smile.  She groans as she stretches her arms over her head and grumpily sits up.  She’s probably going to be in a terrible mood, but she’s awake.  I know she won’t be able to go back to sleep once she’s woken, so I win.

I plop down onto my bed across from hers after tossing my running shoes in the closet.  I sit with my legs crossed, facing her not caring that I’m sweaty on my bed.  I’ll wash my sheets later.  There are more important things happening.

“So did you have a good night?” I ask.  Hoping anything she tells me will be quick, and we can move on to what I need to get off my chest.

“Ugh … Charlotte … what the hell?  Explain your huge stupid happy face.  No one should be this happy in the morning,” she grumbles, as she removes her hair ties and wraps her locks into a messy bun on top of her head.

I can’t even contain the squeals that come out of my mouth as I open the texts on the phone and toss it onto her blanket-covered lap.  She picks it up with a huff and reads.  Her expression changes rapidly.  She looks up at me.  “Char, oh my God.  I thought you were done with him?  When did all this go down?”  She looks back at the text clearly rereading it.

“Last night.  It was out of the blue.  What do I do now?”  I ask, but it comes out more like a plea.  Unfortunately, she looks as confused as I am.

I grab the half-full bottle of water off my nightstand to drink while I wait for her to assess the situation fully.  “Wow.  I really don’t know.  This is unexpected for him.  Like seriously odd and out of character.  Was he drunk?”  I choke on the water and look up at her with a glacial stare.  It’s hard not to take that question as an insult.

I jump off the bed and snatch my phone out of her hands.  “Nice, Morgan.  Thanks a lot.  Does every guy need to be drunk to show me a little attention or just him?  I assure you he wasn’t even a little drunk any of the other times I’ve been around him, and he definitely didn’t need alcohol to get him through our date.”  I don’t even give her a second to respond before I walk over to the closet and take out the clothes that I want to wear today.  I head to the shower while she sits in stunned silence.  I’m not sure which part has stunned her more, Ty’s text or the fact that I essentially just chewed her out.  I reach for the bedroom door turning the knob and start walking out when she finally says something.

“Char, I’m sorry.  That came out wrong.  That’s not what I meant.  Please … come back.  Let’s talk.”  She frowns while holding her hands tightly in her lap.  Her head tilts to the side as I stop mid-step.  She looks sorry, and I immediately falter in my attempts to be mad at her.  I step back into the room with my things still in my hands.

“I just wanted your advice, Morgan.  I waited up forever.  I wanted you to help me decide what to do, even though I spent the entire night and morning thinking about it.”  I shake my head slowly.  Maybe asking her was a terrible idea as I’m suddenly frustrated that I went through the effort to wake her up hoping she’d be as excited as I am.  Looking back, I should have known that she wouldn’t be because she still thinks he’s a playboy womanizer.  She’d never approve, but she’s not seen him the way I have.