Page 86 of The Thought of You

“What do you want to know?”

“Is everything too much?”

I release a soft chuckle. “You won’t be impressed.”

“Try me.”

“Two of my favorite foods are steak and peaches, not at the same time. I love being near water, whether it’s in an ocean, river, or simply a glass.” I shift on the bed, and she remains stock-still, her attention solely on me. “I enjoy helping my family with new babies, technology problems, or painting a new studio. And I’m happy to be teaching. It’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.”

She drops her gaze and uses her finger to trace the scar along my knee. “You don’t… regret not playing baseball?”

“Some days, I miss playing professionally. More than anything, I miss the team.” A smile tugs on my lips as I recall too many good times to count. I’d need a year to relay them all to her. “But when I tore my ACL for the second time, and the doctor told me my career was over, I was relieved.”

She arches a brow.

“Here’s the truth—I only ever pursued baseball because I was good at it. It was fun, and it challenged me in ways I needed when I first started. When others told me I was good, I just listened and went where they suggested. I didn’t stop to consider what I really wanted, because according to my dad, I’d be batshit to throw away all my potential. He was my biggest fan.”

“Sounds like a lot of pressure from him.”

“I think it was the only way he knew how to connect with me.” My smile slips into more of a frown as I internally consider how far apart we’ve grown since my surgery. Without baseball, it’s like he doesn’t know what to talk to me about, so we end up discussing my sisters, Huck, or the lawn.

He taught me to rid my yard of weeds by spraying them with a mix of a gallon of white vinegar, a cup of salt, and a tablespoon of dish soap.

“Anyway.” I sigh. “Being told I couldn’t play anymore was like giving me permission to finally chase what I really wanted to do. I just didn’t realize until that moment in the doctor’s office that I was ever looking for permission.” I dip my head and swallow, my pulse throbbing in my leg. “I’ve never admitted this to anyone before.”

“Your family doesn’t know?” Surprise is heavy in her question.

“They kind of assumed I was always too devastated to talk about it, so they tiptoed around the topic until it became old news, next to Whitney’s unexpected pregnancy, Lottie’s new studio, and Laurel’s bright future in medicine.” Another sigh escapes me like admitting all of this out loud is draining for me.

The truth is, I don’t remember the last time I even talked this much about myself to one person. I’m more of a listener.

“Why don’t you tell them the truth?” she asks, and her tone is so gentle. So free of judgment or any kind of demand. She’s genuinely curious.

I open and close my mouth for a beat before I finally say, “It’s never felt important enough to share the truth with them. Anytime we’re together, there’s always some other crisis, and at this point, it’s been too long to clear the air now.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Addie places her delicate hand on my veiny forearm, her touch soft but firm all at once.

And I kiss her.

Each swipe of my tongue massages hers with gratitude and pleasure and everything in between. It’s no ordinary kiss—none of my kisses with Addie have been.

It’s like each one tells a story, and I’m not done exploring the next chapter.

chapter

twenty-seven

ADDIE

I blink once, twice, three times until my eyelids are strong enough to stay open on their own. The sun poking through the blinds on the windows makes it difficult, though, as does the sinewy forearm draped over half my face.

Owen.

We fell asleep talking. We had a fierce debate over the episode of Shark Tank we turned on. As it turns out, he’s a big fan too, and we spent over an hour betting each other on which Shark would make an offer.

Some time after that, I awoke with the moon high in the sky, and the world outside was quiet. The music from our neighbors had been silenced, and the surrounding guests seemed to have been tucked in for the night.

But I was wide awake, with one thing in mind—the thing rubbing against my ass as Owen spooned me from behind.

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