Page 29 of Caught Stealing

Andrew lowers his gaze and nods. “I respect that. I wish it were different, but I guess it is what it is.”

The disappointment floods his voice and he makes uneasy eye contact with me. He’s hurt. It’s impossible to miss how his entire face darkens. I killed the light, but I can’t stop the part of me that needs to protect myself from getting hurt again. Still, I have enjoyed getting to know him so far. I can’t put myself out there far enough to agree to date him, but I can be his friend. I can get to know him on my terms and see if the man he’s presented to me thus far is the real Andrew Rossi.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you are that way, it’s just…”

“Yeah, I know what you meant.” It’s clipped, a little short. He says he knows, but there is no mistaking the tone. I offended him.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I have enjoyed our time together, I’m just not quite ready to let go of what’s probably a completely unjustified bias against the sort of career you have.”

He nods once but doesn’t return eye contact with me.

“If you’d like to be friends, I can do that. I would like that,” I offer. He’s probably going to shoot me down since he’s looking for something more, but to my surprise, his eyes flash back to life and connect with mine.

“Yeah? I mean, I could use some honest friends. They’re hard to come by.” He’s milder, less tense.

My chest eases a little. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there is a chance that an athlete like Andrew can redeem them all, but I’m not about to tell him that. I’ll observe. Watch. Catalogue his behaviors until I’m certain that he’s sincere.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? We enjoy each other’s company, right? Besides, I see a set of severely underused drums over there, and someone has to teach you how to use them.”

Andrew chuckles and runs his hands through his thick black hair. “You don’t have to keep that promise. I won’t hold you to it.”

My hand goes and grows a mind of its own and grasps his. “I want to. What are friends for, after all?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard and glances at our clasped hands. He wants more, but what exactly he wants isn’t clear yet. My decision couldn’t have hurt him that deeply. After all, this is only our second real date, but I sense this rejection goes much deeper. It isn’t just about me. It can’t all be.

“I’d really like that,” he whispers.

For a second, I want to take it all back. I want to say never mind, I was crazy, please court me until I fall head over heels for you. I don’t, but there’s an ache in my chest I can’t decipher. It screams that I lost something I haven’t even discovered yet, so I promise myself that I’ll pray about this, ask for focus and understanding, and above all, that I navigate this relationship rightly.

I give him my brightest smile, something I hope is reassuring in some small way, and stand. “Well, first we need to get something to eat, because those brats out there made me work up an appetite. Shall we grab a snack?”

Andrew’s smile widens. “Now you’re talking my language.”

Chapter Eleven

Andrew

Watching Lottie inspect my drum set, I realize this is how I will die. Alone, surrounded by lifeless furniture, probably with some mean cats and a cactus. I frown because what man considers such things? I’ll be fine. I’ll get over Lottie, a woman I’ve had two dates with and nothing more. Sure, she’s exactly what I want but there must be other women out there like her who won’t deflate when I tell them what I do for a living. For now. There is every reason to believe this is my last season.

I contemplate telling Lottie that I’m probably done with baseball, but I don’t. I can’t guilt her or manipulate her into a relationship. It’s tempting, especially when I can’t peel my eyes from her or stop thinking about kissing her until she forgets her own name. I really, really want to connect those dots that trail from her jaw to the nape of her neck. Every time she bends over to inspect something on my drum set, I get a good glimpse of them. She does not make it easy on a man, that’s for sure.

She picks up the drum sticks and adjusts the seat. Her stomach growls and I remember I said we’d have a snack.

“I have some fruit. Is that okay?” I ask.

She blushes and mumbles something about her stomach growling. “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

Her tone is stiff and awkward, but I suppose that is to be expected after the conversation we just had. Maybe she only offered to be friends with me to ease the sting and now she’s regretting it. I almost give her another chance to escape but remind myself that she’s grown. I’ve given her no reason to believe I’d keep her from leaving, so if she wants to walk out the door she’s free to do so on her own prompting.

In my kitchen, I rummage behind the prepped food containers Layne left. The fruit is pre-cut, courtesy of my sister who must think I am a toddler who cannot be trusted with sharp objects. I love that she preps for me, but I can do without the overzealousness. I dump it into two bowls and grab a couple of forks and bottled water from the counter.

Back in the living room, Lottie is seated on the sofa and thumbing through a magazine. It takes me a moment to recognize what she’s reading when she pauses on a page. It’s the Sharks alumni magazine, and she has stopped to read an article about me. Her gaze travels over the images on the left page and the faintest smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

There is no doubt in my mind that I can treat her better than her ex did. I’m not him, would never do the things he did, and fierce determination blooms to life in me. I’m going to prove it to her one way or another. I’ll show her who I am and pray that it’s enough to change her mind.

“Here we go,” I say and set the bowl on the coffee table in front of her.

“Thanks.” She ignores the fork and pops a grape in her mouth before lifting the magazine to show me what she has. “I was reading about the team. You’ve only been with the Sharks a few years, right?”

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