Page 82 of I Still Love You

“Listen up. We put our bodies through hell on and off the baseball field. It’s the name of the game. We train hard and play harder. For some of us, it’s worse. Henderson still has a career in him. He would see that if he’d pick his head up long enough to stop his pouting.”

I can’t disagree. Henderson has opportunities out the ass. Some of them might not include him going back to the Wolves to pitch, but they would cater to his lifestyle. He could remain in the sports industry and lose little in terms of finances.

Jett looks over at me. “Enough about Henderson. Tell us what’s been happening with you. We saw you with Layla at the charity dinner, and judging by the fact you’re sitting here, I take it the hearing went well.”

Layla and I left the charity dinner before we had a real chance to have a conversation with anyone from the Wolves. The board usually keeps them busy, has them thanking the donors and working the crowd, but they knew she was my date and that we’d been talking despite breaking it off.

“And thank fuck for it.” I’m still mildly in disbelief over what went down this past week. “Just community service, anger management, and probation.”

Tilly leans forward and looks down the bar at me. “Is the therapist hot?”

Because my therapist is a fifty-seven-year-old guy with snow white hair and skin tags out the ass, I smirk. “He’s a dude, Tilly. Have you changed teams? Does Holly have you spankin’ bank for the opposite sex now? You can come out to us; we won’t judge you. Well,” I shrug, adding to the joke, “Henderson might, but only because you’re a dick to him.”

“Fuck you,” Tilly insults. “And listen, the dick wants what the dick wants. If that’s another man, so be it.”

I chuckle and shake my head, grateful to have friends who aren’t easily offended. “No matter what your dick is into, there’s still a spot for you with us,” I promise before leaning behind Jett’s back and squeezing his shoulder.

“Seriously, though,” Jett interrupts, looking at me expectantly. “All is good?”

I tip my chin and bring my glass to my lips, enjoying the sting of the carbonated drink as it slides down my throat. It’s not the same as an alcoholic beverage, but it’ll have to do. “As good as it’s going to get.”

“And Layla?” Jett questions, eyebrow arched.

“What is this? Twenty fucking questions?”

“What can I say? I like the girl.”

“I hope you tapped that ass well for all of us,” Tilly adds. If I didn’t know how devoted he was to Holly, my blood would spark into a fit of tiny, white embers, but I know he means well. Coming from him, it’s a compliment, but there’s a twist of emotion that curls into my stomach at the mention of her ass, of her, and what I’ve been missing.

Every day, I open the calendar app on my phone and count down the days. When she’s gone, it’ll be easier to move on. It has to be because it’s fucking killing me to stay away from her, even as upset as I am over the entire ordeal.

It took all my self-control not to lean closer to her earlier today, to flatten her back against the wall and kiss this hell out of her when I passed her in the hallway.

“Shit blew up in my face after the charity dinner. It was good then, but it’s over now.”

I hate the look Jett gives me, the one that says, what the fuck did you do to fuck it up? “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the reason it ended. Not entirely.”

“It takes two to tango,” Tilly comments. “Always. Fuck it. If you can’t get along with her, you’re better off.” Tilly has no idea of the history Layla and I share, so naturally, I ignore his comments. “Be right back. Hitting the can.”

When Tilly’s out of earshot, Jett demands, “What the hell happened?”

“Her contract is ending. I saw emails from her recruiter and all the listings she’s contemplating on signing a contract with.”

He shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“You’re forgetting that she did this once before.”

“I get that, man, but I saw you two together. A bystander could see she feels something for you. Why would she pack up without a goodbye?”

Because this is her, the true Layla Robinson, the one I failed to see when I walked up to her in that coffee shop. “We had our fun,” I tell him. “It’s over. Time to move on. Seriously, this time.”

“Says who? You?”

I glance at him and keep the disappointment at bay. “Who else would say it? I’m the one you’re having a conversation with.”

“Have you talked to her? Let her explain? Maybe you’re playing it up, and it’s a lot simpler than what it appears.”

“If she ran once, Jett, she’ll do it again. She is doing it again. How the hell am I supposed to be with someone who doesn’t communicate shit like that?”

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