Page 91 of The Problem with Players

“That seems unfair.”

“What can I say? I don’t make the rules.”

“That’s funny because it feels as if you do, indeed, make the rules.”

She bit her bottom lip. For a second, I thought about biting it, too. Then those moist, full lips parted, and she said, “Why are you single?”

“What?”

“Pretty straight-forward question, Coach,” she replied. That was the first time she called me Coach, and it did things to my lower region. A twitch in my crotch area from a five-letter word. She wasn’t lying. She didn’t hate me as much anymore.

That was refreshing.

“I just haven’t found the right person,” I said.

“Are you looking for the right person?”

“No. I’m not.”

She nodded with her lips puckered out as she pointed the bat at me. “You know what that is?”

“What’s that?”

“Hyper-independence and a fear of intimacy. A classic case of Older Sibling Syndrome. You think that no one will be able to love you on a deep level because you haven’t even managed to love yourself on said deep level, and you have a fear of letting go of the reins in your life, because you don’t trust others to guide you.”

Well, damn.

Okay, Dr. Phil.

I cocked a brow. “How did you get past it?”

“Oh. I didn’t.”

“Bull. You had a whole fiancé. You were minutes away from being married. You had to let go of some of that independence to get there.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing…I didn’t. Wesley and I had a very scholarly relationship. When he asked me out, he used a pie chart and told me the statistics of a woman like me being paired with a man like him. When he proposed, he asked me with three different rings because he knew I liked to be in control of the outcome. At least, that’s what I told myself. Looking back, I think it’s just because he didn’t know me well enough to know what I’d want.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Three years.” She almost smiled, but it fell short. “Turns out you can sleep in the same bed as someone for years and still not know who was lying beside you. Ask me three things that he and I had in common.”

“What are those three things?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “I’ve been trying to figure them out over the past few days. I also have been tryingto figure out why I don’t miss him more. I feel like I should, you know? I should miss him.”

“Maybe you’re still processing the whole situation.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. She bit her bottom lip. “But can I tell you a secret?”

“I’m the best with secrets.”

“When I called off the wedding, I was upset. Devastated, even. But after a little time, there was a moment when I felt…relief.”

“You loved him, though.”

“Yes, but that’s the problem. I think I loved him up to my self-enforced limit of love. Which isn’t saying much at all.”

“Well, look at us. Two broken peas in a pod.”

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