Page 57 of The Art of Catching Feelings

The bartender reached over to snag the paper menu that had been sitting right in front of Daphne the whole time. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed it, and wondered now if there was something else she should’ve ordered, something more filling than chips and dip, but she also knew she wasn’t about to call the bartender back. She was chewing on her lower lip, trying to think about what to do, when she glanced up.

Chris was looking right at her.

She lifted her hand in an uncertain wave, feeling like a massive dork the minute she did it. She really hoped he didn’t think she’d come to the bar specifically because of him—how was she to have known he’d be down here? But he just stood up from his stool and picked up his glass, gesturing toward the seat next to her with ado you mind?type of expression. She shook her head before worrying that made it look likeno, don’t sit hereinstead ofno, I don’t mind, so she patted the seat next to her in a move she knew would haunt her until the end of time.Such a dork.

“You’re up late,” he said.

“Ten? That’s not that late.”

He made a noncommittal noise, replacing the soggy napkin that had stuck to the bottom of his drink glass with a new one. Ahighlight from the game earlier that day briefly popped up onSportsCenteron the TV above the bar, and Chris watched it, a slight tic in his jaw the only sign that he had any reaction at all to the image of Beau face-planting in the middle of centerfield trying to make a catch that had cost them two runs. The program headed into a commercial break, and still Chris only sat there, idly stroking the condensation on the side of his glass with his right middle finger.

“Who’s your best friend on the team?” she blurted before she even knew what she was saying. “Randy?”

“My best friend.” He laughed, running his hand over his jaw, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of humor in it. She couldn’t tell if he was laughing at the idea that he had a best friend at all, or that she’d phrased the question in such a middle school kind of way. “Yeah, it would probably be Randy. He’s a good guy. When he’s not pranking people or saying inappropriate things to the sideline reporter.”

So hedidremember that brief incident in the clubhouse. Maybe that knowledge was what emboldened her, or maybe she was just at her absolute breaking point with Chris Kepler and his monosyllabic answers and polite little smiles, because she said, “Is there any rule against players and staff dating?”

That got Chris’ hand to still on his drink. “Why do you ask?”

She wished she hadn’t. It wasn’t like her, to be soobvious. She’d been sincere when she told Chris during their text conversations that she wasn’t sure if she was ready to date again after her divorce. She knew she was fragile, that whatever capacity she might’ve had to withstand being hurt had been depleted by the whole experience, and it might not refill again for a while. Maybe ever. How did you rebuild your reserves against being hurt?

But then Chris had made his own feelings clear over text—he was interested. Inher. He’d wanted to meet her. And althoughDaphne knew all the reasons that shouldn’t happen, all the reasons itcouldn’twithout her revealing who she was and the way she’d deceived him, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She hadn’t felt as close with another person in a long time as the way she’d felt while she was texting with Chris. She missed that. Shecravedit.

The bartender brought her food, and she welcomed the interruption to busy herself scooping spinach dip onto a chip, taking a bite. Maybe she could get through the entire basket before she’d have to answer his question.

Chris cleared his throat. “As far as I know, it’s technically allowed. You’d probably have to formally disclose it to someone. And you’re not team staff, technically—you work for the network. But there are unwritten rules.”

“Unwritten rules?”

He looked over at her, his expression as serious as if they were talking about a career-ending injury. “They’re very important in baseball. Don’t mention a no-hitter while it’s happening. Don’t steal bases if you’re ahead by a lot. Don’t watch a home run too long,especiallyif you’re ahead by a lot.”

“Don’t date a member of the staff or broadcast team?”

“I’m sure that’s in there.”

Okay, so he wasn’t interested in her. At least not this version of her, sitting right in front of him. And could she really be surprised? She was wearing her rattiest old clothes, her hair was probably a mess, and there was still the fact of their first meeting between them, where she’d heckled him and made him cry. She went to pop another chip in her mouth and dribbled some spinach dip on her leggings. So, yeah, she couldn’t be surprised.

“Maybe it’s different because you’re only filling in on a temporary basis,” Chris said. “I don’t know. If you asked Randy to grab a drink after a game or something, I’m sure he’d be thrilled.”

Daphne swallowed too fast, causing a sharp corner of chip to catch in her throat. She tried to wash it down with a big gulp of her Coke, but that only made it worse, and it was a couple excruciating minutes of coughing in between taking smaller sips before she was able to recover enough to say, “Randy?”

She’d given him the thumbs-up during her coughing fit to let him know she was okay, but he still looked concerned. “Yeah,” he said. “He told me once he thinks you’re cute. If that helps.”

And she thought Randy was objectively adorable, but she would no sooner think of asking him out than of dating her brother. “I’m not interested in Randy.”

His middle finger was back to doing circles on his drink, and he was staring at the glass like he could put a hole in it. “No?”

She had the sudden urge to laugh, and she tried to hold it back, knowing it was an inappropriate response to the situation. But turns out tenwaskind of late, she was exhausted, she was in a brand-new city where she’d only seen the inside of a ballpark and this hotel, and now she was propositioning a guy at a bar—not just any guy, butChris Kepler—which she’d never done before in her life and would never do again after making such a mess of it this time. She needed to go. Take her chips and dip back up to her room, or leave them, whatever, anything to get out of the awkwardness of this moment.

“I should probably—” she started to say, at the same time as Chris said, “There should—”

She paused, waited for him to continue. But he seemed to be doing the same for her, so finally she prompted him to go on. “There should what?”

He looked over at her, his gaze dragging over her face, her mouth, down her throat to her chest, where suddenly she was positive he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. She felt her nipples tighten in response to that single sweeping look, and instead ofher usual instinct to cross her arms over her chest, to hide away from the attention, she found herself sitting up a little straighter. Let him look. She wanted him to.

His eyes when they met hers again were hot, like he knew exactly what she was doing. “There should probably be some actual ground rules, if a player was with someone who worked with the team. Not just unwritten ones.”

Daphne licked her lips. “Actual ground rules. Okay. Such as?”

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