Page 3 of The Problem with Sports
“It’s been two years, Andie,” she reminded me, but, trust me, I didn’t need reminding.
I grabbed a frying pan out of the cabinet. “I’m not opposed to meeting someone, Rach,” I replied, feeling like we have this conversation at least once a week. “I just don’t care for blind dating.”
“Ugh,” she sighed dramatically.
I really didn’t have anything against dating, and I wasn’t still hung up on Steven. Yeah, there were still these disheartening moments when the good memories would make random appearances in my mind, but I wasn’t still in love with Steven. And while two years might seem like a long time, it really wasn’t. Not when you had spent those two years picking up the pieces of your broken marriage, while at the same time, learning everything you could about your child’s illness. When Grant and I had moved into this place, almost a year ago, it was the first time since he’d been diagnosed with chILD that I’d felt like I could finally breathe. It had felt like things were finally beginning to settle, and it had felt…reassuring.
I wasn’t sure if Steven was dating anyone right now or not, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were. He wanted more children, and I knew, no matter how many times he’s apologized for the remark, that, deep down, he really wanted another son. One who wasn’t broken. However, we didn’t talk about our personal lives with one another. I dropped off Grant on Thursday evenings, and he dropped Grant off on Sunday evenings. That’s it; no more, no less.
“Look, no more blind dates-”
“Don’t you miss sex?” she asked, prioritizing.
Hell yeah, I missed sex.
“Of course,” I admitted. “But not enough to sit through an uncomfortable dinner, forced conversation, fake interest…you name it. Not to mention, going through all that, only to have the sex suck or be mediocre at best? No, thank you.”
“Fine,” Rachel relented. “Just promise me you’ll make the effort to meet someone, okay?”
I was an independent editor and sometimes author. There was really no need to leave my house, outside the basics of grocery shopping and whatnot. So, I understood where she was coming from. Ididneed to get out more.
“Deal,” I agreed.
“You’re lying,” she accused.
I was.
Chapter 2
Nathan~
There was more to life than sports.
There was family, friends, market shares, knitting, all kinds of other things. I’ve been retired from the MLB for only a few months, but you’d think, by now, I’d have gained a new hobby or something.
Right?
Don’t get me wrong here. The decision to retire was the right one. I wasn’t experiencing buyer’s remorse or anything like that, not at all. It’s just that baseball’s been a part of my life since I was eight-years-old. I really didn’t know anything else.
Growing up, my brothers, Gideon and Sayer, had no interest in sports as a career, so they’d been able to play a little of everything. And even as good at football as Sayer had been, he’d grown up to become a firefighter, and a damn good one. Gideon was a constructional engineer and was partners with our father in their business together. Sayer was the oldest at thirty-six, while Gideon was the middle child (and had the middle-child syndrome to prove it, too) at thirty-four, and I was the baby at thirty-three.
Me, however, I had fallen in love with baseball the first time my father had signed me up for Little Tykes Baseball when I’d been six. My uncoordinated legs had run me around that diamond when I’d hit my first home run (the other six-year-old who’d been in right field had been chasing a butterfly), and when I had tripped on my shoelaces and face planted into home plate, that had been it for me.
I had fallen in love with baseball.
From there, my life had become nothing but school (because, legally, I had to), my brothers (because they lived with me), and baseball.
Well, and girls. Girls had been sprinkled in there because…well, they were girls.
And while my parents, Robert and Louise Hayes, had planned for college for all their three children, landing a baseball scholarship to USC had certainly made things easier on them financially. And when I had made it to the pros, the first thing I’d done with my money was pay off their house and cars. I had wanted to do so much more with my money, but my parents weren’t flashy people. They had taken the blessings of no longer having a house payment and car payments and had called it a day.
And when I had attempted to buy Sayer and Gideon their homes, they had reminded me that they were men and could handle their own shit. At the time, I had tried not to take it personally, but I understood where they’d been coming from. I was their baby brother, and millionaire or not, they had wanted their successes to be their own.
So, since my family was self-sufficient, my money has been doing nothing but sitting in the bank, accumulating mad interest, and retirement at the age of thirty-three really hadn’t been a problem.
Except, I was finding myself bored a lot these days.
The first couple of months of retirement had been spent moving into the top penthouse of my condominium building. But since I had a dick, it hadn’t taken much to move in. I hadn’t decorated or anything fancy like that. Despite having been a professional athlete, I’d never fallen into the money trap. Even my car wasn’t anything upper-middle class American couldn’t afford.
