Page 46 of Second Swing
“Clint. I—” But this time, he stops me.
“We can go, and you can explore the city, finish school abroad if it's what you want to do. Wecanmake this work. I know that we can, baby. We just have to be on the same page. I understand you’re fearful of love and all that comes with it, but I promise you we can do this. Come with me.”
“Okay.”
“And if you are worried about—wait, you’ll come?” he asks, as caught off guard as I am.
“Yeah, I’ll come. I want to come. I want to figure this out.” Clinton pulls me into his lap, and I nuzzle into his neck, enjoying the feel of safety in his arms.
“Fuck. I was so damn nervous to ask you.”
“I need to pack a massive bag, probably a couple,” I say as he chuckles. I lean back to look into his eyes, and the happiness I find there makes my heart beat faster. I slant my lips over his, enjoying how his hands climb up my thighs to my ass. Grinding into his thickening length, I swirl my hips and soak in the heat of him.
He groans into my ear, “Are you wet for me, Dove?”
“Make me feel good, Clint.”
My palms are slick with sweat as I slide my bags into my trunk, the nerves eating away at me. If I wasn’t sure about Clint, I would have never agreed, but it's me I’m nervous about.
He is worth it.
He won’t break your heart.
I give myself an internal pep talk as my phone buzzes again. I refuse to look at it. Refuse to do anything other than drive to the airport. Taking a deep breath, I look at my radio and turn on some music, needing a little bit of background noise as I drive to the airport. When I pullinto the long-term parking, I realize I’m not even sure how I got here so fast—clearly on autopilot. My hands are still white-knuckling the steering wheel but I’m frozen.
When my phone buzzes again from another notification, I pick it up and stare at it.
Clint
Paloma, let me know when you get here and I will come get your bags.
You’re cutting it close.
Paloma?
Water drops on the screen of my phone, and I reach up, wiping away tears. I didn’t even realize I’d started to cry, and something in my chest feels locked up. I look out of the windshield watching planes ascend and descend as passengers make their way to their destination.Why the fuck did I park here?My breath comes out in short gasps, and I do my best to catch them, but when I look back down at my phone, my breath quickens.
Clint
I tried calling you but it’s going to voicemail. Are you okay?
“Never trust a man with your heart, mija.”
“Not this time, Paloma.”
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare blame this all on me.”
“There hasn't been an us in years, and we both fucking know it.”
“He’ll be here, mijita.”
“Your father will be here in ten minutes.”
“How could I have ever loved you when you’ve so easily forgotten I even existed!”
“I won’t force you to come over anymore, honey.”
Words from my parents stream through my mind like a movie reel, and I try to hold on to reality. Try to be in this moment so I can get the hell out of this car, but I can’t, and I’m a coward for it. I’m a coward because I can’t look at the texts Clinton sent me any longer.
