Page 23 of Love On Deck
By the wide eyes and open mouth, it must be. What kind of fucked up world is it when a man like Connor doesn’t think he’s worth knowing, worth loving?
“We’re just starting the season,” Conner says, looking into the darkness. “I’m going to have very little down-time between now and October.”
“I know.”
“We couldn’t go out.”
“I know.”
Connor meets Andrew’s gaze. “How would this even work?”
For the first time in five minutes, Andrew allows relief to fill him. “Well, I assume you have email?”
Connor nods.
“You know how to text?”
“Of course.” Connor rolls his eyes.
“Does your phone have a video chat app on it?”
Connor shrugs. “I have no idea. Probably.”
“If it doesn’t, that’s easy enough to resolve.” Andrew waits a beat, then says, “That’s how. We email, text, Skype. I can manage a trip or two to Oklahoma, if you feel comfortable with that. Or I can fly to Nashville, Colorado Springs, Des Moines.”
“We play against teams in those cities.”
Andrew nods and smiles. “Yes, you do.”
“You’ve done some research.” An expression of excitement and hope now flickers in Connor’s eyes.
“Yes, I did.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it.”
“I won’t be able to think of anything but.”
“How about breakfast tomorrow?”
“It’ll have to be later—I’ll be using the stage till probably eight thirty, nine o’clock. How ‘bout I text you?”
“Perfect. See you in the morning.”
Chapter Eleven
After getting no reply from Drew via text, Connor’s stomach starts twisting. Maybe Drew changed his mind and is avoiding Connor. Maybe he’s ill and hanging over the commode. If Drew’s changed his mind, Connor would rather know now and move on. If Drew’s sick, then Connor can make sure he gets what he needs to feel better.
As he approaches the door, Connor sends another text. Once he reaches it, he knocks politely. He waits a full minutes before rapping sharply.
There’s a thud and a faint “shit.” Connor can’t help the smirk. A moment later, he hears, “Hang on,” and then, “Who is it?” through the crack.
“Connor.” The door opens, and he steps in. “You didn’t reply to my texts. You feeling okay?”
Andrew looks sleepy and rumpled with creases on his face and across his chest, so probably not sick, thank goodness. Just sleeping apparently.
Connor’s insides untangle and a sensation he’s not sure he can identify unfurls in his chest. Want, maybe? Not like sexual desire, though there is that, but he just wants. To have, to touch, to talk to, to be with. And he gets to. So maybe there’s some disbelief mixed in with that want and definitely some elation. He grins. A big wide, happy grin.
