Page 69 of My Kinda Player (Summer Sisters 5)

Chapter Twenty

Sawyer

My feet pound against the sand for the second time today, my calves pulsing and lungs burning as I push past the pain and sprint the last quarter mile. Sweat pours down my forehead, probably from the extra two miles I decided to torture myself with tonight. The pain is welcome. Pain is necessary. Pain is deserved.

I’m gasping for air as I walk from the beach to my back porch. I grab the towel and bottle of water, chugging half of it in one long gulp. My cell phone starts to ring, but I make no movement to retrieve it. Instead, I watch the waves crash against the wet sand and let the warm breeze cool my overheated body.

I wonder how long I’ll stay out here tonight. The house has too many memories. Everywhere I look, I see her. The missing knick knacks in the living room, the shower stall, the fucking banister, for Christ’s sake, it all haunts me and reminds me of how good it was and how great it could have been.

And damn, was it good. Not just the sex, even though that was the best I’ve ever had, but everything else too. We talked and laughed, shared stories and memories. I was more open with this woman in one week than in the five years I was with Carrie.

So why did I let her walk out that door?

Damn good question.

After a few minutes of wave watching, my phone starts to ring a second time. I consider letting it go to voicemail again, but I’m afraid whoever the persistent asshole is on the other line will keep calling. Secretly, (like a high school girl with a crush) I hope it’s AJ, and it’s that thought that adds a little spring to my very tired step as I make my way into the house and retrieve my phone.

Dylan.

“Hey,” I say in way of greeting, my breathing still a little labored.

“Jeezus, man, you weren’t having sex, were you?”

“I promise you, little brother, that if I were with a lady, taking your call would be the last thing I’d do.”

“Good to know,” he chuckles. “How come you didn’t answer the first time? Busy putting your pants on?”

“Hardly. I actually just got back from a run.” I quickly finish off the rest of my water bottle and toss it in the trash.

“Yuck,” he grumbles. Dylan is tall, like me, but wiry thin. He was better suited for swimming in high school than baseball.

“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, grabbing a second water from the fridge.

“Actually, Amber is going to see her grandma this weekend in Indy so I thought I might head your way,” Dylan says.

Dylan and I are only two years apart, but despite the closeness in age, we don’t have much in common. When I went off to college, and eventually Texas, he stayed back in Charlottesville and married Amber. They met in high school, but didn’t start dating until they were in college. She’s about halfway through her first pregnancy, and I’ve been told I’ll have a niece arriving at the end of the year.

“I’m not doing much,” I tell my brother. “Might go to DC to see the Rangers play on Sunday,” I add, my throat constricting and making it difficult to breathe. Lately, it seems thinking about AJ has that effect on me.

“What was that sigh? You know, Sawyer, if it’s too hard to watch them play, then maybe you should skip this game.” I realize that he must think my sigh and super cheery disposition are the result of not being able to play the game, as opposed to the real reason.

“Actually, it’s not about that,” I say to my younger brother. “I met a girl.”

Silence greets me. In fact, it’s quiet for so long, I have to check the phone to make sure I didn’t drop the call.

“And?”

“And what? She’s pretty cool, but I probably already fucked it up,” I find myself saying. I’ve talked to my brother about things over the years–my desire to finish college and get my teaching degree instead of entering the majors right away, my career over the years, hell even some of the bullshit with the media–but I don’t ever recall going to my little brother for love advice.

“Yeah? Wait, she’s not some actress or anything, is she? The last famous face you dated you married, and that didn’t turn out so great for you.”

“No, she’s nothing like Carrie. Like, absolutely nothing. AJ is kind and fiery. She makes me laugh and actually listens when I talk, instead of fixing her nails or her hair. She’s a teacher at the school I work at.”

“So if this thing goes south–or you fuck it up, as you so elegantly stated–the fact that you work with her could be a challenge,” Dylan points out.

“No shit. I had a staff meeting yesterday and it took everything I had to keep my focus on the front of the room and not her. But I messed up, man. Carrie showed up at my place Sunday afternoon.”

Again, I’m greeted with silence.

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