Page 25 of Imperfect Player

“Maybe.”

I ignore the flirtatious way he says it as well as the mixed signal it gives me. We’re just friends. I deserve better.

“So, uh, how about those endorsements?”

“You mean the athlete’s foot cream one that Tripp’s currently trying to sell me on?”

“Definitely not the most glamorous deal, but lucrative for sure.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“You don’t care about money. Or relationships. What do you care about?”

“Baseball.”

The word is like a trigger, reminding me of when Kai said that soccer came first. That I could come second, be the woman behind the man, or we were done.

Ethan watches me, staring into my eyes as though he can see right through me. Straight into my mind, my heart. My innermost thoughts are bared to him. As much as I should be uncomfortable under his gaze, I find myself anything but. I like it. I like that for some reason he seems to know me, understand me even, without really knowing me at all.

“Don’t let him do that to you,” he tells me. “You’re amazing, Everly. The whole damn package. Don’t let anyone, especially him, tell you otherwise.”

I give him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

The waiter returns with our food, setting our plates down in front of us.

Ethan picks up his fork and begins to dig in, a silence settling over us as we eat. I don’t feel inclined to talk, and frankly at this point, after his comments, I’m not even sure what I would say.

As I eat, my mind wonders about the man across from me. How he just inadvertently fell into my life. While he seems to know so much about me—my job, my boyfriend, my recent breakup—I realize just how little I know about him. In fact, outside of knowing that he plays for the Railcats and that Tripp is his agent, I know nothing.

“What about you?” I ask.

“What about me?”

“I don’t know. Anything. You’re not exactly an open book.”

“I’m not?”

“You’re rarely in the news, you won’t take a single endorsement. No social media.”

A cocky grin spreads across his handsome face. “You spying on me?”

“It’s my job to know these things.”

“Except I’m not your client.”

“Maybe not, but you’re a client at the firm I work for. Still part of my job.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” He shakes his head as though he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Let’s see . . . I have a dog.”

“Really? I pictured you as more of a cat guy.”

Ethan drops his fork onto his plate. “Take it back.”

I’m startled by his response. “What?”

“I am not a cat guy. I refuse to be thought of as a cat guy. Those things are . . . ”

“Cute? Cuddly?”

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