Page 13 of Walkoff Wedding

“I’m listening…” He trails off, waiting for me to continue.

I quickly fill him in on what happened last year: ArtGirl ghosting me, the crazy-as-fuck twist of fate of me finding her sketchbook, and now me following along with Davis’s plan to find her with these stupid fucking flyers.

By the time I’m done, my chest feels slightly lighter. I probably should’ve told him a long time ago, but part of me was fucked-up about the fact that I had these feelings for her and she ghosted me. And a selfish part wanted to keep whatever it was between us to myself.

“You really wanna find her, huh?” he says when I’m done.

“Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“I mean, the fact that you’re going along with something Davis has come up with says it all, my man.”

“Tell me about it,” I laugh as I scan the courtyard looking for him. He’s a royal pain in my ass, but I will say… when the kid gets something in his head, he goes all in, puts every fiber of who he is behind it. It’s why he’s such an asset to the team. I appreciate that, though I’ll never tell him because his ego is already too fucking big. “I hope it works. I hope she doesn’t see it and run in the opposite direction.”

She was so insistent that we never meet before, and in the end, she blew me off. Maybe she just really didn’t want to be found. Maybe I came on too strong, or maybe she just wasn’t interested in the same way that I was. I mean, all of this could totally blow up in my face. But… it was worth the risk. She told me to leave it to fate… and fate led that sketchbook right to me.

“Nah, dude, women love grand gestures, and this is an epic grand gesture. Probably shouldn’t have put your number on there though.” Reese laughs, and I nod in agreement.

“Fuck, don’t I know it? I was about to turn my phone off until I saw it was you calling. My shit’s been blowing up all day, which means determining who’s actually ArtGirl and who’s not is going to be a bit of a problem.” I drop my head into my hands, tugging at the short strands of my hair. “Probably should’ve thought that part through.”

Reese pauses, hesitation hanging in his tone. “I mean, if I’ve seen it, you know who else has seen it?”

“Hmm?”

“Jeremy.”

I stiffen at the mention of my agent. Fuck, I didn’t even think about him seeing this. Damnit, I should’ve at least given him a heads-up. We’re so close to signing this sponsorship I hope I didn’t inadvertently fuck things up more.

“Shit,” I curse before glancing down at the flyers.

“I take it he’s still riding your ass?”

I exhale, my fingers tightening around the flyers until they’re nearly crumpled. “Yeah, something like that. There’s just so much riding on this sponsorship, and I feel like every way I turn, I’m fucking things up. Jeremy thinks this is pivotal in making me more noticeable for the draft, but I’m scared I’m not going to land it, and it’ll fuck up my chances.”

“Nah, you’ll get it because you’re going to do whatever it takes. Whatever. You hear me? Look, before you know it, you’re going to be headed to the minors. On your way to the majors. You’ve worked your whole life for this, and you’re not going to let it, or this sponsorship, slip through your fingers. You’ve got this.”

I appreciate the pep talk from my best friend more than he knows. Makes it a little easier knowing the phone call I have to make. “Thanks, man. Probably should call him before he has a coronary. Can I call you later?”

“Yep. Keep me posted on your search, Prince Charming.”

I roll my eyes, my laugh gruff. “Yeah, yeah. Later.”

I hang up and peer down at the screen before opening my messages. There’s got to be at least a hundred texts in here, most of them claiming to be ArtGirl. There are pictures of random people, and hell, there are even a few nudes in here, which I know are not her.

She’s not like that.

But the fucked-up part is, even if she did send a photo of herself… I wouldn’t even know if it was her because we never exchanged photos. Or names.

I was willing to latch onto anything that I could find her with, and that’s why I agreed to this shit in the first place. Because having this sketchbook means I can maybe draw her out but still let her be the one to make the move since the flyers put the ball in her court.

“Alright, I think it’s time for a new batch,” Davis says as he flops down next to me on the bench.

I turn my phone toward him to show him the screen. His dark eyes widen slightly when I scroll, showing him the number of messages.

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” I grumble. “How do you suppose we vet all of these girls claiming to be her?”

Silence meets my question until he says, “Easy. Ask her to message you on the forum. Only the real ArtGirl will know where to find you there, right?”

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