Page 36 of Love Rewritten

When we get back, Dallas stands in the kitchen, utterly confused. He looks at me, then at Logan, who takes a step forward, trying to understand the situation. “Um … what?” he asks, pointing between us.

I don’t even know where to start. Thank God for Logan. He takes another step and says, “Let me explain.” So, he does. The short version. I fill in with details when needed but for the most part, Logan covers it.

Dallas looks at me periodically to assess but lets Logan and I finish explaining. And rather than saying anything, he simply gives me a hug and a kiss, and asks what I want for dinner. I don’t know what I did to get so lucky with these two falling into my life, but I needed this change.

The boys eat on the couch as they fight over which sports channel to watch, and I sit back down at the table to make some last-minute tweaks to my story. When I’m fiddling with rewording spots that don’t help the story, I think I’ve gotten it to a point where it’s finished. For good. It’s almost surreal to sit back and stare at my work in its final form.

Dallas must have noticed my position or the look on my face because when he turns to check on me, he raises a brow, a small smile forming. I stretch my arms above my head and can’t help my giddy smile.

“Is it done?” he asks.

I nod. He comes over to me and leans one arm on the table, the other on the back of my chair. I’ve seen the man naked, and those arms still turn me into a puddle. Although, that’s probably why.

“Did you submit it?”

“Not yet.” I stare at the screen. “I uploaded it into the email but haven’t hit send yet. It’s only one button, but it feels like such a big step.”

“Do you want me to hit send?”

“No. I want to. I just need to muster up the courage to do it.” He waits, still standing there, like that, distracting me. “I need you to go be hot somewhere else.”

A devilish grin strikes his face, but he reluctantly removes himself from where he stands and returns to the couch. I hover over the send button for a few more seconds until I force down and feel the click of the button under the pad of my finger. My stomach erupts with nervous butterflies, but I know they’re good ones. I’ve never been all that nervous about submitting my work for school, but this is so much bigger and has a much larger response than just my professors reading my work.

“Done,” I say. “It’s submitted.”

Chapter 14

Dallas

It’sthemorningofthe awards ceremony, and Abby has been running around the apartment like a mad woman. She’s mostly worried about how she’ll look, but I’m not worried about that at all. I know for a fact that she’ll be the most beautiful woman in the room tonight. She’s been on the phone with Meredith all morning, who has decided she’ll come over and help her get ready later. I’m not sure I’ll be much help, and Logan sure as hell wouldn’t be either.

“Abby, we’re heading out for the game. I’ll be back with plenty of time to get ready so please don’t stress about that, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Good luck!” she yells from her room.

Well, I think that’s all I’m going to get out of her today. We leave to meet the bus at the field to bring us to the away team's territory. Logan and I take up residence at the back of the bus and I finally cave and tell him my plan for tonight. I came up with this idea the first night I brought Abby to the pond and now feels like the perfect time to do it.

“You need me to do what?” he asks, looking up from his phone.

“Wine, dude. I need you to pick up a bottle of wine. You, for some reason, know what you’re talking about when it comes to wine, so I’m making that your job.”

“You know this. My mom’s a fanatic with wine. It’s all she talks about at dinners.” We both laugh because I know he’s right. Every time I’ve been over for dinner, the conversation always starts normally, but it’s always quickly derailed by whatever bottle of wine she pulls out for the night. And then dinner turns into a history lesson.

“Red or white?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter. This is why I asked him to do it. I knew he’d take it seriously.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Okay, how about sweet or dry?”

I roll my eyes. “Also don’t know that one.”

“How do you expect me to pick out a bottle of wine if you have no idea what she likes?” He chuckles, already pulling up a list of wines on his phone. “Colors, labels, names, flavors, anything ring a bell?”

I shake my head, mouth hanging open, and shrug. “That’s your job.”

He laughs with a long sigh. “Fuck me, I guess. If she doesn’t like the wine, you make sure to blame yourself. And if she does like the wine, you give me credit. Got it?”

I fake a salute as we pull up to the field. It’s the same field we played at for the last game. This time, nerves run high. We lost the last game. We have to win this one if we want to keep moving forward. Otherwise, today is the end of the line and likely the end of my baseball career.

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