Page 56 of Third Time Lucky

I can only imagine. “What happened?”

He grimaces, taking a drink. “Nothing. Or maybe the same thing, one too many times. I watched my teammates make bad decisions that fucked up their lives and their game over a few hours of fun. It didn’t seem worth it to me.”

“That tracks.” His career meant so much to him. He wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Other than that one night with Rue’s mom, I focused on the things that mattered. My game. The fans. The kids who looked up to us. But the women?” He shook his head. “The ones who kept lists of ballplayers they wanted to take home? They weren’t that happy when I took myself out of their rotation. But some of the things they said made me realize I’d done the right thing. It wasn’t me they wanted. Not really.”

“Oh, Elliot.” I shake my head at his naivete. “You live in a land of mirror-free denial if you think they were upset because of some list. Have you seen you?”

His ears turn red and I’m fascinated, but it doesn’t stop me.

“You’re the whole package,” I continue. “Good guy. Talented but humble. Great with kids. Not horrifying to look at.”

Nice save. A little late, but you tried.

“Not horrifying?”

“Needy much? Fine, you’re incredibly handsome and you have a great ass. Feel better?”

The red has spread to his cheeks. “I wasn’t fishing.”

“Don’t lie.” I smack my hand down on the counter. “We’re riding the honesty train now, son.”

You told him about the honesty train? Stop. Drinking.

“Honesty train?” He downs his beer. “I don’t know if this is the kind of conversation we should have in a bar.”

“What kind of conversation is that?”

“About us. About sex.”

I lean forward so I won’t slide off my stool in shock. About us and sex? Together? Is that what we’re talking about? “I’m not sure where this is going, but for the record, those are exactly the kinds of conversations people have here. There’s video proof that I’m right on this.”

“Yeah?” He scratches his crooked nose and glances around the bar. “People talk about their sexual problems at Irish pubs?”

“Problems?” That sounds less promising. “What exactly is the issue under discussion? Mechanical? Emotional? Societal?”

The look in his eyes is so hot I’m surprised I’m not on fire. “I think you know it’s not mechanical.”

Oh boy, do I know.

“Emotional?” I say, my voice sounding strange in my ears.

“Jesus, this wasn’t how I planned to…” He swears and takes another drink.

“You can talk to me about anything,” I assure him, ignoring the pulse pounding in my ears. “Come on. Tell Joey your problems and I’ll teach you how to juggle.”

He groans and rubs his hand over his face, mumbling.

I put my hand to my ear. “What was that?”

“I never got what the big deal was before.”

“About?”

“Sex,” he says a little louder than he meant to. “Hell.”

Did he say before?

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