Page 64 of The Art of Catching Feelings

She knew on the one hand she should be grateful. Layla had been reporting from the sideline for years and was a total pro. She had genuine insights into Daphne’s performance that were helpful, not only for her current gig with the Battery but down the line, for any potential broadcasting job Daphne might want in the future. Which was the primary reason Layla gave for wanting to run through the film in the first place, although Daphne understood that Layla was also having a hard time giving up control, was bored and unsatisfied with just running the social media and feeding Daphne press briefings to inform upcoming broadcasts. All of that made sense. But some nights Daphne was justtired, and wanted a single day where she didn’t have to think about baseball.

And this time, she had an extra layer of anxiety, because even though she thought she and Chris had done a good job so far of keeping their secret, somehow she worried that laser-eyed Layla would take one look at the two of them standing together in a postgame interview and just…know.

“See,” Layla said, sitting forward in her bed and rewinding back over an interview Daphne had done with one of the Battery’s starting pitchers. “You asked him how it felt to have command over the strike zone. But you’d already asked him how it felt to record season-high strikeout numbers. It’s basically the same question.”

“I know,” Daphne said. “The minute I asked it I knew it wasstupid. I was just trying to look at the sheet and I think I sawstriketwice and so…yeah, it was bad. At least no third strike, I’m out?”

Layla also never laughed at any of Daphne’s jokes. To be fair, Daphne still wasn’t sure if she’d hit her baseball humor stride. Look at how she’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

“You did a good job with this one, though,” Layla said, trying to fast-forward the broadcast but struggling to get the TV to recognize the remote. Daphne was sitting in Layla’s desk chair next to the bed, and she felt like she was on the edge of her seat while she waited to see what she’d done to actually warrant her sister-in-law’s praise. Finally Layla held the remote over her head, moving it around until she’d scrubbed the footage to Chris walking over to Daphne on the sideline. She pressed play right as he stopped, his hands on his hips, looking over at Daphne.

He was so handsome in his dark blue Battery jersey, eye black still smeared on his cheeks, his hair damp with sweat. She could stillsmellhim like he was right there next to her in the room. Somehow it was never a bad smell, even when he was at his grimiest after three hours of hard play. He just smelled earthy and real and likeChris, hints of the same scent she could roll over in the middle of the night and still smell on the hotel pillows. He smelled likehers. She couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.

“Chris,” on-screen Daphne said now, “you went three for four tonight. Describe what was going through your mind when you were up to bat there in the top of the ninth.”

“Well,” he said, grinning down at her, “my goal is always four for four. But yeah, after I struck out earlier I knew they might try to attack me the same way, high and inside—”

Daphne hoped Layla couldn’t tell that she was blushing. Thefour for fourbit had been a joke meant just for her, a reference to how many times he’d made her come the previous night. She’d meant to tell him afterward that he couldn’tdothat, that he wasplaying fast and loose with the keep-work-separate rule, but all the players had gotten an earlier flight and so she’d never had the chance. And the truth was, she wasn’t sure she did want him to stop. She liked seeing that side of Chris, the one who joked and smiled at her like she was the only person who could make his eyes light up in that way.

Layla apparently agreed, because she jabbed the remote toward the TV. “Thatis good stuff,” she said. “That’s what I’m talking about. I don’t know how you got him to open up more—god, he was always such arobotwith me—but keep doing it. Seems like everything is cool after the whole heckling thing?”

“Um.” Daphne didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“And engagement is up with the walk-up song poll.” Layla tapped something into her phone before frowning down at it. “Do you know why he deleted all his Instagram photos, though? It would be nice to have him posting some of this stuff.”

It made me sad.That’s what he’d told her when she asked. Or what he’d told Duckie, at least. She wondered suddenly what he’d tellher—Daphne, the sideline reporter, the woman he was hooking up with. Something told her it wouldn’t be that.

“I don’t know,” Daphne said. “I don’t really ask them about that kind of stuff.”

“Well, see if you can get some info,” Layla said. “Not on camera or anything—just mention it casually. You can tell him I was wondering since I was going to tag him in a few things, if that makes it easier.”

“I’ll try,” Daphne said, which wasn’t even her first lie of the night. It was starting to really bother her, how many lies she was telling. They were getting harder and harder to separate from the truth.

—

She was still reflecting on all of that when she showed up at the stadium the next day before the game, planning to clarify a few things on the press sheet with the announcers. But as she walked by the video room, she was surprised when she felt a hand at the small of her back, and Chris guided her inside before shutting the door behind them.

“What—” she started to say, before he spun her around, catching her at the waist as he pressed a long, hot kiss against her mouth.

Her knees felt like Jell-O by the time he pulled away, touching his forehead to hers. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I thought—”

“I know,” he said. “Road games only. I just never got to say goodbye to you in Chicago, so I figured…”

“You’d say hello to me in Charleston?” She tried to sound chiding, but it was hard when she was smiling.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, starting to type something in. “I also realized we never had the chance to exchange numbers, so—”

She took a step back, unable to hide her visceral reaction to the idea. From the way his brows knit together, she could tell he’d clocked it.

“Unless you don’t want to?”

She could get a new number. That was literally her first thought—that she could go all the way down to the kiosk in the mall and get an entirely new phone. Or maybe she could get a burner from a gas station, wasn’t that a thing people did? Or she could get one of those free internet numbers, where it rang through to her phone but had a completely different set of digits from the one she’d already given him as Duckie.

Those were all decent ideas, and she wished she’d thought of them before now. But as it was, it was too late to act on any of them—he was already looking away, sliding his phone back into pocket.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” she said.

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