Page 52 of Embers in the Outfield

She moans into me, and I instantly feel my cock wake up.

“No, none of that. We need to eat. Go grab a coffee while I make you a proper breakfast without the added sodium you seem to like.” I smack her ass, and she yelps.

“I’m going to learn to cook you some mean scrambled eggs, don’t you worry!” she says as she pours herself a cup of coffee and stations herself on a stool at the island.

“Um, River?” Her voice is small, and it causes me to look back at her.

“Yeah?” Concern laces through me with her tone.

“Thanks for last night. You know, for listening,” she says, and she seems small as she says it.

I place the fork down again and take my strides over to rest between her legs.

“Kennedy, you can count on me. I know we are just scratching an itch, but know that whatever you tell me, I won’t repeat it.”

For a second, it seems like hurt crosses her features, but she quickly recovers and nods slightly. I give her a quick kiss on the forehead and move back to my chef station.

“You good with French toast?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the toast as I move it through the eggs.

“Yep,” she responds, her answer clipped. I bet talking about everything last night and then having to digest how all that feels today is a lot for her.

I continue to make our breakfast, a little quieter than I expected for how our morning started with her touching me from the moment she saw me in the kitchen. But after the emotional toll last night must have settled on her shoulders, I let her have her space. An hour later, she’s rushing out the door, telling me she has to get to an impromptu meeting at the stadium.

The moment I close the door, and she’s gone, I can’t help but feel like something was off as she left my apartment.

CHAPTER 22

Kennedy

I knowwe’re just scratching an itch…

Talk about a bucket of water being thrown over my head. The moment River said those words, it felt as if ice was moving along my veins. Especially after I confessed something so close to my heart the night before.

It was a good reminder that what we are doing is simply surface level. There’s no depth to our relationship. There’s no forever, no possibility of something more. What we are doing is just meeting each other’s needs.

I think if my reaction to his words and my inability to stay a minute longer in that house was any indication, it’s that this thing between us needs to end. It’s reached that point where I feel things, bigger emotions, coming into play, and he’s just not on the same page as me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m the one changing the script here. He’s exactly where we agreed we should stay. He’s managed to stay in his lane, but I’ve deviated. I’m seeking more from something that doesn’t exist.

I move quickly through the streets, opting out of an Uber and apparently subjecting myself to a walk of shame. That’s whatthis feels like. Do the kids even call it that anymore? I have no idea, but this is how I feel—like a person who feels absolute shame for feelings I shouldn’t be having for a man who is much like me—afraid of commitment.

The moment I cross the threshold of my penthouse, I begin throwing my clothes haphazardly and move myself toward my bathroom. I just need to submerge myself under a stream of hot water and hopefully wash this feeling of disappointment and embarrassment off.

I move through my morning routine on autopilot. The heatless curlers aren’t an option this morning because time isn’t on my side, so I decide to revert to my old ways and curl them with a hot tool. I’ve been good about caring for my hair this year, but right now, I just don’t have the bandwidth to deal with that nonsense.

I’m putting my heels on when I get a text from River:

River

Let me know what time you’re off tonight. Maybe I’ll meet you at your place and we can grab a bite and I’ll be your dessert ;)

Sounds fun, but I’ll have to ask for a raincheck for tonight. I have meetings all day and I’ll be wiped.

I feel the annoyance seeping into my system right now. Much like stages of grief, stages of pulling away from someone feel eerily similar. Right now, I’m in a bitter phase. And I guess a bit of embarrassment. Maybe those aren’t stages of grief—more like stages of humiliation. And I’m currently in the thick of those feelings.

I see the dots appear, but I don’t stick around looking at my phone to see what he responds with. I can’t tell if River noticedthe shift in my mood this morning, and I honestly can’t really fault him if he didn’t. I’m the one realizing I’m in too deep. And for the sake of self-preservation, I think pulling away from this, whatever we’ve made of ourselves together, needs to happen.

Is it the mature thing to do? No, but who really acts maturely when they’re embarrassed? I guess not me, the nearly thirty-year-old who decided to have a fling with a guy as against attachment as me. That’s who.

---