Page 17 of Go Away, Darling

Very, very hot.

Especially when the game came back from break with a tight shot of Chris’s eyes. He stood on the mound leaning forward with his arm on one leg. His uniform was crisp white and his dark blue hat sat low on his brow. His eyes were totally focused on Wes Allen behind the plate and I imagined they had some sort of psychic connection because once they synchronized they always seemed to be unstoppable.

Chris had really nice eyes.

Really, really nice eyes. They were the shade of brown that resembled bronze but also gold. They crinkled in the corners like he smiled all the time. Except right now he wasn’t smiling at all. His jaw was set and ticked twice as he stood up tall, bringing his hands up near his chin. He stared down the batter on first base with a look that was downright scary, then went into his pitching motion, sending the ball to the batter for a swinging strike.

The announcers all started talking excitedly at once.

“It’s amazing how he can come into a game this late, with runners on the bases, and pitch like it’s the first inning.” The first announcer said.

“I agree,” the other announcer said, shaking his head in wonder. “It really makes you wonder if anyone can beat him.”

“No,” the first announcer said flatly, “I don’t think anyone can. The question I have is...what magic will he pull off in the playoffs? I can’t wait to watch him.”

Chris threw another strike. Cool. Focused. His jaw ticking like he was chewing gum maybe? It was sexy and I couldn’t stop thinking about how different he was in my kitchen just a week ago. Smiling, casual, chatting with Linc like he had nothing better to do.

So different from the strike throwing machine on my television. He struck the batter out and took a lap around the mound shouting something to himself the cameras couldn’t pick up, but I was pretty sure it was full of swear words and smack talk.

I found myself wondering what it was like to touch Chris Kaine. To soothe away his stress and make him smile. Our one hug had been a surprise, but I remembered all of it. He smelled like saltwater and sunscreen. My head fit against his shoulder just right. His hands large on my back. His body hard and muscular. That multimillion dollar arm that might win a championship had been wrapped around me.

A very strange thing happened inside me when I thought about that. A heady, lusty, possessive fog filled my mind and body. After Beau, I swore I’d never date another athlete. They were too full of themselves. Too addicted to the spotlight and celebrity lifestyle. I didn’t need or want to date a champion.

I wanted my quiet island life watching my kid grow up. Was it simple? Yes. It was also stress free and happy.

And yet here I was coveting an athlete. Getting, if I’m being honest with myself, a little turned on by his focus and passion, not to mention that killer arm. And unlike Beau, hewantedto live on our little island. He called it home. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, but I wanted to believe Chris and Beau were two entirely different people.

I staredat my computer screen not getting much done on my project because my brain seemed to only want to focus on one thing today. It had been a week and Chris was supposed to be back.

But would he return?

He certainly didn’t have to if things changed. There was no contract between us. Heck, I didn’t even have his phone number. He could just as easily decide to stay in Tampa and relax with his friends.

A message dinged into my inbox and I forced myself to think about work again. I got up extra early during the week to get most of my email and editing work done before Linc got moving. Outdoor photo shoots took place at different times of day depending on the project and I scheduled those around Linc’s routine and, soon, school days. Otherwise they took place here in my studio. My parent’s old art studio was now my state of the art photography studio and lab. It had great lighting and opened up to our yard, which also served as an easy outdoor studio.

The bulk of my work was celebrity portraits. I carved out a niche here on the island. So many politicians and celebrities had homes here that it was a natural but strange specialty to develop. I became semi-famous for the unique way I captured people with their most beloved possessions. The island served as a gorgeous permanent backdrop. I had the final portrait printed in large scale as a work of art that hung in the owner’s homes. Sometimes the work was exciting, sometimes it was monotonous. I knew in the back of my mind that I was stifling my creativity by focusing only on the money, but I didn’t focus on that too often.

I scanned the new email and found it was from London Anderson asking for a quick edit to a photo she’d sent me last week from her trip to Monaco. Instead of replying to the email, I picked up my phone and called.

“Good morning sunshine!” she sang into the phone. “It is morning there, right?”

I laughed. “It is. And where are you?”

“Paris. I’m currently munching on cheese and sipping wine.”

“You have the worst work environment.”

Then she sighed heavily. “Yeah. About that. I think I’ll be back pretty soon. My grandmother isn’t doing well.”

“Oh London, I’m so sorry.” I compulsively clicked on the file for the local history project I was part of and opened the images of London’s grandmother I’d been working on editing.

“It will be a quick trip. I want to see her.”

Every trip for London was a quick trip. She simply couldn’t bring herself to stay and face all the memories. I missed her but I didn’t blame her. As much as she repelled the island, I clung to it like a life raft. “If you have time for a visitor let me know. It can be a purely friendly visit, or we can combine work and pleasure.”

“Oh yes! Perfect. We can talk shop over a coffee. I have so many ideas for my next book.”

The idea of a new project filled me with adrenaline. After a long summer with Linc, and now the unsettling reaction I had to a neighborly pitcher, I craved a new project to plan, ponder, and puzzle out. “Excellent. Keep me informed. And really, try and find a better place to work than hideous old Paris.”

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