Page 31 of Naked

“My high school coach. He knew we all had big dreams but that most of us—probably none of us—would make it. So he wanted us to remember there are a lot of ways to keep baseball in our lives, even make it a huge part of our lives.”

She smiled. “I wish someone had said that to me. I’m glad I wound up here even without the words of wisdom.”

I couldn’t not touch her any longer so I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “What did the asshole do?”

“It’s embarrassing,” she whispered.

“Don’t ever be afraid of me or what you think I might think. To me you are perfect.”

She tried to pull her hand back so I latched on even tighter. “See?” She huffed. “It makes no sense. I am not perfect!”

“I didn’t say you were perfect. I said you were perfectto me.”

“It’s the same thing! One day you’ll realize I’m not perfect and all this happiness will come crashing down. You won’t see me the same way. I don’t want that.”

“That’s not true. That’s an excuse. I’m not perfect. The next time I do something stupid or what if I quit baseball tomorrow and don’t workout ever again? Will you feel differently about me?” I knew with absolute certainty that Tilley wasn’t capable of those kinds of thoughts. She saw the best in people. She cared about who they were inside, not outside.

And I think that was what always confused me about her opinion of ballplayers. It was so superficial. It didn’t match anything else about her.

She frowned. “Your physical appearance is extremely pleasing to me, however it isn’t why I’m attracted to you.”

I gave her hand a gentle tug—the same way I’d tug her hair if I had a fistful of it right now. “Why are you attracted to me?”

She fidgeted again. “You are kind. You’re a smart shortstop. Your eyes twinkle.”

“My eyes twinkle?” I hadn’t heard that one before, but it intrigued me.

“Yes. It’s very disconcerting. I believe they have their own Tilley specific language because they twinkle and my panties fall off. Metaphorically.”

And I was hard again…

Apparently it was possible after all.

“Well then. As long as I have twinkling eyes you’ll be able to overlook all my other imperfections?”

She sighed with resignation and probably a good amount of frustration. “Yes.”

“Good. Then you’ll understand when I say I’m attracted to you not because you have a killer rack,” she gasped, “or you have amazing hips and an ass to die for, but because you know everything about every sport. You laugh so hard when we watch bad movies that you snort. And that when you look at me you smile.”

She smiled, right on cue. “Hunter.”

“Tilley. You are my perfect. Especially when you ask me to let you watch.”

She gulped.

“Or when you put your mouth on me.”

She shuddered.

“Or when you spread for me.”

Someone cleared their throat beside us and I looked up at the blushing cheeks of our waiter. “Your dinner.”

“Thanks.” I released Tilley’s hand so the man could lay out our spread of fish, fries, and wings. “And another pitcher of beer.” I emptied what was left into my glass and handed it over.

“Of course.” He refused to make eye contact with Tilley as he turned and left.

Tilley shook her head. “You better leave a good tip for that poor man.”

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