Page 59 of Curveball
Me: Sister, you don’t know the half of it.
Pree: I will by the end of the night!
Me: Rawr
I wakewith a start later that afternoon, a crick in my neck from my position on the couch, an open hardback book on my lap, my phone pinging reminder notifications for a couple of messages that came in while I slept. I didn’t mean to doze off, but yesterday’s time in the sun must have really zapped me.
Bad Boy: I’ll miss you tonight. I like seeing you in the stands even if I’m not on the mound.
We compared our upcoming weeks when I was with him yesterday. His week is split—a few days playing at home, then road games through the weekend. He seemed disappointed when I told him I’m teaching summer classes and can’t make the night games. My schedule will be more flexible than during the regular semester, but late nights are still hard.
I double tap his comment to it, and scroll on to the next text.
Bad Boy: Come with me to a BBQ for Gunnar on Monday. Bring Dylan. And your swimsuit.
With my brain still fuzzy from sleep, it takes me a minute to remember that Gunnar is a teammate. Barbecues with sports celebrities—this is a life I fled years ago; do I want it back? Will they even allow me in? I lay on my back with my head propped on a throw pillow and the phone held above me in my extended arms while I type back my response.
Me: You telling me what to do, bad boy?
Bad Boy: Oh, Palmer Girl, you have no idea.
I snort laugh and clutch the phone to my chest. Long dormant butterflies wake up and stretch in my belly. I’ve been single for so long, and thisthingI have going on with Max—sort of like dating but not really dating because our kids are always around—is fun. And confusing.
I didn’t mean to ruin everything when I shut him down yesterday. And then, later, I . . . panicked when he impulsively demanded I marry him. This ismylife.I’mthe one responsible for what happens. For putting out fires. For keeping my son safe. Who’s there for Dylan if it’s not me?
My conscience chooses now to pipe up in an annoying and bossy whisper.
But who’s there for you?
Who’severbeen there for you?
Well, hell. Just kick me when I’m down, why don’t you?
Max is there for me.
Yeah, Max is there. Making me remember how to feel like a woman with his hands on my body, sliding over my slick wet skin in the pool, and then over my wet, slick folds when we escaped upstairs. That felt good. And hot. And then, so damn frustrating when my mind wouldn’t shut off. Mike’s been my only action for so long. And I miss a long, hard, hot—real—cock.
Me: Dylan won’t be around. Going camping with a friend. Am I still invited?
Bad Boy: If I say yes, will I get to see you in your bikini again?
I could leave him on read and get on with my day, but this feels good—exciting—like flirting with a man who might be more than a crush. I feel a little bit wicked. A little bit like the woman I used to be when I was young and in love.
In love?
I am not in love. Not with Max.
Am I?
I don’t think so. Do I even know him well enough?
Not yet.
I grin to myself and indulge in a full body shimmy. Then, I lift my phone to type in a simple tease.
Me:
At four o’clockon the dot, I park at Unwind, our favorite place to enjoy an unhurried happy hour, and nearly skip to meet Priya at the hot pink entry door. A flock of pink plastic flamingos dots the landscaping bed of flowering azaleas along the side of the building, the outdoor décor in keeping with the fun, casual atmosphere we’ve always loved about the place.
