Page 52 of Fake Love

“What school did I go to?”

“Notre Dame.” She says all too quickly which causes her to let out a groan when I let out a laugh “Okay, fine I looked you up. But only because I needed to know all about my so-called fake boyfriend, okay?”

“You could have asked and I would have told you.”

“Yeah, well I was bored and the internet was my best friend. So, bite me.”

Gladly.

Fuck, control yourself Bauer.

“You can be a pain in the ass, you know that right?” I deflect, trying to get my mind away from biting any inch of her.

“Yeah whatever, skippy. Do you want me to help you to get you out of your head or not?”

“Skippy?” I ask through a snort.

“You said that your team manager is Skipper, wouldn’t that make you Skippy?” She asks, a hint of teasing in her voice.

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“But don’t all baseball plates have nicknames?”

I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Back in Chicago, I was called Kid, since I was twenty-two when I got called up. I haven’t spent enough time with the guys here to warrant a nickname.”

“Hmm, I think I like skippy more than I like kid. It’s definitely better than me calling you Mady or Doxy,” Jen muses.

“Please never call me Doxy.”

Jen lets out a laugh that is like a sweet tune in my ear. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you were called that a lot.”

“All through junior high. Someone looked it up one day and found out what the word was slang for and it became nonstop for three years.”

“Wait, it’s slang for something?” I bet if she was in front of me right now, her face would be in a full one grin. “Let me look it up.”

I let out a groan. “Please don’t.”

My plea is too late because the sound of her type comes through and when she lets out a small gasp I know she found it.

“Oh my god why are kids so mean? You were called floozy for three years?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose trying not to relive those memories. “Yup.”

“When did it end?” Jen asks, shuffling something in the background. As if she sat up and the covers that surrounded her body moved.

“When I entered high school. I had bulked up that summer because of baseball, so they got scared I was going to hit them or something.”

“Ah, poor baby. Who are they so I can go kick their asses?”

I let out a booming laugh. “I’ll make a list and when we go to Chicago later this summer, you can come along and we’ll hunt them down.”

“You got yourself a deal. I can be very scary, you know?”

Another laugh escapes me. “I have no doubt about that.”

We both laugh for a good minute before we quiet down and the only thing that is audible is our breathing coming together through the phone.

I look out the window and take in what I can see of the city, wishing that Jen was next to me and not a few miles away.

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