“Yes, you do,” she retorted, then she strutted away looking like she was walking a runway.
I turned to him as he was shutting the door, but I didn’t even get my first word out. Suddenly he was kissing me, his mouth hard against mine, his body pushing me against the door such that it closed behind me. I resisted at first. His kiss was sudden, and I was off-balance from whatever that was with Dana. But then a moment later, my body relaxed into him. My mouth opened, my arms squeezed his, and my head dropped back for his plunder. Whatever my mind was doing, my body remembered the feel of him, the scent of his body, and the heated way he thrust into my mouth and set my heart racing.
No man had ever taken me from zero toyes, yes, yes!so fast. But even his charisma had limits. And so when we broke apart for breath, I was able to push him away from me. My arms were weak, my breath short, but my words came out gratifyingly strong.
“Talk. Now.”
“I can’t,” he said. “You’ll hate me.”
My stomach knotted, and I clenched my fists against the wall rather than let my panic show. Something awful was coming, but I had to know. Living any more time in limbo wasn’t an option. So I blew out a breath and faced him.
“Let’s have it,” I said.
“You can’t move in.”
To his credit, he didn’t flinch or lie or backtrack. He said the words solidly, and I just stared at him, so much in shock that the words echoed in my brain. Even so, my words spilled out.
“I was fired because I didn’t do an article on you.”
“I know.”
“I sublet my apartment.”
“I know.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.”
“I know.”
I’d spoken the words without thought. They just bubbled out of the churning darkness inside. Even the insult was thrown almost casually because I couldn’t fathom that what I was hearing was true. I’d been packing for days. It had been a huge step for me to do this. I was gambling my whole future on taking this time to find a job in journalism. Not to mention the risk of living with a man who might not love me the way I wanted. With rings and kids and Disney vacations.
And now he was saying it was all a joke? That I couldn’t move in at all?
The rage that boiled up inside me was murderous. Like I could absolutely understand killing him. With my bare hands. Instead I kept my voice excruciatingly level and asked a single question.
“Why? And if you say ‘publicity,’ I’m going to kick you in the balls.”
“Brittany. And publicity.”
My eyes narrowed as I noted that he was facing me with his legs slightly spread, his groin open and available for me to inflict massive pain. I nearly did it. I probably would have if I thought I’d stop after one hit. Instead, I bit out an order.
“Start from the beginning.”
He did. But only after leading me to a butter-soft leather couch in front of a huge entertainment center. This was obviously boy decorating. A glance over his shoulder showed me a small kitchen. The rest of the room was done in leather and angled for the video game consoles. I couldn’t help picturing myself here. It wasn’t perfect, but I would have managed. Hell, I wasn’t picky. I would have been happy with a mattress on the floor and my laptop. My needs weren’t about luxury. They were about being with him.
I sat slowly, keeping my thoughts inside. He didn’t settle but started offering me food. He got me water (my choice), then handed me tiny hot dogs wrapped in bacon (his choice).
“I don’t cook a lot, but I made this. And the casserole. And I bought cheesecake for dessert.”
Did he really think I cared? “I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said, my voice flat.
He sighed and sat with me on the couch near enough to touch, but not actually connecting. And then he started talking.
As the daughter of Chinese immigrants, sitting in silence while someone else lectures is a skill I developed young. I didn’t interrupt him. I didn’t argue. I just let him stammer out his apologies and explain his point of view.
The thing is I believed him. There was agony in his voice and he looked like shit. He believed there was no other choice. Baseball was his career and his passion. He had one shot at the majors and he couldn’t screw it up.
If I had to choose between the career of my dreams and moving in with Rob, I don’t think I’d pick him. Certainly not if I could beg him to wait a few months. Just a few weeks and then we could be together.
