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It’s been a few days since I’ve seen her, and I can’t get our last conversation out of my mind. She asked me if it was the chase, and I’m certain it’s not. However, all I’ve thought about since she asked me is her and what it is about her that draws me in. Stating the obvious… she’s gorgeous. And it’s not the chase, but it’s because of it. I’m used to women falling at my feet. My dad played in the majors my entire life, so I’ve been in and out of the spotlight. As soon as they found out who I was, who my family was, they—meaning most women—offered themselves to me on a silver platter. I took full advantage in my younger years, and hell, even my first year in the majors, but just as fast as the fame and the women came, the novelty wore off. I grew up in a large family full of men who worshiped their wives, and it’s hard to not want that for myself. The past couple of years, I’ve steered clear of groupies. Sure, there’s the occasional hook-up but nothing like the majority of my teammates.
It wasn’t until I first laid eyes on Larissa, that I started really thinking about what it would be like to have that one person, all of my own. Someone to come home to after a long stint on the road. Someone to share my nights with, and the offseason. The more I think about it, the more the idea forms a foundation. The only problem is that in those daydreams, all I see is her.
Larissa.
And she wants nothing to do with me. At least that’s what she wants me to believe. I can see it in her eyes, the internal battle she’s waging to resist me. I wish I knew what it was that was holding her back. If I knew, I could assure her that whatever it is, it’s not too big a mountain to climb. Not in the grand scheme of what we could be.
I don’t know what it’s going to take to get her to take a chance on me.
Flipping through the channels, I stop on an ad for a local florist. The ploy is “let her know you’re thinking about her.” Normally, I would keep surfing channels, but this time, the commercial works and has me reaching for my phone. I spend the next thirty minutes on the phone discussing the best flowers to send her; the lady on the phone was extremely helpful. She even promised to keep this out of the press. Not that I care about that. I couldn’t care less who knows that I’m in knots over this girl. However, my gut tells me that if my interest was to get out, it would push her further away.
They promised delivery to her work today, so I wait to hear from her. The afternoon turns into evening and still nothing. The urge to grab my keys and drive to her work, to be there waiting when she gets off, is strong, but I fight it. I don’t want to stalk her. I just want the chance to get to know her. So instead, I settle for watching Sports Center with my phone clutched in my hand, waiting, hoping, wishing she would call. I received an e-mail confirming delivery was made hours ago.
What is it going to take to get her to give me a chance? That’s my last thought before drifting off to sleep. Hours later, I’m jolted awake by the alarm on my phone reminding me it’s time for my morning run before practice. Silencing the alarm, I turn my head, stretching out the kinks from sleeping on the couch all night. Practice is going to suck. Reaching for my phone, I check my messages and notifications. Nothing from Larissa.
Time for me to step up my game.
It’s Saturday and my day off from the restaurant. I wanted to sleep in today, but instead, I’m here standing in line, waiting for further instructions from our group leader, and trying not to search for him. I tried to think of any excuse to get out of coming today, but ultimately, this is where I ended up. I changed my outfit ten times and redid my makeup twice. It has nothing to do with the fact he might be here—at least that’s what I tell myself. Last night I tried to find a list online of who’s participating, but there were no names listed, just the times of each group’s tour.
So here I stand on the Tennessee Blaze field, waiting for our tour of the stadium to commence. It’s one in the afternoon, and the warm May sun is beating down on us. That’s my justification for sweaty palms, but really, it’s him. This is his turf, and he’s been relentless in his pursuit of me. At work two days ago, I received a bouquet of white roses with a note with the words To new beginnings, and it was signed East. He’s been back to the restaurant almost every day the Blaze have been in town. If I’m not working, he always leaves a note with one of my coworkers to give to me. Chloe thinks I should just give in and go out with him, but I have more than just me to think about. It’s easy for someone on their own to forget that.
“Larissa?” his deep voice asks from behind me.
Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath. Deep down, I knew he would be here. I plaster a smile on my face and turn around. “Hello, Mr. Monroe,” I say politely, remembering my manners and why I’m here.
“What are you doing here?”
I’m just about to answer when I’m interrupted. “Mommy, who’s that?” my four-year-old daughter, Paisley, asks from beside me. Running my hand over her dark hair, while her big brown eyes pass from me to Easton.
Before I can answer her, Easton drops to his knees and holds out his hand. “I’m Easton, but you can call me East.”
I watch as my daughter places her tiny hand in his large one and shakes it. “My name’s Paisley Gray. I’m four years old. Are you my mommy’s friend? I’m not allowed to talk to strangers,” she informs him. Call me a sap, but I have to bite my lip and blink hard to fight back tears. He didn’t hesitate to drop to his knees and give her his full attention.
Easton looks up at me and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Paisley Gray, and yes, your mom and I are friends.” His smile causes a flutter in my chest.
Paisley tilts her head to the side and studies him. “Do you play here?” she asks, pointing to the Tennessee Blaze logo on his jersey.
“I do. I play first base.”
“Really?” she asks excitedly. “I play too. This is my team.” She points to the line of her T-ball team and their parents in front of us. Luckily, we’re at the back of the line and they are none the wiser that Easton Monroe, starting first baseman for the Tennessee Blaze, is standing right behind them. At least not yet.
“What position do you play?” he asks her.
“I hit the ball, but I’m not really good at catching it.”
He chuckles. “That takes lots of practice.”
“Yeah, my mommy’s too busy to practice, and Grandma can’t catch either,” she confesses with a giggle. My heart is in my throat as I watch him interact with my daughter. The fact that I have a daughter doesn’t seem to faze him. He talks to her as if he’s known her forever and the smile on his face says more than his words. He’s not going to let this stop him from pursuing me. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Excited, nervous, scared, elated… I have too many emotions rolling through me all at once.
“If it’s okay with your mom, the two of you can stick around today after the tour, and you and I can play catch for a while,” he offers.
“Can we, Mommy? Please, can we? Oh please?” she asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Let’s see how the day goes, okay, sweetie?”
“Okay,” she says, hanging her head. I hate to disappoint her like that, but neither one of us needs to get close to Easton.
Easton stands to his full height. “It’s good to see you,” he says, his eyes raking over me. My body reacts to the intensity of his gaze as my cheeks heat. I’m glad I put a little extra time into my appearance today.
