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We try to stifle our laughter. Then I realize Jenn is looking at me curiously. “What?”
“Nothing, I just… Well, what you were saying about dating. I’m surprised, that’s all. I can’t imagine you having much trouble.”
Her cheeks turn pink. Was that a… Compliment?
I clear my throat. “You’d be surprised,” I say, feeling weirdly self-conscious. “Meeting women can be a bit weird with the whole baseball thing. Sometimes, I feel like I’m just a story for them to tell their friends.” I suddenly realize that in all the times we’ve talked so far, baseball has hardly come up. It’s refreshing, to feel like, in Jenn’s eyes, “baseball player” isn’t the cornerstone of my identity.
“Oh, poor little rich famous sports star,” Jenn says. She smiles up to let me know she’s just joking.
I smile. “I know, I know, and I’m not complaining. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for all the opportunities baseball has given me—”
“Like sitting here, tasting this incredible swamp shooter,” Jenn adds, holding up her shot glass.
“Exactly. But… People have this image of me now,” I try to explain. “I was really calm on the field, but only because I could channel everything into those moments of the game. In real life? It’s a whole other story.”
Jenn’s smile softens. “Nobody has to be relaxed all the time.”
I shrug. “But there’s an expectation, right? That I’ll have this jet-setting, glitzy life so everything’s easy-breezy. I’ll take it all in stride.”
“… Says the man who took me on a helicopter the day we met,” she says, grinning.
“We met before then,” I remind her.
“Right,” she says, glancing away. “Not my finest hour.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “I thought you were great. An avenging dick-punching angel.”
She laughs. “And I wonder why I’m single,” she adds wryly.
“Why are you?” I ask, before I can stop myself. Because seriously? I don’t understand it.
Although a traitorous part of me is very, very glad.
“Sorry,” I add, realizing I may have overstepped. “That’s kind of a personal question. Forget I asked.”
“No, it’s fine.” Jenn flashes me a smile. “I mean, I’m not dealing with the heavy burden of fame and talent here, but…”
I chuckle. “Try me.”
“Where to begin?” she rolls her eyes.
“Dating is such a delight. I mean, I had a drink with a guy once, and, afterward, I sent a tactful text, saying it wasn’t a match. He texted back:I get it. Then, a few minutes later,Can I get a pic of your feet?”
I snort with laughter. “No!”
“Yup!”
I can’t help myself. “Did you… Do it?”
“Of course not,” she says indignantly. Then she adds, with a serene smile, “My feet are very cute. I wouldn’t give them away for free.”
I burst out laughing, surprised at her blasé humor about a fetish request. For being such a reliable person, Jenn Walker is also never quite what I expect.
We’re interrupted by Robby bursting out of the kitchen, his hands pointing in finger guns. “How are we doing with those shots? Feeling healthier already? Immune system revitalized?”
I cough. “I’m a changed man.”
“Excellent,” Robby says, snapping his fingers. “Next course.”
