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Chapter Twenty-Two
Sawyer
I’ve been pacing the floor since I got home from work. I tried to work out, but I was so distracted that I almost killed myself with free weights, so I opted to shower and wait. I’m not sure if she’s coming here or if I’m expected there. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d show up at the damn café and third-wheel their little work thing.
But the one thing that kept me from doing just that was the look in her eyes. They’re different when she’s talking to Bryce versus talking to me. When she communicates with the other math teacher, it’s friendly, yet clinical, and the moment her eyes meet mine, it’s all fire and desire.
I check my phone again, waiting to see if she’s sent a text since I last checked it three minutes ago. I know what you’re gonna say: I’m whipped. And ya know what? I don’t give a shit. Call me what you want, but I don’t care. I don’t care because it’s true. I’m whipped by a beautiful woman who makes me feel more alive than I ever felt playing baseball.
Now, if I could only get her face-to-face so I can fix my fuckup.
I’m going to find her.
Decision made.
I grab my keys, completely not caring about turning off any lights, and head to the front door. My car is still outside in the driveway, so it’s easier to cut out of the house this way than through the garage. Ripping the door open, I almost slam into the woman with her hand raised as if she were about to knock on my door. But it’s her scream of surprise that stops me in my tracks.
AJ.
“Shit, I almost ran you over.” Yep, stating the obvious. Idiot.
“I’m sorry. I was going to call first, but my car…well, it just drove over here.” Her brown hair is pulled into a ponytail high on her head and her clothes are different than what she wore to work. She looks casual and beautiful.
“I’m glad it did.” So fucking glad. “Come in.” I step aside and wave her in. Her scent sweeps by me as she enters my home.
“I really am sorry for just dropping in on you. I went home after meeting Bryce at the café and was going to call you, but decided to go for a drive.”
“It’s fine. I’m really glad you’re here. Can I get you a drink?” I ask pointing to the living room.
“Actually, do you have any beer?” She wraps her arms around her waist, glancing around as if the place would be different than it was just a few nights ago. Well, everything is completely the same, including the panties hanging from the light in the foyer.
I return from the kitchen with two beers, even though I don’t really want one. I need something in my hand. Otherwise, it’ll be her in my hands and I don’t think she’s quite ready for that. AJ is standing at the sliding back door that leads to the deck. The sun is setting and the view of the Bay is almost as breathtaking as she is.
“Do you want to sit outside?” I ask.
Glancing over her shoulder, I see the tension and nervousness in her eyes. She nods quickly and opens the door. There’s a breeze, but it doesn’t bother me any. I’ll have to watch her, though, for any sign that she’s getting chilly.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her honestly as she takes a seat in one of the chairs. She curls her legs beneath her body, the casual way she does when she gets comfy on my couch.
“Me too.” She takes a long pull from her beer before setting it on the table beside her.
“I owe you an explanation,” I start, gazing over at her. She doesn’t say anything, which is my only indication to keep going. “I’ve been labeled as a playboy basically since the moment I stepped into the majors. My PR firm loved the additional exposure, so I was advised to just ‘go with it.’ I never disputed or argued the claims, even though everything was completely fabricated. Did I have one-night stands? Yes. I’m not about to lie to you and tell you I didn’t. Did I have them after I met Carrie? Fuck no. I’m not the man I’m portrayed in the media, AJ.”
I take a deep breath and keep going. “When I started dating Carrie, the stories changed. I was the playboy tamed by the beautiful model. Sure, we were still tailed everywhere we went, but at least they were focused more on my relationship than on what they called my extracurriculars. I proposed after we had been dating a year, and we got married a year after that. It was a big, elaborate thing that I really didn’t want, but Carrie insisted. We were both in the public eye, and therefore, it was expected of us to let the public in on that part of our lives too. I hated it, to be frank, but went along with it because it was what she wanted.
“About a month after we were married, the first news story hit about me cheating. I was in Chicago, playing a series against the Sox, when I was photographed in a club with a woman. That woman was trashed and stumbling all around. I was sitting on a couch beside my teammate Joel. I reached out and helped steady her, but the damage was done in that fraction of a second. My hand was on her leg and she appeared to be straddling my lap. The headline read: ‘Randall Out for a Good Time Without His Wife’.”
I take a deep breath. “At that point, I was labeled, followed, and hounded even more than I already was. My PR agency, again, informed me not to respond. Carrie was pissed, even though she swore she believed me. It was much of the same for years, until my accident.”
“Then their focus changed,” she confirms.
“Yeah, it changed. And it took three months after being injured before I found her in bed with a teammate.”
Her big green eyes widen, a look of shock transforming her beautiful face. “What?” Her words are barely above a whisper.
“I came home from therapy and found her in our bed with my replacement.”
“Fucking bitch,” she mumbles through her gasp.
