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“Maybe after dessert,” she said, to put him off politely. She’d agreed to a business dinner, but she’d never realized how much business a guy like Casey could pack into a four-course meal. And while she appreciated the enthusiasm and hard work, it was hard to stay focused when she couldn’t keep her mind off Chris.
“Let’s talk about Thompson, then.”
If she had been drinking, she would have choked. Every now and then, she got the crazy feeling that people could read her mind. Carefully composing a neutral expression, she took a sip from her wine glass, waiting to set it aside before asking, “What about him?”
“Well, it’s clearly his last season.” Casey waved off the waiter who came to refill his water glass. “And I don’t think we’re going to have a job to offer him in the organization. Ken is pretty comfortable with the pitching staff we have right now, and he and Chris haven’t always… let’s just say there are things they wouldn’t see eye-to-eye on, working together in that capacity.”
“Then let’s be realistic with him, too. I’m sure he’s aware that he’s nearly done. It was his idea to pitch relief, wasn’t it?”
Casey nodded. “We talked to him about his abilities as a closer, and he wasn’t confident in them, either. Hey, the guy has had a hell of a career, but it just gets to the point where all the attitude in the world can’t make up for a bad arm.”
“Attitude?” Her father had never had a bad word to say about Chris, and he’d hated attitude.
“You know. He’s kind of cocky, kind of brusque. And that behavior is all well and good when you’re able to pitch competently, but those days are over for him.” Casey slipped his iPad back into its case as the dessert course arrived. “To be honest, I’m not sure another organization would pick him up, either.”
It was wildly irrational to be angry at Casey for saying what, for all intents and purposes, could be absolutely true of Chris. Maggie hadn’t known him that long, and she really couldn’t count second-hand info from her dad and the lingering vestiges of a brutal teenage crush to form a solid defense. If Chris would clash with the management, he didn’t have a place in the organization once he stopped playing. But she couldn’t help but be a little peeved that Casey had just punched giant holes in her vivid fantasy life.
The platonic glow of being “just friends” with Chris had worn off in about thirty minutes. Over the past few days, she’d caught herself imagining ways that they could make a relationship work. Not just because sex with him had been amazing, but because, aside from Molly, he was the only person who’d made her genuinely smile in the last six months. She would even have been happy with sneaking around secretively. But if Chris wasn’t going to be in Grand Rapids next season, that really put a crimp in her sneaking plans.
“He still has some fans, though. We could spin it as a whole retirement thing,” Casey said around a mouthful of chocolate soufflé. “Could get some butts in the seats.”
“Now you’re sounding like Thorgerson.” She made a face, and they both laughed easily, but her stomach clenched. Chris had seemed genuinely shocked when she’d mentioned the possibility of retirement. “Look… let me talk to Thompson, okay? He had a history with my dad, it might feel better coming from me.”
Casey dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Sure thing. My lips are sealed. But sooner, better than later, okay?”
Later, in the cab headed to Chris’s apartment, Maggie was pretty sure that Casey hadn’t meant “tonight” when he’d said “sooner”. But all through dinner, all she’d been able to think of was Chris’s invitation from the night before, and how it would have been way more fun to have dinner with someone she could trash talk and flirt with.
No, you cannot flirt with Chris. She leaned her head against the window, knowing she should tell the driver to head back to her place. Besides, wasn’t it rude to just drop in on people?
She was mulling over that particular etiquette quandary even as she pushed the buzzer outside his door.
He answered with a tentative, “hello?”
“Hi. It’s… me.” She bounced a little on the balls of her feet and shot a nervous glance to the cab. If the driver left and Chris didn’t let her come up, she might have some walking to do in her increasingly uncomfortable heels.
After a moment, he replied, “Uh… ‘me’ who?”
Her cheeks burning, she said, “It’s Maggie.”
“I’ll buzz you up.”
When she got to his door, he answered it shirtless, in pajama pants that rode low on hips. He motioned her inside. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.”
She took a slow survey of the half-eaten pizza on the coffee table, and the beer bottles, as well. “Are we paying you to eat like that?”
