“You heard wrong,” I say.
“I don’t think I did.”
“I said you claimed me.” I focus my attention on the field. Anything other than give in to the pull toward Dean.
“One day you will.” He lifts one leg and rests his ankle on his knee. He’s nothing but casual as he puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Nice move,” I murmur.
“Well, I’ve got no shot at Hillary now that you went all girl power on her.” I elbow him again. “Okay, that one hurt.”
“Good,” I deadpan.
“Now we just sit and wait for the kiss cam.”
I glance over and his usual smirk rests on his face. “Pushing it.”
“Oh, come on. I’m not looking for the hard on inducer one from the elevator the other night, but a little peck never hurt anyone.”
“Sorry to tell you but the kiss cam doesn’t do rooftops.”
“Damn it. No nachos and no kiss cam. What kind of baseball game is this?”
I giggle and somehow our bodies end up closer together.
The couple behind us heads to the bar, leaving us by ourselves. Mr. Heiberman is regaling the rest of Dean’s co-workers with some story near the area where the food is laid out. I’m not sure he’s seen much of the game at all.
Hillary and her friends finally descend on a table. Other than a few scattered other employees it’s just the two of us who are concentrating on the game.
“Does it bother you?” I ask the question that’s been at the back of my mind most of the day. Hell, from the moment he brought up taking me to the game.
“What? Being at a baseball game?” His mood shifts and I regret bringing up the subject, but if he truly changed, this is where I’ll find the answer and I need to know.
“Yeah. That you could have been out there,” I say in a soft voice.
He shrugs. “I might not have. I mean people assumed I’d make the bigs, but there was never any guarantee. I could be on a bus right now off to play in the minors.”
“You think about it a lot?”
“Of course. It was my dream.”
Dean was already in talks about being drafted before his chirping another guy at the bar one night got him involved in a bar fight that tore up his shoulder. No team wants a pitcher with a bad shoulder and suddenly team scouts stopped showing up or calling and Dean fell into a depression. A depression that cost us our marriage.
“But do you…”
“No, I don’t wallow in it.” He looks me straight in the eye as if he’s willing me to see the truth there. “I’m happy being a tax attorney, believe it or not. Do I ever think what if? All the time, but there’s a helluva lot more to life than playing professional ball.”
“You didn’t think that once upon a time.” Even I can hear the hurt in my tone and so I sip my water to push down the lump forming in my throat.
“I told you I’ve changed. I’m not lying, Chelsea. I know what destroyed us and I’m here to tell you it won’t this time.”
The saying ‘a leopard doesn’t change its spots’ pops into my head.
“So, you’d rather deal with taxes than be out there.” I point to the field.
“If it means I have you with me, then right here, every time.”
“Man, you’re heavy on the lines tonight.” I shake my head at him with a smile.
He winks, the one that makes my stomach flip. “Are they working?”
I hold up my finger and thumb, opening a small space between them.
“How about a bet?” He glances over to the scoreboard and I do the same.
Cubs, nine. White Sox, eight. Close game.
“Let me guess, sexual?”
“Is there any other?” he asks, arching a brow.
“With you? No.” I chuckle.
He swivels in my direction, the game no longer on his radar. “It’s my way to get you to do things you really want to do but are too stubborn to admit.” He takes my hand and squeezes it.
“Maybe I don’t want to play your game then?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Oh, you’ll play. How’s this? Whoever wins gets a double after the game.”
“A double cheeseburger? Deal.” I hold out my hand.
He stares down at it and then back up to my eyes. “Let me be clearer, whoever wins, gets to second base.”
“Are we skipping first?”
“I’d never skip first with you, Chels.”
I ignore the way his words heat the blood in my veins.
“How come I feel like I’m getting the raw end of this deal? I get to feel your nipples. Yippee.”
He widens his legs. “You’re welcome to steal third.”
A flash of heat invades my face. “Well, you’re not.”
We shake on it and from that point on, the game gets a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter Fifteen
The sun is descending, and I smile to myself when Dean turns the handlebars of his motorcycle down Lake Shore Drive.
My arms are securely wrapped around his waist, my cheek on his back. I can’t help but wish I didn’t have to wear this helmet so that I could feel the heat of his skin on my face. His muscles flex under my hands as he maneuvers the bike past cars. The breeze off the lake makes me happy that I chose to put my sweatshirt on before we left.
The ride ends way too quickly for my liking when he slows the bike, parking it along the curb, Lake Michigan on our left and Grant Park on our right.
He puts down the kickstand, gets up and holds out his hand for me.
After securing our helmets in the side pockets, his fingers wind with mine as we walk along the sidewalk. Buckingham Fountain comes into view with its lights glowing under the streaming water sprouting out of the concrete fixture.
“You know when you asked me about baseball earlier?”
In the five-minute trip from the stadium, his mood has shifted from playful to serious, causing a nervous weight to press on my chest.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t say something I should have.”
The gravel around the fountain crunches under our feet and I admire the beautiful scene in front of me—the fountain spray with the skyline of Chicago in the backdrop. The scene seems contrary to the conversation we’re about to have. I’ve pushed it away as long as I could, but from the look on Dean’s face he’s not going to let it slide any longer. Still, I don’t know if I’m ready to discuss…everything.
“What?”
“I only have one regret.”
“You shouldn’t have any regrets.”
He stops me and sits me on a bench on the outside perimeter the fountain. “Will you let me talk?”
I face him, hearing the frustration in his tone.
“I only have one regret,” he says again, his gaze intense.
“The fight? I know. It sucks.”
“Jesus, Chelsea.” He sounds mad and I don’t really understand why.
“What?”
“Listen to me.” He takes my shoulders in his hands, squeezing lightly. “It’s not the fight. Not my finest moment, but that’s not it.”
I keep my mouth shut, purposely staring him in the eye to let him know I won’t interrupt him again.