“You know I’m fucking sensitive about my ass, so why would you joke about it?”
“Because I’m your sister and I have to keep you grounded.”
I finish filling her cup and hand it to her. “Don’t joke about possibly winning one of the best awards I could possibly think of.”
She shakes her head. “You have problems.”
Because I always strive to be a good host, I reach for the food I prepared earlier: a vegetable crudité from the fridge, and homemade pita chips, which I place in the toaster oven to heat up.
Cut-up veggies, check.
Pitas, check.
Homemade hummus, check.
I lay it out all in front of Natalie who takes in the impressive spread. “Are you sure you’re a ballplayer? Looks like you could be a home chef.”
“Presentation is everything,” I say, adjusting a little dish of olives. “But let’s get back to the topic at hand; did you see they picked a winner for my Charity Hustle fundraiser?”
Mouthful of my garlic hummus, she shakes her head and swallows. “I didn’t. That’s exciting. Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Girl.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Her name is Dorothy Domico and get this, she donated ten thousand dollars.”
“Shut up.” Natalie’s eyes widen. “Holy crap, she must really want to go on a date with you.”
I turn around, showing off my backside. “Must be the ass, it brings all the ladies in.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Natalie deadpans. “That’s why you’re single and making homemade hummus for your sister because you have nothing better to do.”
“You know, if you’re going to make fun of my hummus, I can take it away.” I reach for the bowl, but she swats at my hand, deflecting it.
“If you want to be known as a terrible host, then yeah, take it away.”
“You know how to strike me where it hurts.” I clutch my chest.
“Always a flair for the dramatic.” Natalie rolls her eyes and dips a carrot stick in the hummus. “So, do we know anything about Dorothy other than she was very anxious to win?”
“Nothing. But my PR team sent over the date information. Next Friday night. She lives here in Chicago, so it makes things super easy.”
“She could be a stalker. Do you have security on standby?”
“Or,” I say, pulling the pita slices out of the toaster oven, “she could be a really nice woman and this could be a meet cute.”
Natalie perks up. “You mean . . . you would date this woman?”
I shrug. “You never know. People are brought into your life for a reason, and maybe Dorothy is supposed to be my forever.”
“You know”—Natalie takes a sip of her iced tea—“it’s concerning that you’re looking to actually date through this fundraiser. Are you really that desperate to be with someone that you’re going to make them pay to go on a date with you?”
“Jesus,” I mutter. My sister doesn’t ever beat around the bush. “You don’t have to be so goddamn negative all the time. I was just thinking hypothetically.”
Natalie pats my hand. “I’m not being negative, I’m just trying to keep your head out of the clouds since that’s where you like to live most of the time. Just be cautious with this girl. She could be bad news. After all, she did donate a lot of money.” Or she could be someone after my own heart who likes to give generously to a good cause. There is always a silver lining . . . at least in my mind.
“You’re going to be there, so you can look out for me, give me the nod if you think she’s a stalker or not.”
“Should we have a code word that means abort?”
“That’s a great idea.” I lean against the counter, tapping my chin with a slice of a red pepper. “What could it be?”
“A word that wouldn’t come up in everyday conversation.”
“Precisely.” I spin toward her. “How about gallbladder?”
“Why did that even come into your head?”
I bite the red pepper slice. “It’s a mystery what goes on in my brain.”
“Well, since I don’t think I ever say gallbladder, I think we have a winner. Finding a way to bring it up should be fun.”
“Hey, you might not have to, she could be pretty awesome.”
Natalie eyes me. “I have my doubts.”
“Because of what happened in the minors?”
“How could you not be jaded after Melissa? She used you.”
“That she did,” I murmur, staring at my feet, my mind falling back to my first year in the minor leagues. “She’s why I haven’t invested any time into a relationship.”
Fresh out of college and into the minors, I was lonely, separated from my normal support system, and I filled that void with the wrong person. Melissa used me in every way possible. I didn’t realize it until about four months in when she’d drained my signing bonus, taken all my energy trying to keep her happy, and the worst part? She’d been fucking other guys on the team. Why no one said anything was beyond comprehension, as I would have thought the same level of bro code slash loyalty I’d had with my friends in college carried over into the minors. Yes, she was hot, but man, if you know a girl is taken, you don’t cross that line. Before that experience, I’d been easygoing and quick to make friends. But I learned very quickly that trust took time to earn. I also learned that doubling up on protection was a must. No doubt there were other girls out there like Melissa, whose long-term goal included using whoever’s sperm as her future paycheck.
Yeah, she was a real catch. And I’d been the first fool, but not the last, thank God.
“I understand what you went through with her wasn’t easy, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t date.”
“You’re sending mixed signals here, Natalie. You want me to date, but you don’t want me to date, what is it?” I chuckle, shaking off the feeling of Melissa. I don’t talk about her. Being that stupid jock who didn’t see the signs from a mile away, took a hit to my pride. You live and learn.
Growing serious, Natalie says, “I want you to find love, the kind of love I share with Ansel, the kind of love Mom and Dad have. You deserve it, because you’re a kind and giving soul, but because of that, you need to make sure the girl you go out with is in it for you, not for the jersey you wear. I just want you to be cautious, that’s all.”
“Yeah, I get that.” I lean against the counter, my forearms propping me up. “But you never know, maybe this Dorothy Domico is someone special.”
“Or she’s an eighty-year-old grandma who used all her social security to buy a date with you.”
Smiling, I say, “I can get into the granny thing. Wrinkles are a turn-on.”
“You’re so fucked up.” She laughs and throws a carrot at my head, nailing me between the eyes.
I rub the offended spot and say, “You know, we might need you on the Rebels with an accurate arm like that if the general manager doesn’t pick up some strong arms for next season.”
“More time with my big brother? I think I’ll pass.”
“Such a punk.” I chuckle and bite into another carrot.