I guess the reason it bothers me is that she’s not a saint either, which gives her no room to judge. Good for her for not sitting around waiting for the one perfect guy to come sweep her off her feet though. It’s better that she’s aware that he doesn’t exist. I wish I could be that guy, but who the heck am I kidding? I can’t even answer the straightforward, is baseball still my first love, question without messing it up. I hate that question. I hate it more when she’s the one asking because I know whatever I say is tied up into it all.
“I can’t believe you’re going into the draft and you’re only one year away from graduating,” Misty’s mom Rosa says, lamenting.
“He’s an athlete,” her dad says. “He needs to strike while he can.”
“I understand that, Henry, but this child has a perfect GPA.”
“You have a perfect GPA?” Misty asks, surprised. It’s the first thing she’s asked about me and even though no one bats an eye, it’s a big deal to me.
“Four point oh, baby.” I wink at her. She reddens instantly and I almost feel bad. Almost. Maybe I would if she didn’t look so cute when she’s embarrassed.
“Wow,” she says. “Impressive.”
“What’s your major?” Jo asks. “I always forget.”
“Finance.”
“Finance.” Jo’s brows lift. “So if the baseball thing didn’t work out, which, we all know it will, what would you do with your major?”
“Probably financial planning. I like the idea of helping people stay out of debt.”
“That’s nice,” Misty says, smiling a little. “Maybe I should’ve gone into finance.”
“I told you you’d regret journalism.” Her mother shakes her head.
“Déjala, Rosa,” Henry says, shushing his wife. “Misty also has impeccable grades.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” I smile at Misty, who tears her gaze away from me.
“What’s your dream team?” Rocky asks. “Still Yankees?”
“Always.”
“Always,” Jagger echoes.
“Rocky’s hoping you say Mets.” Maverick throws an arm around Rocky. “I keep telling her not to hold her breath.”
“I mean, if the Mets sign me, I’d be cool with it.” I shrug and laugh at the look everyone except Rocky is giving me.
Everyone pulls for the team their parents root for. It’s human nature. For us, it’s a little more personal, since Dad played for the Yankees. Henry had been recruited and signed by them as well before an injury forced him out of the league. In hindsight, it was probably the best thing that happened to him since he became a successful doctor, but I can’t imagine it was easy to come to terms with it. We continue our conversation about baseball and pitchers and teams that may be interested in me, and I watch Misty to try to gauge a reaction, but find none. I wish she was a little easier to read, the way she was that summer, before she started guarding her emotions and words from me. I know I fucked up, but I don’t think we’re past the point of no return.
We can’t be. She has to give me one more chance.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Misty
I’m bone tired when I hear the doorbell the next morning, but I get up, brush my teeth, and open it anyway. Mitchell is standing there looking bright-eyed, with a smile on his face that I would probably swoon over if I wasn’t so exhausted.
“You’re making coffee.” I put a hand up and turn around, heading back to my room to change.
I’m fast today, and when I open the door to my room, I inhale the scent of freshly brewed coffee, and I feel like I just might be ready for our jog after all.
“I hope it’s okay. No sugar, two creams?” He slides a mug to my side of the counter.
“Perfect.” I take a sip. I take it with one cream, but how can I complain?
“You made me feel like a traitor last night.” He sets his elbows on the counter and leans forward, eyes on mine.
“How?”
“Wearing that Duke shirt in the stands.”
“Wouldn’t I be the traitor? Not you?” I take another sip to hide my smile.
“Not when I was the one checking you out all night, wishing I could run over and kiss you.”
“Hm.” Another sip.
“Come on, Misty.” He sighs, standing and running his fingers through his hair. “One date. At least one date. What are you so afraid of?”
“A lot of things.” I set the mug down and stand straighter. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. My sister and your brother are getting married. You hear of families being torn apart all the time when siblings end up together and then break up.”
“That wouldn’t happen.” He frowns. “And I’m asking for one date, not your hand in marriage.”
“Well, that’s good because I would never marry you.” I start walking toward the door. “Are we going on this stupid jog or what?”
“Jesus.” He’s on my heels as I open the door and walk to the elevator. “What the hell did I say wrong now?”
“Nothing.” I punch the button and cross my arms, looking straight ahead at our reflection in the steel. He’s so much taller than I am. If I turn sideways to punch him right now it would land on his chest. I let out a breath and step inside once the doors open. Once inside, I push the lobby button and cross my arms again.
“Misty.” He sighs.
“It’s fine. Just drop it.”
He does. We walk to the other side of the street and start to jog in silence. Amazingly, I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out at any moment and complete the jog with him.
“You sure you don’t want to do another round?” he asks, cool as a cucumber when we get back to our starting point.
“Positive.”
“I think you can do it if you push.”
“I have no interest.”
“We keep doing half a mile.” He chuckles. “You can totally do the whole thing now.”
“Nope.” I start walking toward the entrance of the park. “Knock yourself out though.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I hear him jogging over to me once I get far enough.
“You’re impossible, you know?” he says when he reaches me.
“I’ve heard that once or twice.”
“Do you want to grab breakfast?”
“No, thank you.” I keep my voice casual, nice, grateful.
“Not even for your article?”
I let out a long breath. The damn article that I can’t seem to write? The one I need to get done in order to graduate? The one his mother wants to publish in her magazine (if it’s good)? I groan.
“You did start the article, right?” he asks as we’re crossing the street.
“Yep.” I have two sentences written, so that’s a start.
“When is it due?”
“A week.”
“One week?” he asks. “When can I read it?”
“When it’s published.” If it’s published.