Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You sure?”
“Yup. I got it. No worries.” I look at Ethan. “You did great today.”
His eyes light up. “I did?”
“You sure did. Let me see your glove, though.”
Palmer hands me Ethan’s glove. I work it around, bending it in my hands.
“Do me a favor, okay?” I ask Ethan. “Get some glove oil. Bud’s has some. It’s pretty inexpensive. Then put it on your glove and work it in with a sponge.”
“Okay,” Ethan says as if I’m giving him the secret to curing cancer.
“Then I want you to take a ball and put it in the pocket of your glove where the webbing meets the palm. Wrap some rubber bands around it and leave it overnight. That’ll help you break it in and make catching a little easier, okay?”
He looks up at Palmer. “Can we do that?”
“Absolutely.”
“But I don’t think we have a ball at home,” he says. “I lost the one we had.”
I point at the field. “Go grab one from out there. There are a dozen behind home plate.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, bouncing on his toes.
“Yeah. I’ll replace it. No worries.”
“Thanks, Coach!”
Ethan springs over the fence and makes a mad dash toward home plate.
“Smooth way of getting me alone,” Palmer says, leaning against the fence.
I lean against it from the other side so we’re face-to-face.
“Happy coincidence,” I say.
“Sure.” She smiles at me. “I’m glad because we need to have a little conversation anyway.”
Her smile falters just enough to make me concerned. This is not where I thought this was going, I don’t think.
“What’s up?” I ask, hoping it sounds as cool as I intended.
She takes a long, deep breath. “I kissed you—”
“And I loved it.”
Her shoulders fall. “It was impulsive.”
“It was spontaneous. That is, unless you’ve been thinking about it for days like I have. I’ve basically walked through that kiss a hundred times, so it was less spontaneity and more dream-to-reality for me.”
“Cole.”
“Why are you saying my name like a whole damn sentence?”
She sighs, glancing toward the field before focusing her laser-like attention on me. “I got caught up in the moment. For honesty’s sake, I have been thinking about it for days, and that’s probably why I did it.”
“I don’t see the problem here, Palmer.”
“The problem is . . . I’m too old to be doing this. I’ve played around enough in my life—kissed enough boys behind sheds. Now I’m thirty-two and have nothing to show for it except the best kid in the world that I’m fully and solely responsible for.”
I hold up a hand. “Whoa. Slow down. You’re getting way ahead of yourself here.”
She stands up too. “That’s what I’m saying. I’m way ahead of where this thing between us is going.”
“You do realize that I asked you to dinner and not to marry me, right?”
“Yes!”
I make a face because I’m confused as fuck. “Also, we kissed in the shed, not behind it. Surely that means something.”
My attempt at levity goes unnoticed. That or ignored. Either way, she doesn’t bite.
“Look, Cole. I’m not looking for a ‘friends with benefits’ thing or a one-night stand or even to bide some time with a guy because we’re bored or have nothing better to do with our lives.”
“Okay.”
She hesitates, and I think she’s going to clam up and change the topic. I fully expect her to crack a joke and then tell me she has to go.
But she doesn’t.
“I want . . . more, Cole. I want to find a guy that I can settle down with. That will truly and actually love me. That will commit. That won’t leave me hanging.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s . . . a lot.
“I have a twelve-year-old son that deserves a family,” she says. “And I keep picking guys that don’t give a shit about that. They like having someone around to pick up after them or help them get off after a shitty day, but they aren’t wanting to blend their lives and say ‘This is us’ to the world.”
“No offense, but why would you want to be with a guy like that anyway?”
“Right?” She holds her arms out to her sides. “Excellent point. I don’t. It was explained to me like this: my expectations for a male relationship are very low due to the experiences I had growing up. So me picking a partner is like going to the grocery store on an empty stomach and not knowing how to read the nutrition labels. I pick the lowest-hanging fruit that resembles the foods I know.”
“Okay, that . . . that’s going to take me a minute to process.”
“You don’t even have to process it. Basically, I’ve screwed up, and I’m trying to do better. My kid deserves for me to do better. A part of doing better is not picking men that are in the same food group that I choose—no offense.”