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)
And there she was, walking into the room like a beautiful storm.
Her clothes were slightly baggy, skimming over curves that I could barely make out. A wild mess of strawberry-blonde hair was piled on top of her head, and the irritation on her pretty face was so adorable that I laughed out loud.
I’ve never been pulled to a person like I was today. I had to talk to her. Usually, if a woman piques my interest, I sit back and wait. They come to me. They always do. But relying on that strategy seemed too risky. Fish, always observant, gave me the excuse I needed and goaded me with his stupid bet.
Stupid, but it worked. I needed a reason to talk to her and didn’t have time to come up with an opening.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and reread the text I sent her earlier.
Hey, it’s Cole. It was really nice meeting you today. If you change your mind about dinner, just let me know. I’ll be in town for a few days.
She hasn’t texted me back.
For some reason, that information stretches my grin from ear to ear.
“I need to get going,” Fish says as he shakes my father’s hand. “Call me if there’s anything else your boy here can’t manage—oof!”
He leans forward, holding his stomach like the punch I just threw at him jokingly hurt.
“Get out of here before I don’t pull the next punch back,” I tease.
Fish walks backward. “Call me tomorrow, Cole. Good to see ya, Lawrence. Give Casey a kiss on the cheek for me.”
We say our goodbyes as Fish turns and walks around the house and out of sight.
I wipe my brow with the back of my hand.
“Well, what do you think?” Dad asks, sitting on the edge of the picnic table.
“About what?”
He shrugs.
I blow out a breath and sit across from him.
The evening sun is warm despite the cool air beginning to lick at my skin. I adjust my Swifts baseball cap to shield my eyes from the final rays of light.
“What did you and Fish do in town today?” Dad asks, folding his hands in front of him.
“Grabbed some lunch at Fletcher’s, like you suggested. The beef manhattans are excellent, by the way. Played some golf at Fairgreens. Oh—we stopped by Bud’s Sporting Goods. That guy is a gem.”
Dad’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “He is, isn’t he? He’s one of my favorite people in town. Good guy—great guy, actually. He helped me cut up that tree out front when a storm took it down this winter.”
“Yeah, he seemed pretty nice. He was super friendly.”
“I bet he appreciated you and Fish coming in. Two real athletes in a small-town sporting-goods store.” Dad’s eyes shine with pride. “Bet it made his day.”
“We signed a bunch of shit.” I laugh. “He was getting our input into the fall ball draft he set up for the Little League. It was hysterical but smart.”
Dad nods, tapping his hands against the table.
The sun shifts. It dips behind the tree line, casting a plethora of shadows across the lawn.
The levity in Dad’s face drifts away, and in its place is a soberness that winds my stomach into a knot.
“We haven’t really had a chance to talk about your retirement,” he says.
Fuck.
I look down to see that I’ve laced my fingers together just like his.
“What about it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m happy you called it quits when you did—and not just because I hope to see more of you now. There’s something to be said for walking away when you’re at the top of your game.”
Yeah. It’s called being out of your fucking mind.
“But I will also say that I’m surprised,” he says, his voice thick with caution.
Same, Dad. Same.
“What’s surprising about it?” I ask. “This shoulder is done. I could’ve maybe played another season or two, but I couldn’t have pulled off what I managed the last couple of years.” I shrug. “Better off to call it quits after a season where I lead the league in home runs and won a Gold Glove, right?”
The words, phrases that I’ve memorized ever since I started prepping for the announcement, taste sour. I don’t know how anyone believes me. It doesn’t even sound realistic. Yet they do.
Maybe I could have a second career as an actor.
Dad bows his head, nodding slightly.
“What?” I ask.
He sucks in a deep breath. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah.” I force a swallow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugs.
“I’m living the life, Pops. I have tons of money—more than I’ll ever need. I’m great looking.”
Dad half grins.
“I’m definitely going into the Hall of Fame at some point,” I say, continuing on. “And now I have all the time in the world to do whatever the hell I want—which does not include projects. Just for clarification’s sake.”