The Lineup(43)

Carson: Have you fallen into an ice cream-induced coma from depression?

I text back as I wait for Dottie to arrive.

Jason: I’ve only had two pints since you left.

Carson: I expected more, so that’s good. Still going on your runs?

Jason: Six miles this morning.

Carson: Only six? I guess that’s all your body can handle, carrying around that giant ass.

Jason: First of all, six is really good, you run shamer. Second of all, baseball players aren’t marathon runners. Third of all, it is a challenge carrying around such a fine butt, as people stop me all over just so they can stare at it.

Carson: ^^^ reasons why I’m glad you’re still in Chicago.

Jason: You don’t mean that. You wish I was in the Bahamas with you and the wifey so I could bother you with annoying questions and gush over the fine cuisine.

Carson: I have to admit, I do miss your orgasm face when you eat something so good, you get happy in your pants.

Jason: Pervert.

Carson: LOL. But you’re good?

Jason: Yup, I have company tonight . . . lady company.

Carson: Oh yeah? Who is it? Dottie? LOL

Jason: Why did you LOL at that?

Carson: Because she’s the last person I’d expect you to have dinner with.

I’m about to tell him like it is but there’s a knock at the door. Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I try to contain my excitement that she decided to show up. I was ready to tear her door down and extract her from Knox and Emory’s apartment. I had no issues with it.

But she’s here . . . willingly. Looks like my “chat” this morning got through to her.

On a deep breath, I open the door to find Dottie with a smile on her face, a wine bottle in her hand, and a pretty red dress draped over her body. Did I mention a smile?

Like . . . a real smile.

Something’s not right.

I take a step back.

Confusion crosses her brow.

I point at her, taking another step back.

Her confusion increases.

“You look . . . weird.”

Her eyes widen. Blink. “Uh, wow. That’s one way to greet someone.”

“It’s the smile. Why are you smiling? You don’t smile at me.”

“Well, I never will again,” she says, charging into the apartment, bumping my shoulder in the process. “Did you decorate?”

I shut the door and ignore her question. “Why were you smiling? Did you just fart or something? Was that really a smile or a side effect from releasing wind?”

“Do I look like someone who would ‘release wind’ right before the door is answered?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe. Could be a party trick.”

She presses her hand to her forehead. “I don’t know why I came here. I knew I should have stayed home. You tell me I look weird and blame me for farting the first ten seconds of being here. You act like a twenty-two-year-old boy at times. How is that a wise way to spend my night?”

“Uh, what about me? You smiled at me. Talk about throwing the entire night into a tailspin.”

Expressionless, she asks, “And how did you want me to greet you?”

“A scowl, like the one you have right now.” I sigh in relief. “There, that’s better. Just keep scowling like that, then we’ll be okay.”

“Keep acting like a moron and I will.”

“Oh, an insult, now we’re getting warmed up.” I rub my hands together. “By the way, you do look nice, sexy as shit actually. I like that dress on you.”

The smallest of smiles peeks past her lips before she turns around to survey my apartment. I took down the pictures of baseball bats and gloves and replaced them with some tasteful art. I put up some curtains, even ironed the wrinkles out. Got a few throw pillows and bought a coffee table book of all the ballparks in the United States. It’s not much, but the place does look better.

“I like what you’ve done with your place.”

“Thanks. Feels more like a sex den, right?”

She shakes her head and walks to the kitchen where she sets the wine down. “I’m going to need you to open this so I can get through the night.”

“Fair enough.” I join her in the kitchen and retrieve my corkscrew. “How was your day, sweet cheeks?”

She leans her hip against the counter, her demeanor different. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s changed, but there’s an air about her that doesn’t give me the get away from me vibe. Like right now, we’re a good distance away, but she’s leaning in toward me. And when I pour us both a glass and hand her one, her fingers brush mine.

That’s different.

Plus . . . when she doesn’t tell me not to call her sweet cheeks, I know something’s really different. What is she up to?

“It was fine. Meetings and all that crap. Had lunch with my dad, who’s currently staying at my place with my mom while I watch Emory and Knox’s apartment.”

“Do you have plants that need to be watered and moved as well?”

“No, I’m not insane.”

“Did you know she names them too?”

“Oh yes, you should see the binder that has a picture of each plant, its name, and caring instructions. I think Knox needs to be careful with who he’s having a baby with.”