The Trade(39)

Beautiful fucking day.

These are the moments I savor. Peaceful, relaxing, away from the grind of playing game after game, season after season. Weight rooms, batting cages, training rooms . . . it’s all a distant memory as I float, the waves lapping gently against my life vest. When we get back, we’ll only have a short amount of time before we report to spring training, and those weeks will be spent preparing my body for the rigorous upcoming schedule. These days in St. Croix are really the last days I have before work starts up again and instead of letting myself truly enjoy them, I’m trying to get in the head of the girl who has captured my attention.

I splash some water on my face and sigh. Fuck. I should just let her be mad at me. Then I could possibly try to forget these weird feelings I have rolling around in the pit of my stomach. But I’ve never been that guy, the dick, the asshole, the . . . rebel. I care too much about the people around me to treat them with anything less than the respect they deserve.

It’s why I find myself swimming over to the boat, climbing on board, and shucking my gear quickly so I can find Natalie. The other couples are still looking around, their heads popping in and out of the water, their excited expressions giving me joy, especially Milly’s.

One of the attendants hands me a towel, which I thank them for, and then head to the top of the party boat where I know there are snacks and drinks, hoping to find Natalie. When I reach the top, I instantly spot her, sitting at the curve of the table, surrounded by food, her sunglasses perched on her nose and her gaze set out over the ocean, her fist propping up her chin.

I take a moment to observe her and the serenity of her mood. She looks calm, collected, unlike the scowl-wearing snorkeler she was a few short minutes ago. Should I disturb her? It looks like she’s found some peace, but then again, we still have a lot of time on this boat, we’re alone, and I need to clear this up once and for all.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask, taking a seat across from her.

She doesn’t move. “One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

I can think of something more beautiful.

Clearing my throat, I pick up a piece of shrimp from the ice it’s on, dip it in some cocktail sauce, and then say, “So you’re mad at me. I get it.”

She shakes her head, shocking me when she turns to face me. “I’m not mad at you, Cory.”

“Uh-huh,” I say with sarcasm. “Okay, I grew up with a sister who was terrible at expressing her feelings.” I motion at Natalie with my finger. “The body language you’re sending into the universe is telling me another story.”

Sighing, she flips her sunglasses up on her head so I can see those expressive eyes of hers. “I’m not mad, I’m just . . . trying to give you space.” Give me space?

“By not talking to me?” I call her out, never one to beat around the bush.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to hang out with me because everyone else is attached. This is your vacation before the season starts. The next eight months are going to be grueling. I want you to enjoy this time, not feel obligated to talk to me.”

My brow pinches together. “I don’t feel obligated to talk to you. I talk to you because I want to.”

“You know what I mean, Cory. I don’t want to come off as clingy, you know? I’m giving you space, that’s all.”

“Okay.” I pick up another shrimp, dip it, and chew. “I appreciate that, but we’re also sharing a room, so we’re bound to have to talk to each other. Might as well make the most of it.”

“I know.” She nibbles on her bottom lip and picks up a piece of a carrot. “But I don’t want to be that little sister, the one who clings to her brother’s friends, only for them to feel like they have to hang out with me because my brother is their friend, or teammate. I’m really conscious of that, especially growing up with Jason. Your comment at breakfast, although not meant to be mean-spirited, reminded me of who I tried to avoid being growing up.” She takes a bite of the carrot and says, “I just want to make sure you have a nice time and don’t feel like you weren’t able to relax because of me.” She picks up her La Croix for a sip. “And trust me, I went to the front desk today and asked if any rooms have become available. Still nothing. They assured me, nothing would during our stay. So you’re stuck with me unfortunately.”

“I don’t think that’s unfortunate,” I say, letting the words slip out before I can stop them. “I mean, could be worse, right?” I try to laugh it off, but I’m sounding awkward as fuck.

A little smirk passes over her lips and for the first time since this morning, I feel a wave of relief. That smirk was all I needed to relax, to know it will be okay, that I don’t need to hold my breath any longer.

“How do you think it could be worse? Hypothetically, give me a way it could be worse.”

“Sure.” I reach out and snag a BBQ chicken slider and put it on a small plate. “You could be an ex that I couldn’t stand and we’d be sharing a hotel room.”

She slowly nods, lips pursed. “Yeah, that could be worse. Couldn’t imagine what it would be like if you were Ansel, my ex-husband. Talk about awkward. Give me another scenario of how this could be worse.”

I bite into the slider and chew, thinking. “You could be a super fan. Taking pictures of me while I’m sleeping, sneak into the bathroom while I’m showering, stealing my underwear to sell on Facebook Market when you get home.”