The Trade(43)

Good God, woman.

“I like that idea too,” Emory adds.

When we all look at Milly, she shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. Instead she picks up her drink and sips from it.

Ten bucks says she relays this entire conversation to Cory before dinner tonight. Twenty bucks says that he’ll roll his eyes at his sister and say thanks, but no, thanks. Because Cory Fucking Potter doesn’t need any handouts. All he has to do is look a girl in the eyes, and they’ll be his for the night.





“Think Jason will let me snuggle on him if I ask?” Cory says, coming up next to me at the back of the boat, where I’ve been sitting for the last half hour, taking in the vast array of clear water. The couples—as they will now be referred to as—are all at the front of the boat, lying on the mesh netting, snuggled up together. It was really cute, but also nauseating, so I went to the back to take in the wake we’re leaving in the ocean. Totally riveting. Not. But it is peaceful, and that’s not a bad thing.

“Pretty sure Jason would kick Dottie off the boat to have a chance to spoon with you.”

A low rumble of a laugh shakes his chest. “Is it weird that I enjoy his man crush?”

“It’s only weird if you give him blue balls and never give in to his outpouring of love toward you.”

“Ah,” he hisses and leans back on the lounger next to me. “I wouldn’t ever give the man blue balls, just playing hard to get.”

“He loves a challenge.” Leaning back as well, I say, “So tell me about Baltimore, what do you miss?”

“Do you want to make me cry?”

I tilt my head to the side to look at him. “Stop, you know you’re not going to cry.”

“Nah.” He playfully shakes his head. “But I do still feel raw about the whole trade.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “You went through half a season with the team, and you’re about to start a new one.”

“Exactly. And yet I don’t feel like I really mesh with any of the guys.” He leans toward me but keeps his body facing forward, and I catch a quick indent of his pecs, before I lift my eyes back to his. Thank God for sunglasses. “Baltimore was routine. I knew everything, everyone. I had my favorite places to go, no one bothered me, at least not that much, and I was able to live a somewhat normal life with friends and play the sport I love. I don’t know, being blindsided and sent to a team that lacks the moral integrity I’ve based my entire professional career over hasn’t felt right.”

“You don’t feel like you can be yourself in Chicago, even though it’s where you’re from?”

He lets out a long stream of air and says, “Yeah, I guess I don’t feel at home, even though technically I am home.”

“I can relate to that, having your entire routine flipped upside down. It’s hard to start a new one, but you’ll get there.”

I pause and study him, watching him determine whether our circumstances are actually similar. He looks at me with such depth and sincerity. Just don’t ask me about Ansel.

“You get it, don’t you, Natalie? Takes time, yeah?”

I nod, because my throat’s tight from holding in my grief. Sometimes it just hits me. I wasn’t enough for my husband. He pushes his hand through his hair, making the ends stick up in every direction.

“There was this bagel place around the corner from my apartment. They had the best bagels I ever tasted. Crispy outside, chewy inside. It was rare that I would treat myself, but when I did, I’d get two, eat them in my car on the way to the stadium, and then hide the evidence, as if my nutritionist would inspect my car.”

“Was your car ever inspected?”

“No, or else they would find a few receipts for double bagel day in the console.”

“Double bagel day?” I chuckle. “Is that what you called it?”

He nods. “Oh yeah. It was a fucking treat for me. Once a month, I planned for it.”

“Looks like you need to find a new bagel place. Have you tried Oliver’s?”

“Yeah, good, but not as good as Geo’s in Baltimore. I don’t know if it was the stained, dirty tile that made the place so great, or the ripped wallpaper, but this place was fucking awesome. And they never paid attention to my celebrity status. They gave me what I desired and moved on to the next customer. I called their shop once after I was traded to see if they shipped bagels and they said no. So basically, I have a bagel-sized hole in my heart.”

“How devastating,” I say, playing along. “It wouldn’t have been the same though if they shipped the bagel. The dirty tile and torn wallpaper wouldn’t have been there.”

“Unless I asked them to ship a piece of their shop with the bagel, then I would get the full experience.”

“Dirty tiles and bagels shipped together . . . doesn’t get better than that.”

“I can taste the crispy bagel as we speak.” Growling in frustration, he points at me and says, “You owe me a trip to Baltimore for a bagel for bringing it up.”

I reach for my phone and say, “Let me cue up my private jet, I’ll have you there in no time.”





Chapter Eleven





CORY