Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1)(11)

Daisy is by my side when I shut the car door. Her being there gives me a glimmer of hope, although I don’t know why I’m worried about whether she’s into me or not. If not, I’ll move on, no big deal. Thing is though, I want to test the water and see where this could go. I know that means spending time together, which I don’t have, but with creative scheduling, and some flexibility on her part, we can see each other a lot. She’s the first woman that has held my attention longer than one night, even if she doesn’t know I’ve been watching her from the field.

I place my hand on her shoulder and open the door, guiding her in. She tells the hostess “two” and follows her to where we’re going to sit. The booth – if that’s what it can be called – is small and does not accommodate my six-foot-two frame.

“Good game last night,” the hostess says as she shoots a flirtatious smile in my direction.

“Thanks,” I say as I sit down. The game sucked and the fact that she thinks I played well means she’s not a true fan. A real fan would point out my flaws and tell me to do better next time.

The table is small and my knees almost touch the underneath. If I stretch out, I’ll take up the space that Daisy is occupying too.

“Do you think we could sit in that booth over there?” I point to one a few rows down and near the window. The hostess sighs as she picks up our menus and walks over. I let Daisy lead the way with me following close behind.

“We’ll take some coffee, please.” The hostess nods and walks away.

Daisy leans forward and says, “She wanted to stay and flirt with you.”

I look over my shoulder to find her returning with our coffee. She sets down two full mugs, along with a carafe and a bowl of creamer, before walking way. I push one mug toward Daisy and wrap my left hand around the other one. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but if my hand is holding something it may not twitch that bad. With my free hand, I decide to take a gamble and pick up Daisy’s hand, threading our fingers together.

“She doesn’t interest me. I’d rather flirt with you.”

Daisy goes rigid and fear rushes through me. I’ve crossed the line. I pull my hand back and slide it under my leg.

“I’m sorry, I was out of line.”

“No, it’s –”

I hold my hand up. “It’s cool, Daisy. We just met and I’m being pushy. We’re good.” I hand her the menu and hold mine in front of me. I don’t want her to see the look of annoyance on my face. I’m Ethan Davenport; starting third basemen for the Boston Renegades, getting women isn’t a problem for me.

We order breakfast engulfed in an awkward silence. I shouldn’t have tried to force anything on her. We just met and we’re both sober... and it’s not like we’re playing off residual feelings from a night between the sheets.

“Do you work?” I finally ask, breaking the tension.

Daisy sets her fork down and places her hands in her lap. “No, not exactly.” Her answer is curt and to the point. No elaboration on what she does during the day, or when she’s not at the stadium watching the game.

My frustration level is growing by leaps and bounds and I’m tempted to pay the check and bail, but something holds me back. I lean forward and pull her chin up with my index finger.

“Okay, I’ll start. I’m twenty-two years old. I graduated from Oregon State University with a degree in Communications. I play third base for the Boston Renegades. My name’s Ethan Davenport, what’s yours?”

“Daisy Robinson.”

“Hi Daisy, it’s nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“Boston, born and bred, how about you?”

“Seattle, Washington.” I can’t help but smile, happy that she’s playing along. “When you leave here today, what are you going to do?” I ask before she has a chance to ask me another question. She sighs and looks out the window.

“I’m a student at Boston University. I study journalism.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. “How old are you?” Please be legal.

“I’m twenty. My birthday is April thirtieth, and before you check, it’s an off day,” she says with a small smile and a roll of her eyes.

A grin creeps across my face as I pull out my phone to verify that she is, in fact, correct. “That’s a shame. I would’ve had everyone sing to you. What time’s your first class?”

“I missed it. My next one is at ten.”

I lean back, flabbergasted that she’d skip class if she weren’t interested in me. “Why would you do that?”

Daisy shrugs. “I needed to return your sweatshirt.”

“You could’ve brought it to the park tonight.”

“Yes, but then people will talk and you don’t need any more rumors being spread around. You have enough.”

I smirk and lean forward. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

“I’m sure some of them are true.”

“If they were true, they wouldn’t be rumors.” I say, shrugging. I need this conversation to go somewhere else because I don’t like the current direction. I’m not perfect. I never claim to be. I’m also no different than any other single man in the league. I like women and they like me. Some just like to blab louder. She stares at me like I’m supposed to dispel or confirm what has been written about me and that pisses me off.