Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1)(37)

I bring her hand to my lips and place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. She smiles and leans over to kiss my cheek. Acting like this with each other makes us seem legit, but I can’t be sure that’s how she feels and I don’t want to be lame and ask her if she wants to be my girlfriend. Do men even ask that question anymore?

The longer we wait in traffic, the more frustrated I become. I can’t get the image of her looking at that website and quickly closing the window when I walked up behind her out of my mind. Why would she do that when she knows how much that site bothers me?

I decide to take the next exit and risk the narrow streets just to get to my place faster.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her head darting from side to side as we cruise by buildings and brownstones.

“I thought you wanted to go back to my place.”

She cracks a smile and asks, “Are you in a hurry?”

Her question catches me off guard because if my memory serves me correctly, she jumped me as soon as we got in the car. She was the one who started grinding on me. I know I asked her in the library if she wanted to get out of there, but I did so because I didn’t want either of us to get into trouble. The last thing I need is some report being circulated that I was busted for making out in the library while taking media classes.

“Um… why were you looking at that website?” The question is out of my mouth before I even know what I’m saying.

Daisy runs her fingers along the nape of my neck, taking time to answer. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but either way, I don’t like it.

“It’s part of an assignment for my class.”

“What class?” I know I sound defensive but I can’t help it. The BoRe Blogger has been anything but kind to my teammates and me. It’s one thing to post about the game, but to post gossip and rumors is a completely different thing.

“Sports media. It’s for a research paper,” she says and I want to believe her, but surely her professors would require a reputable site and not some random blog that isn’t reporting the facts.

“What’s wrong with ESPN or CBS Sports?”

In a rare occurrence in the City of Boston, I come upon a parking spot that doesn’t require me to parallel-park and I take it. Putting my SUV in park, I turn in my seat to face her. I can’t read her expression because I’m not very good with this girl shit.

“I don’t understand why you don’t like the BoRe Blog. It’s funny and informative.”

Is she serious right now? “It’s anything but, Daisy. He posts rumors, falsifies information and publicly outed you. Nothing about that blog is okay.”

“Are you just angry because you think the blogger picks on you?”

“No, Daisy, I’m not,” I say sharply. “I’m pissed because I asked you not to look at that shit and when I come to surprise you, you act like I caught you doing something wrong. It’s not a lot to request.”

I don’t know what’s happening here, but now I’m f*cking pissed. Daisy turns and looks out the window, ignoring me. I know it’s stupid to fight over a blog, but the shit that particular blog publishes is a sore subject with me and she knew that. I thought it was a fairly simple request that she not read it but apparently I was wrong.

When she takes out her cell phone and starts doing whatever the f*ck she’s doing, I know the conversation is over. I put my car back into drive, heading back onto the road, and instead of going to my house I take her home.

“I can’t believe you’re pissed off,” she says as we turn onto her street. Truth is, neither can I, but I am.

“If that blog didn’t post about my friend’s failing marriage, or how many times I adjusted my cup, I might take it serious... but shit, Daisy, it’s not f*cking news.”

“Yeah, well, my friends and I like it. So what if they post how many times you pick your nose or the fact that Bainbridge is cheating on his wife? It’s newsworthy to the fans. It makes us feel like we know you.”

“Are you shitting me right now?” I stop abruptly in front of her apartment, failing to put my car in park. “Whatever is going on in Steve’s life isn’t news and if they’re getting a divorce they certainly don’t need some half-assed blogger posting inaccurate shit that’s none of anyone’s business. God, why can’t you see it’s wrong?”

“Because journalists support freedom of speech.” She’s out of my car, slamming the door before I can even say anything. My only comeback is the squealing tires of my car which I hope she hears as I pull away from the curb.





The only place I can go to try and get my mind off what just happened is the stadium. Once I’m there, I hit the gym. I want to lift weights and punch the shit out of the bag that hangs in the corner, but I’m too pissed and that’s a bad idea. I can’t afford to tear a muscle right now. My game is the most important part of me. That and my integrity, which is something Daisy doesn’t seem to understand.

The whole “journalists support freedom of speech” thing is bullshit. I’d support it too if it were the truth and not some made up gossip to stir the pot. And where does the BoRe Blogger get his information? There must be someone on the inside that leaks it because we didn’t even know about Bainbridge, his wife and a potential mistress, until we read about it in the damn blog. Guys talk in the clubhouse – there’s a code that it doesn’t leave – and nothing has been said. But again, if I were cheating on my wife, I probably wouldn’t tell anyone. No one can keep a f*cking secret anyway.