Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1)(62)
“I think you lost this.” I toss her phone at her, wanting to keep my distance.
“Let me explain.” She steps forward, her chest is heaving and she brushes her wet hair out of her face.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can say that’s going to change things right now.”
“Yes there is,” she says, stepping closer. I put my hand out, letting her know I want her to stay back. The resolve on my temper is teetering and I can feel myself about to explode. I feel sorry for anything in my house because it’s about to be damaged. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I never thought we’d meet or even hit it off. The blog is a job from my sports journalism professor. You made it easy, at first, with the things you were doing. Once we started dating, I didn’t know what to do. I need the job, but I need you too.”
“You knew how I felt about the blog and you used me anyway. The first time we stopped talking you should’ve come clean. You should’ve f*cking told me who the hell you are!” I growl in anger and frustration.
“I didn’t –”
“You didn’t what? Want to have to write about how you deceived me in your f*cked up blog?” I tug at the ends of my hair to keep from hitting something. I’m trying not to yell because the last thing I want to do is draw attention from the neighbors. I’m actually thankful it’s raining right now. The rain drowns out our voices and is keeping people inside.
I feel bile rising when I look at her. She stands there, a shell of the girl I thought I knew. It breaks me to think she used me to gain knowledge of my teammates, my friends. I try to recall any time I gave her any information. I can’t, but I let her into the clubhouse.
“I don’t know what you want from me? Do you finally want your quote? Post this: The Boston Renegades third baseman told me to go to hell.”
I instantly regret the words, but refuse to take them back. I look at her and feel nothing but hatred. “Go back to your apartment and write about how many times I adjust my cup and how Bainbridge’s marriage is falling apart. Go write about how f*cking well I treated you, only for you to lie to my face day in and day out.”
“You have no right!” she yells. “This is my job and I need it!”
“All you had to do was be honest with me. All you had to do was give me a chance with the truth, but you didn’t.”
“What am I supposed to do now?”
I shake my head and start walking up my stairs. “Not my problem, Daisy. I don’t care what the f*ck you do as long as you don’t do it around me.”
“I gave you everything,” she says, climbing the steps next to me. “You took everything away from me.” Under the porch light I can see her red eyes, letting me know she’s crying even though any tears she has are mixing with the rain.
I let her words sink in, allowing the rage to build. “Are you talking about your virginity?”
When she doesn’t answer I feel the rage burning deeper in the pit of my stomach. “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me! You freely gave yourself to me so don’t act like I forced you into anything. Go home, Daisy.” I don’t give her a chance to respond before unlocking the door and stepping into my house. I slam it once I’m inside, locking it behind me. She stands on my porch, her shadow visible through the glass.
How could she ruin everything like that?
My lamp is the first thing to go. It flies through the air, slamming against the wall. The light bulb pops and breaks into a million pieces.
There’s a knock on my door. It’s her. Her dark figure looms on my porch. Unwilling to give up even though there is nothing left. I ignore her and walk into the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of tequila.
The liquid burns as it travels down my throat. I stand there, drinking, until half the bottle is gone. With the lack of food in my system it doesn’t take any time for the alcohol to start working. My eyes blur, but that doesn’t limit me from throwing the bottle toward my front door. I hope she’s still standing there.
I hope she’s still there…
It’s been four weeks since shit went down with Daisy and I’m still not over it. I’m obsessed with everything she does and troll the web waiting for her to upload a new blog post. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but it’s something. She tried to call me once. Just once and gave up. Not that I blame her, she should give up. What she did was wrong on so many levels, not to mention the pain she’s caused me for no reason. She should’ve come clean the first time we went to dinner. Thinking back to that night, she freaking tweeted about me being with someone while we were together. I even tweeted her back. Who does this type of shit to people?
The All-Star game is tomorrow. I shouldn’t be going. I should’ve been replaced by now, but I’m a fan favorite so I’m packing my bags so I can get to the airport and fly to Cincinnati. Daisy and John are supposed to be there, along with my parents. We were supposed to have some time for all of us to spend together, but that is not going to happen.
I’m not that much of a dick to take this away from him. If it were just her, I would’ve canceled the trip, but John hasn’t done anything wrong and he deserves this. The car service will meet them at the airport when they land and take them to the hotel. They’ll be treated to an all-expenses paid trip, which is probably an experience of a lifetime for John.