Third Base (The Boys of Summer, #1)(22)
“I’ll go, but I’ll have to meet you there.”
“Why can’t I pick you up?”
Daisy shakes her head and I’m starting to put the pieces together.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her chin up. “I don’t care where you live. Material things don’t matter to me at all. I want to pick you up. Hell, I want to drive you home tonight and have been thinking about ways to find out where you live since we met.”
She doesn’t say anything, but rests her head on my shoulder. It’s an avoidance tactic, but she’s touching me so I’m happy.
“My parents died when I was three,” she mumbles. “It was a freak accident. The ice shanty they were in collapsed and as they were trying to get out, my mom slipped into the fishing hole. My dad thought he could save her. They both drowned. I’ve lived with my grandparents ever since, but my grandma died two years ago and my grandfather and I moved into a low income apartment.”
“Excuse me for being stupid, but how do you have season tickets to the Renegades?”
Daisy sits up and pushes her hair out of her face. “My grandfather gave up a luxury to have those.”
“A luxury?”
She nods, taking a sip of water. “Uh…” she shakes her head. “He’s in a wheelchair and we live on the third floor of an apartment building with an elevator that only works occasionally. After my grandma died, he sold his van to pay for the tickets. Said he refused to give up the seats his father worked so hard for.”
“He’s never at the games though.”
Daisy shakes her head. “We don’t have a car and I’m not strong enough to help him walk down the stairs. The Visiting Nurses come to the apartment to check on him and they’ll take him out occasionally, but it’s not like I can ask them to drive us to the game. They’ll take the cost of the tickets and count it as income. We won’t be able to afford them.”
Her words hit home. I’ve never been in a situation where my parents couldn’t afford anything. My sister and I always had everything we asked for. Call us spoiled, but my parents worked hard to provide us a good life. And here sits the girl I’m interested in, spilling her guts on how she doesn’t have any money because I asked about her birthday. If I didn’t know any better, and she was the one pursuing me, I’d say she’s a gold-digger. I know once people find out about her and dig into who she is, they’re going to say shit like that and it’s going to piss me off.
When our meal arrives, I stay where I’m seated. It feels wrong to move back to where I was. Besides, I rather like feeling the body heat radiate off of her. After a few bites, I’m putting my fork down to talk to her.
“About your birthday, do you want to go with me? I understand if you want to stay home with your grandfather.” In my head, I’m silently begging her to say she wants to go.
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
I nod as fear sets in that she’s a strict tomboy. She doesn’t seem like the type, but you never know.
“Is it a date?”
Her question catches me off guard. Have I not given her enough indication that I want to be with her? I lean in and graze her cheek with my lips until I’m at her ear. “Every time we’re together, you should consider it a date. In fact, you should consider us dating.” She leans her head into my lips, trying to hold me there. Another time, another place and I wouldn’t move, but right now, my body temperature is rising and I know I need to pull away from her and try to adjust myself as discreetly as possible.
“You know,” she says, abruptly changing the subject, “that blog is going to mention how many times you adjusted yourself during the game today.”
I roll my eyes and stab at my food. “Well, if someone hadn’t worn my shirt to the game, I probably wouldn’t have had the urgent need to adjust my cup so many times during the game.”
“Is that so?” she asks with a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Yes, it is,” I say quietly as I lean in. “You see, I have fantasies of you in my clothes, in my bed and under me… any bad press I get for that kind of stuff is because you.”
I leave her with those thoughts as I try to finish my dinner. I watch her out of the corner of my eye and try not to laugh. She’s stunned and I love it.
I can’t get Daisy off my mind. She’s in my dreams at night. When I wake, she’s there in the images that I’ve stored in my mind. I see her in every woman I encounter. It’s getting to the point where every smell, every color, even every freaking pizza topping reminds me of her. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, or where I am because I see her everywhere. It’s a curse. That’s what I’ve determined, because with each thought comes another one that takes me down a path I have yet to travel with her.
The other night after our dinner date, I tried to drive her home. She wouldn’t let me and I didn’t force the issue. I like her too much to be that guy – the one who is demanding and overbearing. She’s been riding the trains and walking the streets a lot longer than I have; I can’t come swooping in to save her like some kind of superhero if she’s not asking to be saved. Sadly, not being able to drive her home also meant no good-night kiss. I don’t want to settle for some cheapened peck on the cheek while standing on some street, or on the subway platform. I want to hold her in my arms. I want to caress her face and let my lips linger over hers until neither of us can wait any longer. I want it to be something for her – for us both – to remember.