Third Base (The Boys of Summer, #1)(23)

I also want to stop sounding like a girl. This is the shit I used to make fun of my sister about when she’d ask me to take those stupid tests from her magazines. As much as I try not to, I can’t help but think of Daisy as this delicate flower. I don’t know if it’s because of her name, or the fact that I’m so damn attracted to her, that this mushy shit is flowing from me and I can’t turn it off.

Tonight, the kiss is happening. It’s her birthday and I can’t think of a better way to cap off the night than a good-night kiss. Actually, I can think of about ten other ways to end the night, and if I can get her to come back to my place for a small birthday party, I may try to make them happen.

I grab my phone from my bedside table and scroll through my contacts until I find my mom’s picture. It’s of her holding Shea while my mom beams with pride. I press her name and she picks up on the second ring.

“Hello, Ethan.”

“Hi, Mom.” I’ve never been one to open up about my feelings, but there’s a first time for everything. I don’t know how to tell if what I’m feeling is lust or genuine feelings, and I’m hoping my mom can help me figure it out. I can’t compare Daisy to Sarah – I’ve tried – it’s not working. They’re completely different.

“You had a good game last night.”

“Thanks. We’re still not doing that well. We’re already behind and it’s only April.”

My mom sighs and I can hear her moving around the room. The sound of a door closing makes me wonder if I’ve woken her up.

“Dad says the team is young and you guys have a lot of rebuilding to do. You’ll be fine, it may just take a bit longer than you expect.”

“Yeah, but I’m impatient and used to winning.”

“Well, everyone has to grow up eventually. You can’t win everything, Ethan.”

I want to ask her why not. I’m Boston’s most eligible bachelor. Surely I should have whatever I want when I want it. Isn’t that part of having this title? I want Daisy, yet I have a feeling that if I don’t act fast enough I’m going to be friend zoned. The problem is, if she’s giving me a sign, I’m obviously missing it and finding excuses as to why I shouldn’t kiss her whenever I have the chance. Something is holding me back. It’s as if I’m stuck behind bars and unable to reach her, even though she’s right there.

“I need to ask you something, but I also need you to keep it between us.”

“I’m all ears,” she says, but there’s a hint of worry in her voice. I’d be worried too, I suppose, if my son said this to me.

I take in a deep breath and exhale slowly as I close my eyes and prepare for her reaction. It doesn’t matter that my mom is three thousand miles away; she’ll be giddy and want to know everything about Daisy.

“How did you know you were in love with Dad?”

The slight intake of air on the other end tells me she’s smiling. Knowing my mom the way I do, she has her fist clenched and is doing her own impression of Arsenio Hall. My only fear is that, given our history, she’ll think that it’s Sarah, and I don’t want to disappoint her.

“Is it the girl the BoRe Blogger has written about?”

I go silent and wish I could hang up on my mother. However, I’m sure that action would have her on the next plane out. I’m never too old for a spanking according to her.

“Ugh, Mom, why do you read that garbage?” It’s not all garbage. The BoRe Blogger is fairly accurate with his baseball knowledge, but the gossip part is what kills me. Why can’t the blog be about baseball and only baseball? Why must our personal lives be subject matter?

“I can’t help it. You aren’t forthcoming with a lot of information and the BoRe blog is. Besides, why are you only now telling me about this?”

“There was nothing to tell.”

“Then why do you think you’re in love?”

I stand and walk over to my bedroom window, the line of cars parked along Marlborough Street in the Back Bay make it hard for people to drive down the road. Horns honk and people yell, most of them in their Boston accent, making me laugh and cringe at the same time. I love where I live. I love my neighbors and they like me, even after my Twitter incident. My place is small, but perfect for me. I do long for a house though, with a yard… for a dog…

“Because…” I pause and try to gather my thoughts. I take a deep breath and spill. “This is going to make me sound like a girl, but here it goes. When I look at her, Mom, I see sunshine and happiness. I see someone who is the light at the end of what used to be a dark tunnel. And I know that sounds cliché, but there’s no other way I can describe it. It’s the way she smiles, and the way she watches the game and can carry on a conversation. And her sports knowledge is second to none. It literally scares the living daylights out of me that she may know more about baseball than I do, so I’ve steered clear of any sports talk. I think about her every day. Everything I see reminds me of her. It’s like… I want to call her at random times in the day just to hear her voice. It’s driving me crazy, but in the best possible way. I want to touch her and by that I mean even just hold her hand… I just… ugh.”

“Ethan, it’s okay. I’m not asking about what you’ve done with her.”