Page 44 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Wanting a woman who made it clear she doesn’t want me back.

Scratch that. There’s nothing clear about it. She’s about as clear as mud, because she wants me. A marathon of sex is about as good a validation as any.

Now I just need to figure out how to make her admit it.

Damn woman.

I grit my teeth as I prepare for the pain that typically begins with the fourth set of repetitions, and then startle when it doesn’t.

There’s no pinch. No burn. There’s fucking nothing.

I repeat the movement. I lift and twist and turn a few extra times.

And still nothing.

I try one more time, push my shoulder farther than I should, until I feel a faint pinch before dropping the weight. And when I look in the mirror, I have a stupid grin on my face. It’s been so long that I forgot what it even feels like to not hurt.

And, of course, I immediately want to call Scout and tell her so she can celebrate with me over this tiny fucking milestone that shouldn’t feel like a victory but does.

But I can’t. Because she won’t pick up. And I know this because I’ve called and texted—enough times that I lost count—without getting a return response.

Someone did a number on her. That much I can tell from all her talk about players moving on and leaving her behind, but fuck if I can figure out who it was. No one I’ve talked to can remember her ever dating anyone. Her social media accounts show shit other than pictures of her in other team clubhouses posing for the camera with various players, arms hanging casually over her shoulders.

Fucking lovely. Isn’t that her term? Lovely? Well, that’s the first thing that came to mind when I saw the picture of her sandwiched in between Rizzo and Bryant after she worked with the Cubs last year. Or of a shirtless Posey laughing with her in the Giant’s clubhouse.

Not a single personal picture. No mutts. No weekend out boozing it up with girlfriends. No inspirational sayings that you want to roll your eyes at and scroll past. Nothing.

But she can go out dancing with me. She can stare at my stadium from the darkness of my condo and put into words everything that the sight of it makes me feel. A woman who can understand that shit is not normal.

And now she won’t talk to me? Can’t face me?

The other night was not a mistake. No way. No how.

“Where’s Ms. Dalton?” The voice of the club’s GM startles me from the other side of the training room. “Are you on her clock or are you putting extra time in on your own?”

I’m not sure why I hesitate to respond, but I do. He’s hard to get a read on, and so caution is the name of the game until I can.

“Hey, Cory. How’s it going?” Wiping the sweat from my face with a towel, I walk toward him.

When he steps into the room, I’m surprised to see my father right behind him. The best-buddy squad. Great.

“Good. And you? How’s the arm?”

“I’m feeling great. The shoulder’s feeling the best it has since surgery. I’m anxious to get back out there.”

“I’m sure you are. Is Scout around?”

“She caught a bug. I told her to stay home, but we’ve talked and gone over my regimen so I can stay on task.” The lie comes out smoothly, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why I feel the need to cover for her at all.

And yet I did, the need to protect her unexpected, but there nonetheless.

“I’m impressed that you came in on your own to get it done,” my dad interjects.

I stare at him, trying to comprehend why he’d think it was anywhere near okay for him to say that. And around my boss, no less. I’m not a child. This is my job, and I’m damn good at it, so he needs to leave me the fuck alone. The thought manifests into words, but I bite my tongue so hard it hurts.

It’s not worth it. Besides, Cory’s expression is guarded, making it nearly impossible to gauge his thoughts. And since professionalism is always the best route, I play the part they expect me to play.

“Like I said, I’m anxious to get back on the field. I miss contributing to the team.” I spout the company line, and even though they smile in response, there’s something off here. Something I can’t put my finger on but can sense nonetheless.