Go Away, Darling - Alexis Anne Page 0,43

say those same words and yet hate hearing them sent right back to me. “What are your doubts?”

Another pause and heavy exhale. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”

“Well we’re in the weeds now.” If we stopped I’d do nothing but obsess until he got home in a few days.

“Fuck. Okay.” More empty silence. “I made you a promise and I’ve already broken it. I’ve been beating myself up over it between every interview, every second I have to breathe, I analyze and over analyze where I should have stopped us.”

“How? How could you have stopped us?” I was angry now. I hated the insinuation that sex was somehow wrong. “We’re adults who are more than attracted to each other. What we did was natural and quite frankly, took an amazing amount of strength to wait as long as we did.”

He huffed a laugh. “You have no idea.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea actually.”

“Fair enough. I’m not saying the sex wasn’t mind altering. In fact, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” His voice grew louder, more frustrated, more determined with each word. “I made a promise to you and to Linc, and now I’m in very real danger of breaking it. Smashing it into a million pieces. I need both of you to know I’m all in. I’ll always come home.”

But I did know that. I didn’t need more time for him to prove his heart was built with the same stuff as mine. “I’m just having a bad day. Nothing more.”

I heard him swallow as the line went silent again. “I...I don’t like you having bad days. Ever.”

“They’re going to happen, Chris.”

“Not if I can help it.”

I smiled because I knew he meant it. “We‘ll talk more when you get home.”

“You better believe it. I miss you like crazy. I’m so overwhelmed with everything. I just want to sit on my boat alone for like, three days straight.”

My mind immediately flashed back to grumpy half-drunk Chris. “Do you want company?”

I could feel his smile through the phone line. “Only if it’s you.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Carmen,” I gushed. It wasn’t often I was so starstruck I could barely speak, but taking a video call with Carmen Ayres—the writer, director, and producer of my all time favorite documentary—was definitely cause for complete meltdown.

“The pleasure is mine. Your work at the World Series caught my eye and then I realized I’ve admired your work in the past. I’m glad to see something new from you again. It’s been a while.”

Oh. My. GAWD. I went thermonuclear from the praise and embarrassment. Carmen Ayres admires my work! “That’s an incredible compliment. Thank you.”

“Your Everglades project definitely hit my radar a few years ago, but it was your series on the 2010 oil spill that really put you on my watch list. The way you captured the people fighting to save the environment really spoke to me.”

I was...I was speechless. I was on Carmen Ayres radar all those years ago? So much so that she remembered me now? How was this possible?

“So here’s the reason I requested to speak with you. I’m about to launch a new project. A documentary on how baseball has shaped culture in America, and how culture in America has shaped the sport. I want you on my team.”

I die. I’m fairly certain that’s what this was. My heart had stopped, my brain synapses no longer fired, there was no air in my lungs. “Me? In what capacity?” Sound professional! It was a miracle I hadn’t burst into tears!

“Have you seen my work before?”

Had I seen her work? Had I seen her work?

“The History of History changed my life. It completely altered the way I see my role as photographer and encouraged me to help launch the Calusa Key history project.”

Carmen smiled warmly. “Now that is truly a compliment. So you’re familiar with how I mix interviews with video and photographs?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I don’t have a photographer yet. No one has clicked. I need someone who can see the person inside and manages to bring it out. I don’t think anyone I’ve worked with in the past can do what you did with the Mantas. I need a combination of raw talent and a deep understanding of the sport. That’s what I see in your work.”

How many times could someone die in a conversation? I was now at three. I hoped I lived through it so I could take this project. “Again, thank you so