isn’t. Brave, even if he feels weak. And willing to love, even if he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.
I’ll do everything in my power to prove that he does.
It’s mid-morning when I’m pouring myself another cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge and Harper walks in with Michelle tucked into her side. I start to smile until I see the red-rimmed gaze Michelle gives me while trying to smile, followed by her friend’s less than stellar stare.
“Are you okay?” I’ve never done well with people crying, in fact my level of comfort for situations like this is equal to that gif of a man patting a woman’s back with a broomstick from a distance while saying “there, there”, but my concern is genuine. Even if my first instinct is to cringe, I manage to smile despite the glowering and take a step toward the woman who’s obviously upset.
“If you must know,” Harper says, passing her friend a tissue, “Your friend decided to finally be up front with Michelle and stop leading her on. I kept telling her not to get her hopes up.”
Said woman scowls. “I’m sitting right here, Harper.” Her cheeks pinken when she turns to me. “Reece is a good guy. You know that more than anyone since you’re the only one he seems to let in. So, just ignore us.” I feel a little bad about how rejected her statement sounds, but I’m glad Reece was honest with her about where they stand, though I’m curious how their conversation went down.
My mind goes to Tiffany, wishing I would have taken my own advice. Della told me to tell her I wasn’t interested, and I took the ‘ignore the situation until it goes away’ path, which only made things worse. It made me a huge asshole, and I’ve since apologized for it.
Feeling like I need to say something, I conjure up the first thing that sounds halfway decent. “You seem like a sweet person,” I tell her, honestly, getting a small smile in return. “Which means you won’t have any trouble finding a guy who will pay plenty of attention to you.” My eyes trail toward Harper, who’s looking at me with wary eyes. “Both of you.”
She cringes slightly, her lips pressing together before she nods once. “I guess I saw that one coming.”
All I can do is lift a shoulder. “I don’t want to lead anybody on. Neither does Reece, I’m sure. Not that I don’t appreciate you talking baseball with me—” I wink at her, even though I found it a little tiring that she would constantly bring up my old stats, interviews, and articles and say how sad she was I didn’t go big after all. I’m not unused to that kind of attention from people, women especially. An old college teammate tied up with a girl who still uses him for his money, and now that he’s signed to a minor league team, she’s probably test-driving him for more. It comes with the territory. We had to be cautious, something Coach Riley told me from the get-go when reporters were always bugging me with questions and pictures. “—but you should put your effort in somebody who’s worth your time. It’s not me.”
Her lips weigh down at the corners, but she nods slowly. “It was nice to flirt with a celebrity while it lasted.”
Eyebrow twitching, I say the only thing I can think that won’t make me sound like a total dick. “I’m far from a celebrity.” I have sports blogs still talk about me, but I don’t want them to. In fact, I hate it. Sometimes old teammates will send me links to some that they think are hilarious, but most tear me apart for not ‘being a man’ and ‘dealing with my injury’ like hundreds of others have done before me. I’ve learned to ignore the jabs because I don’t regret my decision, even if other people do. It’s not their lives, and I’m happier now that I don’t have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to train, or stick to a special diet, or get an earful from the team because they’re bitching about everyone and everything in the locker room. Screw that.
“Around here you are,” she counters, giving me a shrug knowing she’s right. I haven’t felt like one, and I appreciate that. Minus a few people bringing up televised games from the past year or so, I don’t get recognized. I told Richman when I accepted the