The Off-Season

by Megan Green

  Before I let it all go to hell.

  Refusing to let myself go down that path right now, I hurry and get dressed, squashing down the memories in the back of my mind.

  Where they belong.

  I head downstairs, dumping some water into a pot, and set about making pasta. Simple, easy, and not exactly the type of meal you sit and savor. Ian can eat and run. Emphasis on the run.

  Twenty minutes later, the noodles are done, and the sauce is simmering. And I’m stewing in a chair. It’s been almost an hour since he said he’d be back soon. Evidently, his idea of soon is different than mine.

  Or maybe I’m getting lucky, and he’s decided not to show.

  I try to tell myself that would be a good thing. It would save me a whole lot of trouble of trying to get him to leave and stay away. But I can’t deny the soft pang of remorse that courses through me at the thought of him standing me up.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Lexi. It’s better this way.

  But what about the pasta? I can’t eat it all myself. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.

  Pasta-schmasta. Pull your head out of your ass, and get your shit together.

  Yep. I’ve officially lost my mind.

  Before the fight in my head can come to blows—’cause, if anybody could go that crazy, it would be me—a knock sounds at the door. My internal bickering instantly quiets, the pounding of my heart overtaking my every breath.

  I stare at the door, as if I can somehow both will him away and invite him inside with the power of my mind.

  After a moment, he knocks again, his voice coming from the other side of the door. “Lexi? You in there?”

  Hearing the confusion in his voice snaps me out of my trance, and I spring into action. Switching the burner on the stove off before the sauce scorches to the pan, I make my way over to the door. I plaster on a smile before I swing it open.

  Big mistake.

  My phony smile falls the moment I lay eyes on him. If I thought he was gorgeous in dark jeans and a sweater the other day, he’s downright mouthwatering tonight.

  His dark hair is still damp, the wet strands combed back, emphasizing his stylish undercut. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a fitted black blazer. A very fitted black blazer. The stretch of the fabric over his biceps is just plain obscene.

  Whoever coined the term arm porn did so after seeing this man in a blazer.

  Guaranteed.

  Ian’s soft chuckle forces my gaze away from his arms and back to his face where I find a soul-crushing smile waiting for me.

  “Um, hi,” I mutter, blushing like an idiot for being caught checking him out.

  Ian has the decency to let it slide though, his dimples deepening as he looks at me. “You look great.”

  Heat flushes my cheeks, and if the glint in his eye is any indication, he sees it, too.

  “Um, thank you.”

  He flicks his chin over my shoulder, looking at the living room behind me. “Can I come in?”

  I look back, my brows furrowing as I take in the dingy space. I haven’t been inside his place, but judging from the outside and the small part I can see through the windows from my dock, my tiny living room is not at all what he’s used to.

  “Um, yes. It’s, um, still a work in progress though, so please excuse the dust.”

  Oh my God. How many times can one person say the word um? Pull yourself together, Lexi!

  I step back, allowing Ian to step over the threshold. He’s careful in his perusal, taking in every detail of the room around him. I twist my hands behind my back, suddenly even more self-conscious than before. If that’s possible.

  I wait by the door as he assesses the space. When he turns and smiles at me, I can’t help but smile back.

  “I like it. It’s got a lot of charm. I’m sure, by the time you’re finished with it, it’ll be the nicest place in town.”

  I scoff. “Well, it’s nothing compared to your house, of course. But I have high hopes.”

  Ian sits down on the couch, making himself comfortable. I didn’t invite him to do so, but I guess the dinner invitation sort of implies a casual chat. I take a seat in the armchair across the room.

  “That’s actually my buddy Brandon’s place. He’s letting me stay there for a bit.”

  I’m not sure why, but hearing that the huge, ostentatious house isn’t his fills me with a sense of relief. When he continues, that feeling only intensifies.

  “I could never live in a place like that. Not long-term anyway. I mean, it’s a beautiful house. But it’s so…I don’t know. Over the top? I’m not much for showing off. I prefer something much more cozy. Something like this,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, his hand waving at the space around us.

  I smile softly. “Thank you. My sister thinks I’m crazy for buying this place. But I know it’s going to be great.”

  “You’re not crazy. If I had more time, this is exactly the kind of thing I’d want to do. Fix up an old house. Restore former glory to a place that’s fallen on hard times.”

  Something flashes behind his eyes as he says those words, making me think he’s touched on a subject that delves deeper than simply renovating a home.

  Before I can even consider asking him what he means, he stands, grabbing something from the floor by his feet. I was so dumbstruck by watching him as he looked around my living room, I didn’t even notice he’d brought something with him.

  When he holds up the six-pack of beer, he gives me another panty-melting smile. “I wasn’t sure what your drink was, but I took a chance. I mean, who doesn’t like an ice-cold beer after a long day of hard labor?”

  My mouth goes dry at the sight of alcohol, my tongue feeling roughly twice its usual size. My fingers tremble as I curl them into fists and tuck them under my seated legs. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He pouts his lower lip a tad. On any other man, it would look ridiculous. But, on Ian, it just looks…enticing.

  “Come on, Lex. Don’t make me drink alone.”

  My heart skips a beat at the use of the pet name. My sister calls me Lex. All my old friends back in Chicago called me Lex. But, coming from Ian’s lips, it sounds more intimate. It sounds warm, like I could curl up around him and listen to him say my name over and over until I fell asleep.

  Holy fuck. What is wrong with me?

  You need a few good rounds with Mr. Reliable; that’s what’s wrong with you.

  Thinking of the nickname I gave my vibrator, the blush on my cheeks deepens even further. I shake myself out of it, getting to my feet and walking past Ian to the kitchen.

  “I’m fine. I actually don’t drink. But, please, don’t let that stop you.”

  He grabs hold of my arm as I reach to open the cupboard for a few plates. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t,” I say shortly, turning back to the task at hand.

  “I did. I thought I was being funny. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

  It kills me that he was able to read my reaction so easily. It only further solidifies the fact that I need to watch myself around this guy. He’s already tearing down walls I thought were indestructible. And that’s without even trying.

  I turn and hand him a plate, trying my hardest to give him a genuine smile. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. But, really, don’t let my teetotalism affect you. It won’t bother me if you have a few beers with your dinner.”

  He turns and walks back over to the front door, and I briefly wonder if he might leave.

  But, when he simply opens the door, depositing the six-pack on the porch before turning back and saying, “Water is great. I need to lose a few pounds anyway,” I can’t help but laugh.

  “You didn’t have to do that. And, believe me, the last thing you need is to lose a few pounds.”

  “Why, Lexi, have you been checking me out?” he asks, an amused smile spreading across his lips.

  My cheeks must be the color of a boiled lobst
er at this point, but I can’t seem to bring myself to care. I grin at him, rolling my eyes instead of looking away. “Oh, yes. You’re such a stud; I couldn’t help myself.”

  My words are laced with sarcasm, and Ian snickers right along with me. He doesn’t have to know how much truth was also mixed into that statement.

  “Come on, your dinner is getting cold,” I say, leading him over to the colander and scooping out a generous portion of spaghetti noodles.

  Dinner passes quickly, Ian making me laugh more often than he probably should—most times while I have a mouthful of food. At one point, I snort so hard, I’m almost positive a noodle passes through my nose. When I cover my face with my hands, Ian refuses to leave me alone until I tell him what’s wrong, the two of us doubling over in a desperate attempt to catch our breaths as he tries to pry my hands from my face.

  Luckily, no offending spaghetti is hanging from my nose. But, when I tell Ian what I was afraid of him finding, his hysterics only deepen.

  Before I know it, the old clock on the wall behind me—one of the only possessions I’d had back in Chicago that made the journey to Maple Lake—chimes, indicating it’s now nine o’clock. Ian seems to realize how late it’s gotten at the same time I do, and he stands.

  “I should get going. We’ve both had a long day. And I definitely need my beauty sleep.”

  I smile at his ridiculous statement. “Thank you for your help today, Ian. It was greatly appreciated.”

  He hits me with another dimpled smile, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the living room. “It was my pleasure, Lexi. And thank you for dinner. I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

  He takes my hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. “I’ll see you soon.”

  After he leaves, I sink down onto the couch, thinking back over what he said.

  “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

  Neither have I. I laughed with Ian—sometimes so hard, tears seeped out the corners of my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to laugh like that.

  For the first time in over a year, I let myself be…me.

  The guilt that has been my ever-present companion for the past eighteen months is nowhere to be found.

  Until now.

  A guilt so deep that I feel it in my bones settles over me.

  That’s more like it.

  Chapter 7

  Tag

  What up, asshole? You miss me yet?”

  Brandon’s voice comes over the line before I even have a chance to utter the word hello. I’d say I’m shocked at his lack of proper phone etiquette, but who am I kidding? B is nothing if not inappropriate. I’d be more concerned for his well-being if I’d answered the phone and he’d asked me about the weather and how I was feeling.

  Sign number one that your best friend has been replaced by a pod person: politeness.

  I laugh as B doesn’t wait for my answer, immediately launching into a story about his night out with Carter, the rookie we drafted this last summer.

  “You should’ve seen it, dude. When that stripper came up to him, I thought he was going to cream his jeans right there on the spot. He straight-up denies it, but I’m about ninety-nine percent certain our boy is a virgin.”

  A virgin baseball player. It’s not completely unheard of, but it sure as shit ain’t the norm. Lucky for Carter, he’s only out in Seattle to sign contracts and meet the players. He’ll be regulated down to one of the farm teams before the season starts. Though, from what I saw of the kid, it wouldn’t surprise me if he got called up to the bigs sooner rather than later. Kid has an arm like I’ve never seen. But at least he’ll be safe from Brandon’s negative influence for a little while.

  “Leave the poor kid alone, B. He’s only twenty.”

  Brandon scoffs. “Please. He’s way too damn green for a twenty-year-old. Shit, by the time I was twenty, I’d bagged at least a dozen chicks.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, not everyone is as big a slut as you are, Jeffers. And nobody says bagged anymore. Get a new word.”

  “Boinked? Boned? Banged? Any of those tickle your fancy?”

  “Anything involving you and your dick will never tickle my fancy. And you do realize there are other letters in the alphabet, right? Not everything starts with B.”

  “Yeah, but all the best things do. And, if they’re lucky, they finish with B, too.”

  “Did you call me for a reason?” I groan.

  The guy might be my best friend, but there is only so much of his ego I can take. Especially since I was up all night, thinking about a certain blonde who lives next door.

  “My, my, aren’t we touchy today? What crawled up your ass and died?”

  I let out an exasperated breath. Brandon is a son of a bitch. But he is my best friend. There isn’t anything I can’t tell him. Besides, the guy knows me better than anyone. If I don’t tell him what’s bugging me, he’ll probably show up on my doorstep—his doorstep. Whatever.

  “So, there’s this girl…” I start, letting my words trail off as I wait for Brandon to react.

  He doesn’t disappoint. “Yeah, buddy. Knew you wouldn’t let that Angela bitch keep you out of the saddle for long. She hot?”

  I shake my head even though he can’t see it. Should’ve known his thoughts would go instantly to the sexual side of things.

  “She is. But that’s not the point.”

  “Bullshit, that’s not the point. I know the bitch did a number on you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re Tag fucking Taggart. And Tag Taggart doesn’t fuck ugly chicks.”

  “Dude,” I blurt, cutting him off before he can continue. “Do you hear yourself right now? Do you enjoy being known as the douchiest douche who has ever played in the MLB?”

  B is silent for a moment, as if my words have actually stunned him.

  When he finally speaks, his tone is a mixture of remorse and fire. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve pissed you off. But don’t pile your bullshit on me. I’m sorry life sucks for you right now. But it’s not my fault. So, stop being an asshole, and stop pawning it off on me.”

  A rush of guilt comes over me. B likes to act like a jerk, but deep down, he’s one of the best guys I’ve ever met. I know he’s just trying to get me to laugh. But I’m not in the mood.

  “Sorry,” I bite out. “Look, now’s not a good time. I’ll call you later.”

  He interjects before I can disconnect the call, “Hold up. You’re not getting off that easy. I promise to be on my best behavior. Tell me about the girl.”

  I toss the options around in my head. On the one hand, I really would like to get B’s advice on what to do about Lexi. The asshole knows me better than I know myself. But, on the other hand, do I really believe Brandon can be on his best behavior for longer than thirty seconds?

  I sigh, knowing I need to talk to somebody. Guess I’d better talk fast.

  “So, the morning after I got here, I decided to go for a swim—”

  “Dude, it’s fucking freezing up there this time of year,” B interrupts.

  “Are you going to listen or keep telling me shit I already know?”

  “Sorry. Proceed.”

  “So, I jumped in and immediately knew it was the worst decision ever. But, while I was underwater, I somehow managed to float away from your dock and over toward the neighbor’s.”

  “Which neighbor?”

  “The one to the east.”

  B blows out a relieved breath. “Good. That house has been vacant for years. Now, if you’d drifted the other way, you might have managed to give sweet old Margie a heart attack. And then I’d have to kick your ass because she’s just about my favorite person on the planet. Always cooks me dinner whenever I’m staying up there. You meet her yet?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t had a chance to get around and meet the neighbors. Except one. And I’ve got news for you, B. That house to the east…it’s no longer unoccupied.”

  “No shit? Somebody
finally bought that dump? I was actually considering it myself. Tear that piece of shit down, and put in a guesthouse or something. Or maybe a pool.”

  “Why do you need a pool when—” I stop, knowing this is Brandon we’re talking about. Of course he wouldn’t see the pointlessness of a pool when there’s a lake mere feet away.

  “Anyway, yes, a woman bought the house and has been fixing it up. She was out, enjoying a nice cup of coffee on her back porch, when I came running up, half-naked and thoroughly frozen.”

  B lets out a laugh. “I bet you were quite the pretty picture. Tell me, was there shrinkage?”

  I roll my eyes. “So much for your best behavior.”

  “Oh, come on!” B retorts. “You can’t tell me you jumped in a freezing cold lake and then went running up to some poor unassuming woman and not expect me to give you shit. That’s in the manual. When one best friend embarrasses the fuck out of himself, the other best friend is required by law to laugh their ass off at him. You wouldn’t want me to break the law now, would you, Tag?”

  “Anyway,” I say again, dragging out the word, so he knows I’m done with this subject, “since then, we bumped into each other once, and then, yesterday, I went over and offered to help her with a project she was working on. We ended up having dinner at her place.”

  “My man works fast. So, what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is, I’m supposed to be up here, keeping my nose clean and my dick in my pants. But I can’t stop thinking about this girl.”

  “Are you worried she might be another Angela? Try to slap you with some ridiculous charges to get her fifteen minutes and some cash?”

  I shake my head. “No, that’s just it. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

  “Does she live under a rock? I mean, up until a few months ago, your face was practically plastered on every billboard and TV commercial in America.” He leaves out the part where even during those few months, my face was everywhere. Just in a much less flattering light.

  And this is why, even having to deal with all his shit, B will always be my best friend. He may be an asshole, but he’s an asshole who’s always got my back.