Love's Learning Curve

by Felicia Lynn

  Yesterday was awful, then amazingly incredible, before it all went to hell in a hand basket. Since the bulk of my awful came from the messages on my phone, I hope it vibrates itself off the nightstand and crashes to floor and breaks before I can see any more negativity. That’s just wishful thinking, though. Reaching over, I pick it up and flinch as I unlock the screen expecting the worse, but instead, I find my social media notifications as the culprit of the vibrations. I have those little red bubbles over all of my notification apps, which never happens to me.

  I open Facebook first and see that my photo has been shared over four hundred times before noticing that Ty actually shared it. I open his page, and right at the top is the picture of us from the fair.

  TYLER STONE:

  Who knew I could convince the cutest girl in the world to go out with me? I may be just a Hotshot baseball MAN to her now, but I’m determined to win her over completely. Just give me time. Can’t wait to meet her parents soon!

  #Buttercup #NowISeeTheRealPrize #BestDateEver

  He tagged me AND my father’s and the team’s social media pages. HOLY SHIT! What is he thinking? I open the comments to read realizing he’s super popular. People love him. Then I see a comment from my father’s page and almost swallow my tongue.

  RONALD BAKER:

  I couldn’t agree with you more, Tyler Stone. Looking forward to meeting you, young man. Hope to see you next week at the party. Good luck this weekend. #LetsPlayBall #ChampionshipYear

  I have no words. I don’t even know what to do with this. I open my texts and see that my mother has not sent any more messages, shockingly. But I do see several from Ty. I open the box.

  2:40am

  Hotshot Baseball Boy: I’m sure you’re sleeping or at least I hope you are. Just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you. Text me in the morning if you get a chance. I have practice at 10am.

  8:30am

  Hotshot Baseball Boy: Just woke up. Hope you slept well. Heading to the park soon. Hope you have a good day.

  9:40am

  Hotshot Baseball Boy: You okay, buttercup?

  I look at the clock and see it’s after ten, so practice has probably already started. I probably should respond in some way, but I don’t even know what to say after everything else. He shared the picture I took publicly and tagged my father. Although I’m confident my father didn’t actually respond, I have no doubt my father knew about the picture and had some input on the response.

  My dad invited him personally to the party! Does he not realize my mother will probably flip her lid? And does that mean I should actually extend the invite to Ty myself personally? I don’t want Ty to go. After last night and seeing his reaction to my mother’s messages, I would hate to drag him into her trap. I’m not sure I could turn the other cheek if she were to speak badly of him. Ugh … now what? The mess keeps getting bigger.

  Tossing my phone on the bed, I get up knowing a run is definitely in order for me today. Changing quickly and lacing up my shoes, I grab my earbuds and phone and run out the door. I’m sure Morgan is around here somewhere, but I’ll catch up with her later.

  I sit in the grass to stretch, and before I start my running playlist, I type out a quick response to Ty.

  10:36am

  Charlotte: Morning. Hope you have a great practice. Going for a run and turning off my phone to avoid the insane number of notifications coming through. Thanks for that, Hotshot! ;) Chat later. <3 Toodles

  I turn on the Do Not Disturb as I said I was and start the playlist. After stretching for a minute, I’m feeling anxious to hit the pavement.

  Run until your body aches and you can’t think about the hell of your unfulfilling life. Run to chase away the never-ending expectations. Run. Run. And run some more then just keep running.

  After several days of sulking around and hiding behind the books when I’m not in class, I’m finally attempting to resume some normalcy and face the world after my massive emotional breakdown. I back my car out of the parking spot and head in the direction of the highway. I haven’t really been sulking per se; I just haven’t really felt much like myself. I think the unleashed emotions did a number on me physically as well as emotionally. I feel like the shield I’ve worked hard to establish broke in half leaving me exposed, and now, I need to recover and repair that stupid shield.

  I’ve had to dig deep to find the energy and desire to run lately, which is partially because I was afraid of running into a certain hotshot who seems to have the ability to see right through me. I know I can’t physically hide from him forever, but since we said our good-bye after the date, he’s only texted me a few times, and his messages have been short and sweet. I’m sure he’s questioning what he got himself into after the weekend and sharing my post only to have my father respond and invite him to a campaign event.

  He probably regrets everything he said and is trying to let me down easy, but I’d never hold it against him anyway. I get it. My life’s crazy and complicated. I’ve never asked or wanted anyone to fight the dragons that have held me hostage in my complicated life before, and I’m not asking him or anyone else to step in now. This is nothing new to me, and every day, I’m getting a little stronger.

  It’s time to let go of the dark clouds hanging over my head this week. My pity party and negativity don’t help in any way to muster up the happiness I need today. I need to be cheerful. Today is a new day, and today, I’m going to the hospital for a few hours.

  I love volunteering at the hospital, and I know they really appreciate my visits to read or play games with the kids. I’m pulling on my big girl panties and going to where I know I’m needed, no matter how challenging things are for me right now. I love to see the kids smile, and that’s the only motivation I need.

  Getting back into my routine and reminding myself of the important things in my life that I actually benefit from because of who I am is helpful. I glance in the rearview mirror, and excitement fills me when I see the mountain of Build-A-Bear boxes filling the backseat. Twenty-six boxes are each loaded with a stuffed bear. In addition to that, I have a giant Target bag full of crayon boxes and marker packs to decorate the boxes. I know the kids will be excited and love them.

  An advantage of having the parents I do is they don’t question when I request extra funds for things like this since they consider the contribution beneficial to their image. The hospital is far beyond just a ‘service project’ to me, but they’ll never fully understand. Their support allows me to spoil these little ones rotten and bring much-needed sunshine into their world.

  My mother hasn’t brought up her texts again. At this point, we’re all pretending it never happened, which is annoying. I guarantee the next time she’s upset with me, she’ll remind me of this, but for now, she’s focusing on the party next week. It’s probably better this way for now anyway.

  She’s obviously discovered that low-class boy I was spending time with is actually a bigger deal than she expected. She’s asked a few times if he’ll be escorting me to the party. I’ve yet to confirm or deny the possibility to her even though I know he won’t be there. I’ve not asked him and don’t intend to. I’m perfectly happy to attend with Morgan just as always.

  When Tyler and I were together, just the two of us, and the complicated aspects of our life are out the equation, things are perfect. I can almost allow myself to believe the delusion that our connection to each other is special. The attraction I feel for him is so strong that separating fantasy from reality is challenging. When he’s not playing the leading role in my dreamy thoughts, our date replays over and over. My focus is seriously lacking because of it. I need to erase the memories of his side-smile because every time I picture it, the butterflies in my stomach go crazy.

  If I were honest with myself, I’d admit that I miss him. But missing HIM is more than just missing a smile or the way we are together. Missing HIM is even more than missing the feelings his touch brings. I’m not oblivious to the fact that his touch has affected me di
fferently than anything I’ve ever felt. Maybe his touch was different because it was genuine, but I don’t actually believe that’s the case. His touch is full of intention, and it sends messages straight through my body directly to my heart and brain. His touch gives me hope and tells a story of possibilities even if it’s not with HIM.

  The idea of never being able to really get to know him or explore our potential makes my heart ache. The ease and security I’ve felt with him from the moment we met have been oddly comforting. But it’s his ability to bring out an immense sense of happiness and joy in me that I fear I’ve lost. I’ve never had so much fun and felt so alive with anyone. Will I ever feel that way with someone else, or is that a gift that only he is capable of pulling out of me?

  I pull into the parking lot of the hospital and luck out when there’s an empty spot very close to the entrance. I’ll have to get a cart to haul my surprises upstairs, and I can’t wait to see their smiles. This is the perfect remedy for my mood.

  Looking into the mirrored visor, I check my appearance and am happy that the emotional war happening in my head isn’t apparent in my physical appearance. I quickly swipe some gloss across my lips and put it in my purse while grabbing my phone. Like I’ve done a million and two times over the last few days, I check my texts, but not just any—I open the text box labeled ‘Hotshot Baseball Boy.’ I sigh when I don’t see a new message, but I read his last text to me from two days ago anyway.

  Me: Just wanted to tell you I was thinking about you today. Hope you had a great day.

  Hotshot Baseball Boy: Ditto. I had a good day, just exhausted from practice. Hope you’re smiling, buttercup.

  I am embarrassed at the way our date ended, and the idea of facing him again with so much of my baggage between us makes me feel vulnerable, but the message made me think there was still hope. Then nothing. No texts. No calls. Nothing. He fell off the face of the earth. Except I know for a fact he’s still very much around since the first home game series starts tonight and everyone is talking about it. Through the grapevine of campus chatter, I’ve heard he’s pitching. A few weeks ago, I would have easily tuned out those conversations, but now, I’m hyper-focused on any talk pertaining to Tyler Stone. I can’t even pretend that I’m not trying to listen, and that’s the worst part.

  At least, I have a dinner and movie date with Morgan and some of the sorority sisters tonight. I’ve had to restrain myself from getting tickets to the game several times, but I figured if he wanted me there, he would have asked. He didn’t, so I won’t be there.

  Thankfully, my best friend made a quick girls’ night plan. I’m pretending that I don’t realize the plan was to distract me from the baseball excitement all over campus. She knows how I feel about Ty. She knows I like him a lot, and even though I’ve tried my best to pretend not to care, she knows I do. Hearing his name right now is hard with the uncertainties of where we stand. She keeps reminding me that she warned me and is taking a lot of pride in being right, but I’m still not sure she is. Call me naïve, but I saw a different side of him.

  Morgan is a little overprotective anyway. She went nuts when she learned about my mother’s irate tantrum texts. I’ve had to pry the phone from her hand a few times to prevent her from calling “to give Sandra Baker a taste of her own medicine” as she says. Morgan has an amazing way of being politely feisty. I probably should have let her call. I may have enjoyed it, but it wasn’t worth it.

  I get out of my car and head into the hospital with the knowledge that no matter what is happening in my life, it’s not as hard as those I’m going to shower with love, fun, and happiness today. I can do this. This is important.

  The first two games are done—both wins. I pitched last night, and tonight, I sat in the bullpen to watch the game, but I couldn’t help thinking about that blue-eyed girl. Even though I know she wasn’t there, I couldn’t stop wondering where she was or what she was doing. It’s my own fault, though. I could text her, but I haven’t, and now, I’m kicking myself.

  This spell I’m under scares the shit out of me. I wanted to open her eyes to new experiences, and somehow, it opened my eyes too. Then I decided to play it cool and laidback and not seem so eager to get to know her. I thought if things weren’t so intense with us, maybe it would be better. Now, I haven’t heard from her in days, and I’m coming unhinged. I can’t even handle dealing with myself right now. What if she’s found someone more like herself? That would be a good thing, right? FUCK NO!

  I fall hard onto my sofa disgusted that I’ve allowed Charlie to seep so deeply into my pores. Here I am, sitting in my home attempting to feel the release I normally get here, but with only my thoughts, there’s no such luck. If hours on the baseball field doing what I like to do best can’t fix my head, I don’t know why I’d expect this place to fix it.

  Fixing my head is a lost cause while she’s unfinished business. I left things Saturday night feeling confident that I was going to give this a shot and make this work somehow. Thinking about her comes so easily to me. I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. I fight the urge to text or call her ten times a day, but the more I try convincing myself that it’s too much and I need to focus, the harder I crave it. The three-mile distance between our houses feels too far when things need to be said between us.

  I’ve killed myself to keep busy all week. I stayed at the field as much as possible even when it wasn’t necessary. I made damn sure I was exhausted past the point of taking a quick shower and going straight to sleep every night I’ve stumbled home this week. It was the only way to keep myself from going to her, but now, the reasons I forced myself to stay away no longer make any sense. One sleepless night isn’t the end of the world, but my performance the next day at practice made me think it could be.

  Does it really matter that her father is the governor of the state and is running for president? No. What do I care about him? I’m not changing my career focus to politics to impress him. I’m going to be an MLB player. That’s respectable enough.

  Is her bitch of a mother reason enough for me to walk away? No way—I’m not scared of her mommy bullshit. If anything, she needs me more. She needs someone to be supportive and remind her of her strength.

  Is the fact that she’s perfectly untainted and never been marked by a man making me anxious? Ha. That’s the one question I’ve asked myself that makes me feel crazy. God. I want to be the one for her. There’s no question about it, but it’s not just about getting her undressed. I want all of her.

  I look down at the crotch of my baseball pants to make sure I still have a cock after just admitting to myself that I want Charlie for more than sex. Wanting more from her means I want her as my girlfriend, I think? Is that what I want? I’m sure my cock will fall off any minute now. I’ll probably wake up tomorrow with a pussy.

  However, for now, my cock is fully functional since it’s raging hard and angrily throbbing. Thinking about Charlie seems to do this to me. I reach into my pants and grab it just to double check it’s not’s falling off. Sure enough, it’s there and not going anywhere, but that doesn’t help my shitty mood. I need a release.

  For a second, I thought about prowling the sports bar for a cleat chaser. I figured another set of lips might help to get her out of my head. I went to hang with the team a couple of days ago. No one was more surprised than I was when the handsy and flirty bartender didn’t make my cock twitch a bit. Even wearing that skimpy referee uniform with the skirt that barely covered her ass; I couldn’t have cared less. She asked if we could hang out later, and I told her I had plans. She was pissed and knew it was a blow off and so did the guys. Bobby, the first baseman, has given me shit about it every day since, and he probably won’t let me forget it anytime soon either.

  My cock seems to have acquired a singular interest, only coming to life for one little distraction. Something is wrong with me.

  You can’t only want one specific distraction. No strings attached is the rule, remember. You had your chance a couple of d
ays ago to do the right thing and get excited about the little bartender. You fucked up. Now suffer.

  I can’t believe I’m lecturing my cock.

  I jump off the couch and take the stairs two at a time upstairs to my bedroom. I need to shower. I throw my wallet and phone onto the dresser to strip out of my clothes, but my phone taunts me. I pick it up off the dresser and sit on the trunk at the foot of my bed. I hover over her name trying to decide if I should just call. It’s eleven o’clock. She might not even be awake, but I’d know about her sleep schedule if I’d made an effort to get to know her this week.

  I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve driven by the park hoping to see her sitting on the swings after a run, and then being glad she wasn’t there so I could continue to avoid her. I probably need to get a psychological evaluation for bipolar disorder, but unfortunately, I know that won’t help.

  It’s her little witchcraft ways—that’s my problem.

  I slide open the text messages and start to type, then quickly backspace to erase it. What the hell do I say? I start typing again.

  Me: Good night, Buttercup. Hope you had a good day.

  I press send and wait. I stare at the phone willing it to give me answers. When I see the little bubble with three dots, my heart rate quickly picks up speed anticipating the response.

  Buttercup: Good night, Hotshot Baseball Boy. Congrats on the win.