“Fuck him.” I set my drink down, the glass ready to break in my hand if I hold on to it anymore. “He’s going to fucking regret this.” I crack my neck to the side, steam breathing into me.
Natalie presses her hand to my forearm. “Don’t hurt him, Jase.”
I laugh. “Yeah, okay, Nat.”
“I’m serious. He’s not worth it.”
“He sure as shit isn’t worth it. But you are. No one, and I mean no one, hurts my sister and gets away with it. Do you understand that? No one.”
“I know. But Ansel is pissed that I filed for divorce, and I’m asking for the apartment and took away his season tickets you gave him. If you attack him, I’m sure he’ll press charges.”
“Damn right you took away his season tickets. He’s fucking high if he thinks he’s keeping those.” Needing to pace, I stand in front of Natalie and walk back and forth. “Is that why you made these last-minute plans for us? To get away?”
She nods. “I thought we both needed it. I had to legitimately move your initial dates because of the photo shoot—which went so well, don’t you think?—but I needed to get away too.” She shrugs. “I wanted this time with you.” Fuck. I hate that this dipshit treated my sister like this. And I hate the sadness and . . . resignation in her expression. But then she lowers her glasses and looks me in the eyes. “Jason, why didn't you go after her?”
I shake my head. “This isn’t about me. We’re talking about Ansel and your divorce apparently. I need time to wrap my head around this.”
“No, you want a distraction and you’re using me as one. How about we fix one problem at a time, one that can actually be solved. Last I spoke with you, you were going to Dottie’s office to ask her to stay. What happened?”
Fuming from Natalie’s news and her persistence of changing the subject, I stuff my hand through my hair and pull on the short strands. “I don’t know, okay? I got there, her betrayal hit me again hard, and I froze.”
“And you let her leave?”
“Yeah. I handed her shit from my apartment and left.”
“Jason . . . that’s awful.”
I whip toward her. “That’s awful? What about everything she did to me? What about—?”
“You told me you love her. You said you want to be happy. You were going to go make up, so every excuse you’re about to lay down is invalid, because you were moments away from making your life better again.”
Exhausted, I flop on the lounge chair and drape my arm over my eyes. “It’s just . . . fuck, Nat, it’s scary, okay? I’ve never had feelings for someone like this. I let her into my heart, into my world, and she hurt me.”
“She didn’t tell you the full truth. But everyone, even her friends, know what you two had was real. Just seeing you together, I knew there was something special, and then seeing her at the event, after everything went down . . . I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more remorseful, love-struck person in my life, Jason. And I can assure you, I know what a look without remorse looks like.” At that, she stumbles, and I want to punch Ansel in the face so hard. “Dottie loves you, and she’s hurting because she hurt you. If she was truly malicious, she wouldn’t care. But she does, she cares so much. It’s obvious in her actions, her attempts to win you back, her ability to look at herself, find truth and honesty within her and tell the people around her about her mistakes. That’s the kind of woman you want to be with, as that’s the kind of woman who will always care for you.”
“Then why didn’t she take care of my heart in the first place?”
Natalie shrugs. “Maybe that’s a question you need to ask her? But from the outside and what you’ve told me, I will tell you right now, Mama G was right in what she said, you’re a fool.”
Shit . . .
“How can you say that, be so positive about love when you’re going through what you’re going through?”
She fixes her sunglasses over her eyes and sips from her drink. “I’m heavily medicated.”
“Seriously?”
She lightly chuckles. “No. But just because my love life is bleak, that doesn’t mean I should project my problems onto you. I know when I see love, and you two were made to love each other.”
“And if she hurts me again?”
“Then you talk it through. It’s when she stops wanting to talk that you need to worry.” She pauses, takes a sip of her cocktail. “Trust me.”
* * *
Five days in the Bahamas with my sister should have been relaxing, but it was anything but.
Not only did the resort staff keep calling us Mr. and Mrs. Orson and sending champagne to our two-bedroom suite—awkward—but every second of my vacation was spent worrying over Dottie and whether or not I should fly straight to California from the Bahamas.
If you’re wondering . . . I didn’t.
So when I showed up at Knox’s door, looking for a chat and he told me to get lost, I knew I fucked up.
I don’t blame the dismissal.
I told him I loved her. I told him I wanted to be happy, not right, but when it came down to it, I chickened out.
That was until last night.
Last night, when I was lying in my bed alone, staring at the ceiling, I replayed my entire relationship with Dottie.
I thought about how I wish I’d known her in college and wondered about the feelings she had for me back then. Were they purely physical, or was there more substance to those feelings?
I thought about our first date, how she looked so strong and confident, but there were little moments where I caught wariness in her eyes, nervousness, almost disbelief that I’d brought dinner to her for no other reason than to honor a promise. Now, knowing how she’d been treated before—dishonestly—I understand why she had me dragged out by security. I hadn’t earned her trust. I saw something in her and as I thought about it, I knew it was interest, maybe infatuation. I knew there was more to this woman and I was determined to find out what it was.
Throughout our relationship, I was always peeling back more layers to her. And even though there were rare moments where I saw how vulnerable she was, I witnessed her caring side, her beautifully intelligent side, and of course her sassy side. If she was faking our relationship, just using me, I never would have seen so many parts of her. I would have barely broken the surface, if that.
But Dottie, even though it was slow, showed me who she was, a strong-willed but also reticent woman. Her heart was jaded, and I should have realized it would take time to soften her rough edges. No, I should have listened more, because it was there. I had gotten close to her, and from what I know about Dottie, that was rare. It was about time I finished what I started.
It’s why I’m standing outside her parents’ Malibu house, the ocean crashing into the shore in the distance, and the bright sun shining down on me. Even though this might be terrifying, it’s going to be a good day.
Stepping up to the door, I give it a few loud knocks and then wait.
I sent a text to Knox this morning telling him was I was going to make everything right and he said it was about damn time and to not fuck it up, because apparently he’s never seen me as happy as I am when Dottie is around.
I have to admit, he’s right.
The door opens and a woman in a white leisure suit answers. There are qualities about her that look just like Dottie, which causes me to assume this is her mom.
“Oh,” she says, looking startled. Hand to her chest, she asks, “Are you Jason?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Am I right to assume you’re Mrs. Domico?”
“Why, yes.” She lends out her hand and I give it a shake. “Are you looking for Dottie?”
“I am.” I glance past her. “Is she here?”
She nods and parts the door open. “She’s out on the balcony with her coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“Uh, it will make me too jittery. I’m good.”
“Okay.” She steps to the side, her eyes giving me a full once-over. Not in a leery, old-woman way,
just a are you good enough for my daughter way. Totally understand that one. “Please, come in. She’s right back there.” She gestures to the giant sliding glass doors that take up an entire wall.
Damn, this house is nice.
I give her a curt nod and make my way across the concrete floors, past the ostentatious fireplace—when you have money, you have money—and to the parted sliding glass door where I find Dottie sitting in a lounge chair, feet tucked into her body, blanket over her shoulders, a cup of coffee in hand. Her raven hair is stacked on top of her head and her feet are covered in white slippers.
In that moment, observing her, I realize I want nothing more than to push my need to hold a grudge to the side and bury my head into her sweet scent, to have her arms wrap around me and hold me close. I want every inch of her, every piece, even if it takes years to earn.
I take a step forward and say, “Good morning.”
Her head whips to the side in surprise, her eyes widening when she spots me. And that’s when I see her tear-streaked cheeks. She quickly wipes at her face and straightens up.
“J-Jason,” she stumbles. “What are you doing here?”
Once again, I feel tongue-tied and unsure of what to say. I scratch the side of my jaw and say, “I, uh . . . shit,” I mutter, looking at my feet.
She reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me to the edge of her lounge chair. When I glance at her, she says, “Now that you’re here, please don’t leave.” Tears fall down her cheek. “Please don’t leave, Jason.” Eyes bloodshot, absolute sorrow in her voice. I did this. I hate that I caused this pain.
“I’m not leaving,” I say, the words hoarse as they fall past my lips. “Not now”—I look up at her—“not ever.”
Her lip trembles, and I reach out and brush my thumb over it, which only makes more tears fall as her shaky hand comes up to mine. I move my hand to her cheek and she pushes into it, her eyes briefly closing.
“Jason,” she says on a choked sob. “Will you please listen to me?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Opening her eyes, she takes a deep breath but keeps her hand gripping mine tightly, as if silently willing me to not move. “I try to find a positive with all the regrets I make in my life.” She shifts and moves closer. “I try to put a spin on them to show that maybe they’re not regrets, more like steppingstones to get me to where I’m supposed to be. I never regret anything with that way of thinking, but I do have one, one that I will never let myself spin or turn into a steppingstone. I know what I did—or didn’t do—wasn’t a steppingstone, but more like a roadblock to happiness.” She slowly takes another steady breath. “I don’t regret telling the Carltons that you were my boyfriend, because it gave me the nudge I needed to give in to my feelings for you, but I’ll always regret not telling you, not being honest, not giving you the benefit of the doubt of being the great and understanding man that you are.” She lifts my palm and kisses it gently. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m sorry for hurting you, for making you feel anything less than a perfect and beautiful man. I’m sorry for putting us through this pain, and I’m sorry I never told you how much I admire you, how much I care for you, and how much I love you.”
Those three little words . . . they whisk the breath from my lungs as my eyes tear up as well. I wondered, I questioned, were her feelings anything like mine? I just got my confirmation.
She loves me.
All this pain, this hurt deep in my chest, it eases and lets my heart beat again, beat wildly for the woman in front of me.
“Christ.” I clear my throat, feeling an overwhelming sense of joy that I try to voice, but it comes out garbled. “That . . . fuck, Dottie.” Without giving it a second thought, I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her delicate frame. When she returns the embrace, my heart nearly flies out of my chest. Lifting her chin, I force her to look me in the eyes. “I won’t lie and say you didn’t hurt me, because you did, but I also can’t stay away from you, not when I have this undying love for you that shows up at any hour of the day. I can’t suppress it, I can’t forget about it, and I can’t just drop it like it never happened. I won’t. I wanted to stay mad at you, I wanted to hurt you, I wanted to punish you, but in the end, it would only be punishing myself.” I tilt her chin up a little more and bring her lips inches from mine. “I love you, Dottie. I love you so fucking much, and I’d forever regret not telling you that.” A soft sob escapes her. She tries to pull away, to wipe her face, but I hold her still and close the space between us, pressing a soft kiss across her mouth. My lips spread in a smile while my eyes shed with joyful tears now. “I know this is a lot to ask of you, but please don’t stay here, please don’t start a new life here. Stay in Chicago with your friends . . . with me. Be my partner in crime, my best friend, my lover, my girlfriend.”
Her eyes wearily search mine. “Are you sure?”
What I need. What I suspect she needs too. “Positive.”
“But do you forgive me?”
Smiling, I say, “Might have to suck some of my idiots out of me—you know, with those magical lips of yours—but I think all will be forgiven.”
She laughs, snot bubbling out of her cute, little nose. She’s a mess, a beautiful mess, but I don’t care and press my lips against hers. I love this woman so much. She’s a kind, genuine soul, someone I thought I’d never find, with her sassy mouth, ball-busting personality, but incredibly softness as well. She can’t cook for shit, but there are so many other ways her character complements mine. She’s loyal.
Strong.
True.
Funny.
Adorably testy.
Dottie Domico is my woman—yes, I’m a roaring caveman—and I’ll make sure to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m the man she needs and can rely on too.
Epilogue
JASON
“Are you boys ready?” Cory Potter asks, standing from his chair in the locker room, looking like a magnificent piece of man meat. This is his second season on the team, and he’s already taken on a leadership role. I still can’t believe I get to play next to him, wear the same jersey as him . . . see him naked in the locker room showers.
Any single ladies out there? Telling you right now, the man rivals my own dick, and I think we all know how giant the wildebeest between my legs is. If you’ve forgotten, I’ll have my girlfriend remind you. She has a fresh memory, since I plowed her into our bed before reporting to the stadium for our opening day game.
Yeah, I said our bed.
Look out, Jason Orson is domesticated. I have a girlfriend that I share an apartment with. We are living in sin and loving it. Once we made up, we romantically fucked on her childhood bed—and were caught by her mom. To say it was awkward is an understatement, but thankfully all she saw was my ass and swinging balls that slapped Dottie like a pendulum. She said it sounded like a fish out of water, flopping around. I couldn’t stop laughing all through breakfast. Dottie didn’t think it was very funny, but she wouldn’t be Dottie if she did.
“You ready, Orson?” Cory asks, gripping my shoulder. “Nervous?”
“Pfft, never.”
Over spring training, I grew close with Cory, not just because his brother-in-law is one of my best friends, but because we both grew up Bobbies fans and now play for the rival team. It’s easy to sit under his leadership, seeing the work he puts in every day, and I understand why he’s as great as he is. He never gets too big for his head. He never thinks he’s the greatest, but that he needs to be catching up, putting in extra time, waking up early, hitting the weight room one last time before going to bed. His work ethic is impeccable and something I’ve started to replicate.
Thankfully Dottie can work anywhere, so when I went to Florida for spring training, she came with me. I spend as much time with her as possible when I’m not on the ball field, and she’s understanding because we both get it. Having drive, goals . . . it’s what makes us both thrive.
And one of the best things that’s happened since we got
back together is that she’s helped run Natalie through her Boss Babe program, giving Natalie much more confidence to make the decisions she needs to make for The Lineup and confidence in life. They’ve grown pretty close, and I’m happy about that. She needs someone more than ever right now, someone that will help lift her up, rather than drag her down like Ansel. The fuckhead.
“I’m not talking about the game,” Cory says. “I’m talking about the proposal.”
“Oh.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Nah, my girl loves me, she’s going to say yes.”
I stand and stick the ring box in my back pocket. We organized for her to throw out the first pitch to me as an inauguration for my first season as a Rebel. When I told the front office that I wanted to propose to my girlfriend on the field, they couldn’t have been more ecstatic. Feel-good stories like these go viral and any leg up they can have on the Bobbies is something they’re interested in.
They orchestrated the entire proposal, setting up a false inauguration day for me.
We head out to the field where I spot Dottie in the dugout wearing one of my jerseys and looking so goddamn adorable, that when I gravitate toward her, I pull her into a hug. I press a kiss to her ear and say, “Just like we practiced. Focus on me and throw.”
“I know. I know,” she says, sounding nervous.
We’ve been practicing for the last week and she’s really got it down, but you never know what’s going to happen when she throws the ball while a packed stadium watches. I assured her no matter what happens, the fans will love her because she’s mine, and everyone loves Jason Orson. Can you imagine the epic eye-roll and “you’re ridiculous” I received from that?
Yes, it’s true, the Rebel fans have taken a liking to me.
I think it’s from THE towel picture . . .
“Just don’t short-hop me like you did on Monday.”
She chuckles. “Wouldn’t dream of catching you in your ‘nuggets’ again.”
“Thank you, witty wench.” I press one more kiss to her lips and then take off toward my spot behind the plate. The announcer introduces me to the Rebels as the new starting catcher, and the crowd erupts. God, I’m so popular. It was definitely THE towel picture.
The Lineup Page 33