Page 53 of The Art of Catching Feelings
She shrugged. “Makes it easier to give directions at least.”
After he’d made those turns, she had to remind him of the apartment number and show him where to park in front of her duplex. She knew they’d lost the train of what they were talkingabout, which was a shame, because she’d thought maybe she was getting somewhere with him. But then she also thought about those last text messages, the finality to them, and reminded herself that actually they were going nowhere.
“This is me,” she said unnecessarily once he’d parked, gesturing toward her front door. At least the outside of her apartment looked clean and inviting, even if the inside was tiny and perpetually a little messier than she would like. She’d lined her front step with some potted plants, and put out a welcome mat with a giant sunflower on it. Not that you could see much of it in the dark, but it made her feel good to know they were there.
She hesitated, wishing suddenly that she could ask him in for that cup of tea. But of course that was impossible, for so many reasons.
“You have a cat,” he said, as if reading her mind.
Yes, Milo was definitely one of the reasons she couldn’t invite him in. She’d sent him so many pictures of her pet that he could probably pick him out of a lineup. But how did he…?
Chris pointed toward her window, where Milo was clearly silhouetted, loafing on the sill and crinkling the blinds again.
“Yup, that’s my cat.” She gave him what she hoped was a brilliant, distracting smile. “Well, thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She asked it like a question, but of course theywouldsee each other tomorrow. The Battery were playing an afternoon game, and she was supposed to arrive at the ballpark by eleven o’clock for all her prep. She knew the players often got there even earlier, for batting practice and other warm-ups. Chris was usually one of the first ones to arrive.
She got out of the car before she could embarrass herself by saying anything else, but she heard him call her name once she’d reached her front step.
“Daphne!”
She slowed, turning around. “Yeah?”
His window was down, his forearm resting on the edge. He was messing with his side mirror, not looking at her even though he’d been the one to call for her.
“Do you need a ride in the morning?”
“Oh, that’s…”A really nice offer. Her apartment had to be so far out of his way, especially since she was pretty sure just from a few things he’d said in his texts to her as Duckie that he lived relatively close to the stadium.
But they’d closed the book on the text relationship. She’d known they’d still see each other in person, obviously, but she had resolved to be careful, to make sure there was no chance he ever connected her with her online alter ego.
“You’d have to be ready around nine,” he said. “For us to get there by nine thirty.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”
TWENTY-ONE
By the time Chris got back to his condo that night, he was barely aware of making the drive. It was almost scary, how on autopilot he’d been, merging back onto the highway and navigating the streets until he’d parked in his reserved space and gotten on the elevator.
His thoughts were on a loop. First, he’d thought about Daphne, what a surprise she’d turned out to be.Ignominious beginnings. The phrase had made him laugh, but she wasn’t wrong. For two people who’d gotten off on such publicly awful footing, he found that he actually liked her. She was easy to talk to, which was a dangerous quality in a reporter, but somehow he trusted her. He knew she wouldn’t tell anyone else about the panic thing, or put him on the spot about it in an interview. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.
Then that made him think about Duckie, who hehadopened up to, time and again. He’d thought it had been reciprocal, that she was letting him in, too, but apparently not. Apparently she had her limits. And he had to respect those, even if he didn’t understand them. As much as he wanted to text her again right now, tell her that anonymous messages were completely fine and he’d wait as long as it took, he knew it was only a matter of time beforethey found themselves right back in this situation. It was fucking with his head.
That led him to think about the loss that night. He’d missed two calls from his father, and one of the first things he did when he got home was to pull up the game replay on his TV, something he almost never did. Of course, they watched film of specific at-bats, pitching matchups, fielding plays…it was just rare for him to watch the actual broadcast for a game he’d played in. He fast-forwarded to the last inning, grabbing a beer from the fridge as he watched his last at-bat. The strike looking, the swing on the ball at his shins.
But finally he got that hit. It had looked great, hard and to the back-right corner, where the fielder had to scramble after it. He rounded second, and the guy had the ball in his hand. He threw it in and Chris was already down, sliding into third, and…
Sure as shit. He’d been out. He should’ve stayed at second base.
Then the postgame interview. He’d had the sound turned down, but turned it back up in time to hear Daphne telling him that he’d played the game the right way. He took another swig of his beer, smiling a little even though he had no real reason to. The end of that game had been embarrassing, from that last play to his interview, where he’d just stared at her for three painfully long seconds before walking away.
He should probably get up and do something. He had laundry he’d been putting off. He’d have to go to bed a little earlier than usual, since he’d have an earlier wake-up time. But instead he just sat on his couch for the full length of the postgame show on the replay. Hell, maybe he’d learn something.
—
Daphne was standing outside her apartment when he pulled up. She tucked her hair behind her ears, bending down tolook through his window like she doubted it was him. When she finally opened the passenger door, he held out his arm, almost as if blocking her.
“Whoa,” he said. “Normally customers ride in the back seat.”
