The Perfect Game (The Perfect Game 1)

“I’m saying that I love you. Nothing in my life is right if you’re not with me. You’re a part of me. And I can’t let that part go. I want to be with you. I know I messed up, and I know you don’t trust me, but I’ll prove to you that you can. I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me. ”

I held my breath as I waited for her to respond.

Her brows drew together as she looked away from me. “I can’t stay here , Jack . I already accepted the job. And I want to go. ”

“Then say we’ll work it out. Say we’re back together while we figure things out,” I begged, willing to say anything to not lose her again.

“Long distance doesn’t really work for us,” she admitted, and I cringed.

“It will be different this time. I’ve learned my lesson. I know what’s at stake. I know how much I have to lose. I promise you I’ll never fuck up again. ” I reached for her hands, squeezing them as I pleaded. “I know my promises mean nothing to you right now, but I’ll make them mean something again. I’ll give the words meaning. ”

I caressed her hands with mine, not wanting to let go.

“Prove it,” she said with a shrug, before sliding She slid into the cab and , locked the door and rolled down the window. “Prove it. ” locking the door.

My heart thumped as it battered against my chest. The cab sped away and Cassie’s image in the rear window faded from view.

TWENTY-TWO

CASSIE

I’d spent the last four months falling in love with New York City. I hadn’t heard from Jack at all since the night I left, which not only surprised me, but broke my heart all over again. No matter how many times Dean tried to assure me that Jack was still in love with me and to give him time, his silence proved otherwise to my doubtful heart.

I wasn’t sure what I’d hoped for, exactly. I guess a part of me wanted some sort of grand gesture. I wanted to walk outside one morning and find him waiting there for me, like he’d done that one time when I got out of class. And when I told him to “prove it” the night I left, I honestly thought he would. I just wanted something from Jack. Anything but silence. And when nothing came, I tried my best to move on.

I shuffled out of the jam-packed subway car and moved along with the crowd up the stairs and into the chilled air outdoors. I was still awestruck daily by the sights and the sounds of New York and constantly forced myself to keep walking, when I was dying to drop to my knee to shoot the scenes around me.

The building I worked in was thirty stories tall with rectangular windows spaced three feet apart in all directions. I opened the oversized gold door before shaking off the chill.

“Morning, Craig. ” I squeezed the shoulder of our salt-and-pepper-haired security guard.

“Morning, Miss Andrews,” he said with a nod, before pressing the elevator button for me and holding the door open once it arrived.

“Thank you. ” I smiled, repeating the same routine we acted out each morning.

I hopped in, pressing the button for the twenty-seventh floor before I heard, “Wait! Hold the doors!”

I threw my arm between the closing doors, forcing them to stop abruptly and stutter back apart. Joey, an adorable brown-haired, blue-eyed copy editor from Boston, hopped inside, his arms full of papers.

“Thanks! Oh…morning, Cassie. ” He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I looked away, embarrassed. He’d asked me out a few times since I moved here, but the truth was, I wasn’t ready to date. After everything I’d been through with Jack, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready again.

“Morning, Joey. Can I help?” I asked, reaching for the papers that threatened to fall.

“Thank you. ” Half his mouth twisted upward into a smirk. “So, what you’d do last night?” he asked with his cute Boston accent.

“Uh, I worked until a little after eight. Then I grabbed some amazing Italian food on the way home from this tiny café, and that’s about it. ”

“Where do you live again?” He asks me this every time we talk. I haven’t figured out why, but he does.

“Lower East Side, not far from here. ”

“What street?”

“Clinton,” I responded as the elevator announced our arrival.

The doors opened and the sounds of rushed voices filled the air. The floor was packed with wall-to-wall cubicles spilling over with the previous day’s work. Privacy was not something one could find in this office. I secretly loved the chaos and the constant rushing around.

“So, do you like it?” he asked, watching my eyes. “Living in the lower east?”