“I’m sorry, Chris. I’m—I don’t even know what to say.”
I shrug. “Nothing to say. I really am over it. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly I got over it. Within a few months I was grateful she said no. If she was so easy to get over, then obviously she didn’t mean enough despite what I thought at the time.
“So, I’m good sticking with strippers, with women who are down to fuck and don’t need their hand held, who know what they want. Amelia, she’s doing the right thing, staying in her comfort zone. I should too. It was a nice idea, whatever, it’s not like it would’ve lasted long anyway.”
“I feel like an asshole. I’m really sorry about the crap I said. I don’t think you should give up on Amelia, but I understand why you would.”
“It’s not about giving up, it’s about respecting what she says she wants.”
“Okay. If you say so. Travis and I talked about going up for spring training, but I’m not sure yet. Let me give Pamela another few weeks to see how she does handling the salon on her own. I really want to go for two weeks, but not if I’m going to have a mess to clean up when I get back.”
“All right, just give me a call.”
“Night, Chris. Love you.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
I end the call. It’s too bad about Amelia—it could’ve been a lot of fun. Oh well, c’est la vie and all that shit.
11
Chris
I’m coming out of the stadium after taking some promo shots. Some of the guys are going for some beer and barbecue to pretend like it isn’t twenty degrees outside. One of the things I’ve loved about this team is how it isn’t all talk—we really are like a family. On the road and at home almost everyone finds time to hang out with everyone else, from barbeques to the bar. There’s no drama or egos on the team; we all get along. I feel like an asshole for turning them down, but I’m just not in the mood to be around people.
I’m also coated in makeup because I looked like shit from the lack of sleep. I got two hours Saturday night and nothing Sunday night; this morning I fell into a light doze for maybe a half hour before my alarm went off. I’m fucking exhausted.
A few reporters are hanging out to catch players. Usually I’m good for a sound bite and a grin. Today, I don’t even acknowledge the shouts of my name. When I get home I’m surprised to find the guy who delivered the vase on Friday waiting on my porch.
“Hey, Mr. Baldwin.”
“Hi, are you okay? You need to come inside for some coffee or something? How long have you been waiting?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking though. I’ve only been out here about fifteen minutes—I was just about to go wait in my car. No problem, really. I have a package from Ms. Bishop.” He’s smiling ear to ear.
Damn, my chest did not just tighten. I take the electronic pad and sign. I try to give him some cash, but he refuses. The box is a little bigger than the one from Friday. Taking it into my office, I put it down on the ottoman. A simple pull opens the box. Bluebonnets and tulips in a deep red fill the vase. This is a very different vase from the one I gave Amelia, it opens wide and it’s covered in swallows. There’s an envelope in the center of the bouquet. I’m surprised by how thick it is.
My name is on the front of the sealed envelope, and I tear it open. A bright yellow legal notepad torn in half catches my eye first. When I take it out, I see there are four different instant film pictures tied together. A post-it beneath the bow says to read the note first before looking at the pictures. I can’t keep the smile off my face as I open the note.
I’m sorry for saying no when I meant yes. I’m sorry I was willing to use you. I’m sorry I don’t know how this would work, and instead of asking you I got scared. Once Ethan is back, if you’re still interested we could try again.
P.S. The pictures are my way of apologizing. I hope you like them.
I untie the small bow around the four pictures. The first one faces in: Amelia is in a dark red silk slip. Black lace is along the neckline, covering the top of her breasts, while the sight of her hard nipples beneath the silk has my cock standing at attention. In the second picture, she lowered the tiny straps, allowing the slip to fall down to her waist. Her glorious breasts are better than anything I imagined. I ache to taste her, bright pink areolas surrounding tight, thick nipples. I’m fighting not to pull out my cock; I want to see everything. With the next picture I do. The slip is gone, and she’s lying in bed, her skin lightly golden against the pure white of the comforter beneath her. I see the apprehension in her eyes, even as she smiles wide. Closing my eyes, I rub my chest as I think of how much fear she overcame to do this. She doesn’t think she’s beautiful, but she did this for me because I told her she’s beautiful to me.
In the last picture her legs are open wide for me in invitation. Her lips are bare; it’s a surprise for someone with such an air of innocence to be bare. I look closer and I see she’s slick with desire, with me, for me. Finally, she’s mine. Not only does she know it, she wants it.
Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes, but all I can see is the apprehension in Amelia’s eyes. She’s an intelligent woman—she is right to be worried—but she’s worried for the wrong reason. I want all of her, every inch, I’ll take it. Only I’m not sure she’s really ready to give me not just all of her body but her soul too. It’s clear she is trying, might even believe she is but it will take more than a few pictures, it will take her staying with me in the real world through the good and the bad. Is she ready to give up hiding inside stories to live through the good and the bad of the real world?
***
Amelia
For the thousandth time I check my cell phone; nothing. I blink back tears. Chris isn’t going to call. The package was signed for at ten twenty this morning, nine hours ago. When Mary left over an hour ago, she urged me not to give up. I nodded with a smile I’m well aware didn’t fool her. With every hour I felt hope slipping away. Now I finally give in to the tears I’ve been fighting. Why does it hurt so much? I never really had him; god, he never even kissed me. I’m so stupid.
“Amelia.” The sob catches in my chest. I blink, wiping away tears to see Chris in front of me, his hands flat on my desk, bending down only inches from me. A small, sad smile is on his lips. “I’m sorry, sugar. I meant to be here hours ago.” He reaches out, cupping my cheek, and I sigh at his touch as he runs his thumb over my lips. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Today I crashed. Don’t cry—I sure as hell don’t want you crying over me.”
“I was crying because I was stupid. I’m sorry I was stupid. Do you really forgive me?”