“And what’s that?”
“To see you again. To take you on a proper date.”
She sits back and begins to fiddle with her napkin. “I don’t date athletes.”
As if she has impeccable timing for awkward situations, the waitress returns with our drinks and a basket of bread, giving me a moment to formulate a witty response.
“Bread?” I ask, tipping the basket toward her. We each take a mini roll, add butter, and eat quietly.
“I’m sitting here trying to fathom why you don’t date athletes, and I think I’ve come up with a list.”
“You have? I can’t wait to hear this,” she says, setting her bread aside and leaning toward me.
“Right, my first thought is because some of us are freaking ugly. I mean, have you seen some of the linebackers for Miami? Those guys have some seriously big heads, and I’m sorry, but I can’t picture you with a guy like that.” She smiles, giving me hope.
“But that only covers football. Basketball players are probably too tall for you, and hockey players have missing teeth. That leads us to baseball, and the only reason I can come up with is that you think we smell.” I start to lift my arm to check and see if I do in fact smell, but she stops me.
Ainsley’s hand lingers longer that what would be deemed friendly. When she finally pulls away, the smile she had is now gone and the pensive look is back. I haven’t been in many relationships in my life, but I can tell that her aversion to athletes has to do with someone hurting her. People don’t normally swear off an entire class of men without good reasons.
Before I can ask, our food arrives. I thank the waitress and place my napkin in my lap. It’s a damn good thing my shirt is red or I’d be walking out with visible stains by the look at the heaping amount of pasta, red sauce, and meatballs.
“Did you want to explain what you said?”
She shakes her head no. “There’s no explanation needed. I just don’t date athletes.”
“I get it. Whatever happened, it must’ve been bad.”
Ainsley sets her fork down and places her hands in her lap. She looks at me wearily, opening and closing her mouth. Each time I think she’s about to say something, she changes her mind, only to try again.
She finally shakes her head and fiddles with the end of her fork. “I think that when you’re lied to repeatedly by someone you love, you lump everyone into one category. For me, that’s athletes.” Ainsley speaks without making eye contact.
I reach my hand across the table and place it on hers. It’s a bold move and one that will likely get me kicked in the nuts. “I like to pride myself on being different, better than the other guys out there. I don’t know if I should plead my case or not, but I don’t frequent the bars or pick up random chicks. I dated briefly in college but have focused mostly on my craft. I know you don’t want to give me a chance to prove differently, and I probably can’t sweet-talk you into it, but know…” My words trail off because I don’t know what I want her to know. I’m sure she can figure out that I like her. Hell, I’ve only asked her out three times now, and the only reason she’s here is because I bombarded her. I call her nightly, but it’s only to talk about Fort Myers and the places that I need to visit. I’m trying, but maybe I need to stop.
Ainsley stares down at her food, moving her fork around absentmindedly. Removing my hand from hers, I go back to eating. The conversation has ended, as there isn’t much to say anymore. I’m trying to bring down the barricade between us, and she seems intent on keeping it up.
Once people get it in their minds they don’t like something, or in this case someone, it’s hard to change their thought process. It sucks for me because I really think she’s beautiful, and I want to get to know her while I’m here in Florida.
I can only stomach a few more bites before I push my plate away and call for the check. Honestly, I want to get up an
d just leave her here, but that’s not how I was raised.
“You ready?”
She nods as I toss down a few twenties to cover the tab and wait for her to walk by me, following her out just as I followed her in. And even though she wants nothing to do with me, I open the car door for her and wait until she’s inside before shutting it. This time, I don’t run to the other side or even walk briskly. Each step I take is harder than the last because all I want to do is pull her out of the car and ask why. Why does she have to lump me in with her notion that we’re all liars? She doesn’t even know me well enough to say something like that.
But I don’t. Instead I get behind the wheel and drive her back to the zoo. And this time, I don’t get out to open the door for her. I continue to look ahead, waiting for her to say something.
“Thanks for lunch.”
“Sure, take care, Ainsley.”
She doesn’t have to tell me again that she’s not interested. The message has been sent and received. I’m pulling away before she even has a chance to shut the door, leaving her in the parking lot to watch me drive away. This isn’t how I expected the day to go, not even close. At best, I would’ve called her later, before practice, with some dumb excuse for directions just so I could hear her voice, but that won’t happen now, not ever again.
I can’t believe I thought I could change her mind by showing up at her job. That seriously was dumb thinking on my part.
The drive back to the training facility is quick, because I exceed the speed limit and traffic is light. When I get inside, I change quickly and head for the batting cages. It’s time to get some aggression out. I don’t know what the asshole looked like that hurt her, but his face is going to be on the ball that’s going to meet my bat repeatedly.
Way to ruin it for me, buddy.