The Catching Kind (8 page)

"Hailey, you have no idea how nice you are. You're just one of those girls. Let me guess, everyone's best friend in high school. You didn't date much, but always had guys around you. If something went wrong, everyone knew to call you because you'd bail them out. Straight As with the occasional B, but you didn't work too hard at it—just hard enough. Your teachers liked you except the ones who were trying too hard to be cool. Them you annoyed because they didn't know what to do with someone who actually liked books and words and learning. Your parents trusted you so much that if there was a video of a bank robbery with you on it, they’d still believe you when you told them you didn't do it. You've been in like twenty weddings—at least a third of them as the maid of honor. You date nice guys who are a little dull, but you never have to worry about them. You'd never blame someone who was at fault for hitting your pet because they already have to live with it."

I wasn't quite sure what to say. He was close—too close—on too much of that. And I was still trying to figure him out. 

"How'd I do?"

I wanted to lie, to tell him not even close. But there was too much truth there.

"I didn't have a ton of guy friends, but you're right about the ones I did have. I am still close with a lot of my girlfriends. The weddings might be a slight exaggeration. My parents would still believe me if they were
at
the bank. So, I guess all-in-all...not bad."

He grinned a new grin. I hate to say almost…
boyish
. Obviously he was more than pleased with himself. 

He threw his arm around the back of his chair, stretched out, looking just a tad too arrogant… even for him. "You know you want to."

"Want to what?"

"You know you want to try. But you’re going to be wrong or find out I'm not the guy you thought I was. Or,” he leaned toward me, lowering his voice, “maybe I’m a good liar."

Okay, now he was just pushing my buttons. The guessing was one thing. The reading my mind was a whole other level of intrusion.

"How do I know you'll be honest?"

"I'll make you a deal—if you're up for it." He leaned forward again in what probably looked like an intimate conversation to others.

"What's the deal?" And exactly how worried I should be?

"For the next three weeks we'll be completely honest with each other knowing the other one will never tell anyone. That includes friends, family, tabloids, anonymous blogs...” He paused, giving me a look that would make an angry fan back down. “Putting things in books."

Oh. Ouch. 

"I'm not sure I can promise that last one. I put everything in books. I don't even realize I'm doing it sometimes. You just hear stuff and it's so good it gets worked around in your head and some version of it comes out on the page."

"No wonder your parents wouldn't believe the surveillance tapes." He shook his head as if this were something to pity. “You’re way too honest for your own good. Even before we decided on our deal.” 

"I mean, I can
try
. But that's not always how it works."

"Could you promise to not overtly and knowingly use specifics from our deal?"

I could do that. Anything that specific—or overt—would be obvious. I'd pick it up on my read-thru if I didn't notice it while writing. 

"Okay. Deal. But, you have to know everything is research to me.”

“Fine." 

It was my turn to lean forward, watching him closely for a tell, for anything that would help read him like he'd read me. "You were raised in a strict but loving home. Your mom stayed home, but she did stuff on the side. Lots of volunteering, maybe some part-time work. Your brother was your best friend after he was done being your biggest enemy. You had plenty of girlfriends through high school, but somewhere around a year before college you settled on one. Together, you guys were voted pretty much everything. Most popular, best looking, homecoming king and queen. You broke it off when you went to college where you immediately fell in with the jocks and cheerleaders. You annoyed the heck out of your professors and tutors because they all realized how smart you were but you stayed focused on baseball. Not that you didn't do well. Bs were good enough for you. The occasional C wouldn't kill you. You've never been in a serious relationship. That isn't just because of the playboy thing. It's mostly because you know you're not in a place in your career and life to settle down so you don't want to get into something and blow it because that would be too much like losing—instead you get into lots of little things and then ease out of them. Politely.”

I have no idea how I was suddenly sure about the last bit. Maybe it was because since we’d started tonight, I'd watched him treat everyone—no matter their job—with respect. Everyone who wasn’t forcing him into a deal he hadn’t made got nothing but consideration and respect. Maybe it was because I wanted to believe he was a nicer guy than the tabloids made him out to be. Whatever it was, I was pretty sure the playboy thing was a side benefit because he wasn't ready to settle down and not the reason he wasn't settling down.

Or, at least I’d come to like him just enough to hope that was true.

Connor took a long drink from his ice water before putting it down.

"Not even close."

"What?" The table closest to us looked my way. I'd been so sure I was on to something with some of my things. "That can't be true. I have to be close on some of it."

"Okay, the family stuff was pretty right on. In high school I was...I grew four inches senior year and was still shorter than the average shortstop. I grew another five from freshman year of college into sophomore."

I did some quick reverse math and came up with the only thing I could: Connor had been a runt.

"College I was red shirted as a freshman—so I sat out the whole year. They were hoping I'd keep growing. Some of the coaches had no clue how I'd ended up on the team at my size. But my batting average...well, that college record still hasn't been broken. And I was great at fielding, quicker than I looked."

Not at all what I expected. But I could see it. He'd talked about the scholarship and the drugs already. I could see him being a kid who went to college to go into business and accidentally grew into stardom. It seemed to almost make sense he'd accidentally become a baseball god.

"And the rest?" I asked.

He may have been open about his family and his ball playing, but he shut down as soon as I asked about the relationships.

"Not everyone is built for the picket fence, Hailey."

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means people assume that young, successful athletes that date around are trying to fill a void. Being single is somehow the equivalent of filling up the hole in your heart with drugs or booze or some other adrenaline rush. But the thing is,” he leaned in, lowering his voice and I realized he was telling me exactly the truth as he saw it. “The thing is that some people are just happy. They’re not lonely being single. They’re not feeling the loss of a soul mate or that their house isn’t a home because they live in it alone. I
like
my life. I have a great life with lots of opportunities to do things I couldn’t do if I were married. Travel, sports, not worrying about getting traded. When this is done I’ll do things like rock climb and jump out of planes and other things I’d feel nervous about if someone was counting on me.” 

He took a long drink of his water, studying me over it. Probably to ensure I was taking in what he was saying. 

“Okay,” I said, because it seemed like what I
should
say.

“I’m not saying,” he rushed on. “That marriage is bad. I just can’t imagine that being married to anyone, to be with someone forever, would make me happier than I am now.”

I started running through all the reasons that could be. Horrible childhood, tragic love dying in his youth, the—

“Hailey.” He interrupted my thought process. “You’re doing it again. Let it go. Just, believe me. I know me. I’m not looking for someone to fill a void. There’s no void, so…”

He trailed off and shrugged, as if that said it all.

I guess for him, it did.

And that was obviously all I was getting on that. 

I still wanted there to be something else. The romance writer in me couldn’t believe that some people were just happy with their lives without that One Person.

When I thought about it, that wasn't a lie. Not everyone was built for the picket fence.

But was Connor?

Who knew...and, really, who cared?

When this was over, he could go back to all the non-picket-fencing he wanted to.

He'd promised to be honest and play fair, and that was all a girl could really expect from a pro-player...I mean, pro baseball player anyway.

SEVEN

Our meal continued with lots of light chatter and relaxed laughter. Connor was easy to be around and I found myself telling him funny stories about Jenna, Kasey, and Kasey’s friend Jayne who we’d all basically adopted. He wanted to hear more about Franklin and wove us around danger zones that would make me sad.

He told me about his brother Gavin moving out here and getting a house a few blocks from him while claiming it was to keep him under control. Connor said it was probably so Gavin could live it up with him.

I suspected it had more to do with them being inseparable for so long that living five states apart didn't really work...and he just plain missed his brother. 

I was trying to convince myself to say no to dessert when a squeaky voice behind me interrupted my chocolate-focused concentration.

"Mr. Ryan, my mom said it wasn't you but my dad said I could come ask if it was. And I
knew
it was you." The boy gave Connor a smile that screamed
hero worship
. "I was wondering if you'd sign my menu. I asked the waitress if that would be okay."

"Sure." Connor borrowed my ever-present pen and turned back to the boy. "What's your name?"

"Jeremy." The little boy breathed his name out like it was a prayer, a crazed hope that this was real. 

I'd seen it before. The magic of meeting your hero. My friend Jenna had a huge following and I watched again and again as girls came up to hug her and take pictures. They talked about her character Chloe as if she were a friend they'd grown up with. 

"So, Jeremy, do you play baseball?"

"Yes. On my town team. We got to play a team from one town over for the first time last week."

"Wow. You’re already playing other towns? What position do you play?" Connor hadn't even picked up the menu he was supposed to be signing yet. It was as though he was having the most important conversation in the world and couldn't have any of his focus split.

"Catcher."

"
Catcher?
” Shock and awe. “They always amaze me. How do you keep your balance down there all the time?"

The boy giggled, but I guess it was a good question because he went on to explain his squat to Connor, the boy talking, the man nodding.

"Well, let me sign this for you. I don't want to keep you from your meal.”

He picked up the menu and spent some time over it before handing it off to Jeremy. While he was writing, a man wandered over.

"Jeremy, I said there and back. I'm sure they'd like to get back to their meal."

I laughed at the accidental echo, both used to politely send a child in the right direction. Amazing how some adults didn't realize hero worship always outranked lasagna.

"It's not a problem.” Connor stood and offered his hand to Jeremy’s dad. “Jeremy was telling us about the difficulties of being a catcher. Lots of balance needed for that."

The father looked grateful as Connor handed over the menu—and a little surprised.

I'd never thought about what that playboy image might do to his relationship with his younger fans. Obviously, it was something Connor took care to work against.

The dad smiled then, with a quick glance over toward his wife, he lowered his voice and asked, "Do you think we could get a picture? I'm sure Jeremy would love it and the guys at work would get a kick out of it. We're all huge fans. We were even rooting for you when that thing went down with Ackerman's girlfriend a few..."

Jeremy’s dad glanced my way, suddenly realizing it probably wasn't the best topic of conversation.

"Oh, sorry about that." Connor rose and came around the table as I stood to say hello. "Guys, this is Hailey. We'd just started seeing each other then. Obviously you can see the Ackerman thing got blown way out of proportion."

"This is your girlfriend?" Jeremy eyed me like there was a chance I was an Imperial Stormtrooper.

Connor laid a hand on my shoulder. "Yup." 

Now Jeremy’s dad was eyeing me too.

"Isn't she a little short?” Only a child could say something like that as a fact instead of an attack. “All those pictures have you with really tall, skinny girls."

It took everything in me to not blurt out,
I am not fat
. But I held it in and gave myself mental permission to have dessert as a reward for being polite to a seven-year-old boy.

"Well, a lot of them were. But then I met Hailey. She's smarter, funnier, and more fun than those other girls. Plus, I think she's really pretty."

I grinned. Even knowing it wasn't the truth, it was nice to be upgraded to pretty.

"Does she play ball?"

"Nope. She tells stories."

"Like lies?"

I love children. He was on the younger side and I really did envy their ability—and willingness—to ask anything.

"No. Like fairy tales...or horror stories. Depends on how you look at it." Connor winked at me, letting me in on the joke about my own happy, romance'y books.

"Did you want me to take the picture?” I asked, trying to get the attention off me. “That way you can all be in it."

The dad looked so excited he didn't have to figure out how to ask, that I thought he was going to hug me. Connor seemed a pro at this too. He angled everyone so they'd be tight in the picture and wouldn't look awkward with the height difference. Then he asked to take one just him and
his buddy, Jeremy
.