12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Charlotte

Nothing about giving Andrew a drum lesson is easy. From the way he smells like cinnamon chewing gum and spicy cologne to the way his body tenses when I'm close to him. I've manipulated his hands into a better position several times, but I suspect the pain in his shoulder might make it difficult to maintain. Even so, he does his best and doesn't sound too bad.

"I'm never going to understand this," he admits.

"Stop, you're doing fine." I lean around from behind him again and take his hands. My hair falls into his face for the tenth time, so I flip it over my shoulder. This move exposes my neck, inviting his gaze. The flex of his jaw and sharp intake of breath are indicators he wants to sink his teeth into that exposed flesh.

I am definitely not giving off this will never happen vibes. I don't mean to be this close to him, but I also don't not mean to. There's a pull to him I can't deny no matter how much I want to, but is attraction enough?

Andrew licks his lips and refocuses on the beat. After a few seconds, I realize I'm staring at those muscled forearms like I might want to take a bite of them in retaliation for the neck staring. All in all, sticking around for a lesson was a horrible idea if I want to put some distance between him and my growing attraction to baseball players.

Maybe I can stick to disliking hockey players and make an exception for a different sport? I shake my head and crack my neck, once again exposing the tender flesh. This time, Andrew clears his throat and stands, putting some distance between us.

"Uh, I think I should probably ice my shoulder for a bit."

He's lying, but I'm not about to call him on it since his reason for doing so is precisely the same reason I avert my eyes and scratch my neck. But those arms? Yeah, they are the kind of arms a woman can't help imagining wrapped around her, locking her in an embrace she can't escape. Not that she'd ever want to. My mind spirals thinking of what it might be like to let him do it. To give in and let him pull me in tight, to kiss me, and let him make me forget why I don't want anything to do with athletes.

My face warms and prickles. Good gracious. I've got to get out of here before I do stupid things like throw caution to the wind and leap into the unknown with Andrew Rossi.

"So," he says but nothing more.

"So, yeah." I don't know what I'm supposed to do. It feels like there is a lot of unfinished conversation between us I'm not about to bring up. The only thing I can think to do is offer another lesson. "Maybe we can have another lesson next week?"

I don't miss the way his face falls like I just stole his most favorite possession.

"I'd like that. Thanks for showing me the basics. I'll try to practice this week so I don't forget what you already showed me." His eyes wander everywhere in the living room but to me. Eventually, they land on the side table. "Oh, don't forget Ginger's leash."

I accept the purple lead but find it impossible to pull away when his fingers brush against mine. He doesn't let go. There is no time in which two people holding on to a leash together for this long is normal, but neither of us seems ready to break the slight connection. Finally, he swallows and drops his hand to his side before shoving them both into his pockets.

"It was nice spending time with you." I don't know why I say that, but it seems like I need to fill the space while I gather my things. Ginger is asleep on the floor beside Goblin, her new best friend, so I whistle for her.

"I enjoyed it too. I'll order us some pizza for our next lesson." He rocks back and forth on his heels a few times.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a strict diet?" I remember Rory ate on a particular rotation and avoided pizza at all costs.

"Meh, I have time to work it off before I'm back on the mound. What's a few slices?" He grins, reminding me that behind that disappointment and sadness is a man who had grand plans for me. I can't help but wonder how pure they were, how honest and sincere. Going down that rabbit hole right now is a bad idea, so I shake Ginger awake and clip the lead to her collar. She yawns and stretches before shaking out her fur coat and wiggling her nubber.

"Maybe next time we'll just start out here so we don't have to chase them all over the neighborhood," he says. "That was worrisome, actually. Everything else was great but…" He fades as if remembering that wasn't the only thing about our date that went wrong. "Let me walk you to your car. It's dark out."

I almost decline because my car is parked two feet from his door in the driveway, but I find I'd like to have another few minutes with him before leaving. Call me a glutton for punishment, but maybe I need to see how he behaves in all situations before I write him off completely.

"Sure. Sounds nice." Nice? Ugh, I sound as if I've never spoken to a man before in my life.

Andrew opens the front door and steps out, then holds it open for me. It's a gorgeous night, clear and star-studded with a balmy breeze. I breathe in the fresh air and turn my face up to the moonlight.

"It's beautiful out here tonight. I love a good clear night with a big old bright moon," I admit.

"Duly noted," he whispers. "I do too. There's nothing like a bright moon shining down on the field. When I was a kid, we—I mean the neighborhood kids and me—used to go out to this abandoned field that one of the fathers would mow for us. We'd head out first thing in the morning with water and a sack of sandwiches and wouldn't come back until the street lights came on." He shakes his head and smiles. "Hard to see the lights from the field under that summer moon, so we usually got our butts handed to us for being late, but man, it was worth it. A whole day with nothing but friends and baseball."

"You must really like it. Baseball, I mean." Ginger sits beside me and waits patiently for me to say goodbye to Andrew, which is getting more difficult by the minute.

He nods and leans back against my car. "I do. I knew when I was six that I wanted to play professionally, and I've always had a killer curveball."

He's not wrong. He sure threw one at me, but I'm starting to wonder if it might be worth trying to catch after all.

Andrew turns his head toward me, more relaxed than he was inside. "I'll make you a deal. You show me how to play drums, and I'll teach you how to out-pitch those cocky teenage boys in your class. It'll give you something to show them up besides your stellar math skills."

I burst into laughter, which means I can't help snorting again. Picturing myself throwing a baseball is harder than picturing myself on skates—and I've already tried that last one. It did not go well.

"I'd be worried I'd hit you with it or something." I lean back on my car with him and gaze up at the stars. "There is not a single athletic bone in my body unless you count jogging with a dog."

"Hey, it takes some skill to jog with a dog. Have you ever had to jump a leash because Ginger ran in front of you?"

"Oh, my gosh, yes. Ever jump the whole dog?"

He chuckles and lowers his gaze to his shoes. "I tried. Ended up busting my face on the sidewalk. That was a pretty miserable few weeks while it healed."

I nudge him with my shoulder. "I'm sure even busted up your face was still gorgeous."

Oh. My. Gosh. Why did I say that? That does not say don't pursue me. It also perfectly exhibits how incredibly dorky I can be around men. It isn't like it came out in a sultry, appealing way. Nope. It was complete with a laugh and a snort and me almost falling over because Andrew is solid. He didn't even budge when I practically threw all of my weight into the nudge.

He says nothing. Nothing. But the way he looks at me says he is cataloguing everything I say for future use against me. He clenches his jaw but it's not from anger or frustration. No. It's amusement, and he's working hard not to smile. Kill me now. Just let a star shoot from the sky and take me out before I say more to get myself in deep.

Silence falls between us as we both stargaze for a while. It's comfortable. I don't feel the need to rush but it is getting late. I have school in the morning and a bunch of unruly kids to convince they should listen to me yet again.

"I should head home and get some sleep," I whisper.

Maybe I hope he doesn't hear me and I can spend just a little more time in his orbit, soaking up the view without any commitment, but he pushes off the car and reaches for the handle. I let him open my door and I load Ginger, all the while wondering what I should say to him. How do I say goodbye when it might mean that's it. No more. He might decide he doesn't want to see me again for anything, not a drum lesson or even time spent as friends. It makes my heart race. All that panicked thumping has to mean something but what, I can't decide yet. I'm still too freshly wounded to make rational decisions or decipher my feelings.

I have to say something. It's time to get into the driver's seat and leave him in the rearview mirror. I turn, expecting him to be holding the door, but he's closer. He's in my personal bubble, increasing my heart rate still more. I hold my breath. I'm not sure what he's about to do or whether I want to stop him, so…I wait.

"You've got…a stick or something…turn around one sec." He gently manipulates me around with one hand on my shoulder and the other on my upper arm. "Yep. Must have picked this up when we trudged through the hedges." He plucks something from my hair and releases me, so I turn back around.

Stupid stick.

Did I want him to make a move? Yes. Do I need him to? Maybe. Would it have been a good idea? A thousand times…probably not. Yes. No. Ugh, I can't figure out where my mind is right now, which is how I know it is well past time for me to bolt. I can't risk my heart, but more than that, I can't risk his either. This subtle flirting with him isn't fair after telling him we can't see each other romantically.

"Thanks," I mumble. "See you next week?" I sit and hide myself in the shadow of my car. Ginger yawns and crawls into the back while I buckle up.

"Yeah. You can message me whenever you're free. Drive safely," he says and shuts my door.

I wave awkwardly and pull out of his drive while vowing not to look in the mirror. If he's turned his back and is headed inside, it might make me sad that he's not pining for me. If he is standing there, I might turn around and beg him to kiss me. Make me forget that I'm supposed to hate athletes. Make me love pitchers and hot dogs and popcorn and all things baseball.

So I don't look. It's pure torture, but I don't. Instead, I focus on the road, head back to my lonely house, and wonder if I made a huge mistake.