Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

QUINCY – AGE 27 {RIPLEY – AGE 22}

I saw Ripley in the stands at my game last night. She was there the last time I pitched too. She wasn't with anyone. She simply came to watch me play.

It's been two weeks since that night in the club. I've contemplated reaching out to her but seeing her come to my game last night convinced me I should. That, and I can't be bothered with other women. There's only one on my mind.

I have her address and find myself knocking on her door the next morning. She opens it red-faced while wiping tears streaming down her face.

Her shoulders fall when she sees me. "I'm not up for this, Quincy. Not today."

I push my way in and close the door. She throws her hands up in exasperation and sarcastically snipes, "By all means, come in. "

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing that impacts you."

I don't like seeing her upset. "Tell me what's happening. I'm not leaving until you tell me who has upset you. If it's a man, just give me a name and an address and I'll take care of it."

She narrows her eyes. "Who are you? Everyone sees you as laid-back, carefree, and chill. You're anything but."

I lift my backward baseball hat and run my fingers through my hair before replacing the hat on my head. "I don't give a fuck about anyone else right now. Tell. Me. Now."

She plops down on her couch and leans back, letting her shoulders fall. "Let it go. It's not a man. That's all you need to know."

I have this innate need to look out for her. I'm not leaving until she tells me, even if I have to coax it out of her.

I sit down near her and pull her bare feet to my lap.

She pinches her eyebrows together. "What are you doing?"

"If you won't share it with me, at least I can help you relax. I'll rub your feet."

She skeptically lays back on the pillow before a small smile finds her lips. "Does the great Quincy Abbott have a foot fetish? I didn't know this."

I let out a laugh. "No, not in the least. Your feet are ugly. I'm just being a nice guy."

She feigns shock. "My feet aren't ugly." She grimaces. "Though once a season starts, I can't say they're beautiful."

I chuckle. "At least they're not smelly. As someone who shares a locker room with a lot of sweaty men, I value feet that aren't smelly." I pull them closer to me. "Let me help you relax."

I start rubbing her feet, and she lets out a moan. "Oh god, that feels good."

"Sex feels good too. That helps with stress." I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

She giggles. "Nice try. Not happening."

I sigh. "Fine, we'll do the small talk thing. You guys start your games this week, right?"

"Yes." She mumbles, "Theoretically."

"It seems like you've made friends."

"I have. I suppose I'm closest to Emily, the girl your friend was with. I think they're still hanging out."

"Heads up, he's a bit of a bullshitter."

"What do you mean?"

"He promises forever to get women into bed. He says the same crap to every woman." In a mock deep voice, I say, "I can really see this becoming something, baby. I've always dreamed of finding a woman like you. You're so special. Blah blah blah."

She cringes. "Ugh. He definitely said those things to her. What a dick."

"It's an asshole move for sure."

"What do you promise women, Quincy?"

"A good time and nothing more. I'm very clear up front."

"What if you meet someone special?"

I continue rubbing her feet. "Not looking. What about you?"

"I dated a few guys my first two years of college but was with the same guy for the last two years. We both knew we had an expiration date though. It was a healthy, good relationship. We're still friends."

"Will you tell me why you're upset? Please. Maybe I can help."

She blows out a breath. "Okay. Just don't stop rubbing. It feels amazing."

"There are other areas I could rub that would feel even better."

She shakes her head. "Not happening, Abbott."

I smile as I continue rubbing her feet. "Tell me what's going on. What made you so upset?"

She lifts her head off the sofa pillow as I see sadness take over. "Just my mom being…my mom. You know how she is."

That could mean one of two things. Ripley's mom was always either flaking out on her or bed-hopping from man to man.

I lift my eyebrows waiting for a real answer.

She sinks her head back down and lets out a breath. "Fine. You know how we moved from Canada when I was five, right?"

"Yes. Of course."

"When I woke up this morning, I had a message from the team owner. Apparently, I'm not a legal citizen of the US. My nutjob of a mother never bothered to file the appropriate paperwork. She did it for herself, but not me. When I called her just now, she said she didn't think she needed to because I was five. So I've lived here illegally for seventeen years. If I'm not here legally, I can't play professional softball."

"What about when you applied to college? No one picked up on it then? "

She shrugs. "I have no idea. I guess illegal aliens can have social security numbers. Who knew? I didn't know anything about this until about an hour ago."

"What about a work visa? I'm sure the team can help make that happen."

"Our games start next week, and that will take months, meaning I can't play this season. And because I've been here illegally for so many years, I might not get it at all." The tears start up again and trickle down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do. I suppose I need an attorney. I can't really afford it, but what else am I supposed to do?"

"I'll pay for an attorney."

She shakes her head. "Absolutely not."

I hate seeing her in pain. I wrack my brain, thinking, until it hits me. The perfect solution. "I've got an…idea."

She pinches her eyebrows together with a hopeful expression. "What is it?"

"Just hear me out. It's a little out of the box. Let's…" I swallow. "Let's get married."

Her chin drops. "What? Are you nuts?"

"I'm not kidding. Let's get married. You'll be legal if you're my wife. That solves all your problems. Immediately."

"I…I…We can't just get married."

I stop massaging her feet and cross my arms. "Why not?"

She sits up on the couch and runs her fingers through her hair before turning her head to me. "I'm not getting married under these circumstances. Why would you even want to?"

I shrug. "I'm never really getting married or having kids. If I can help you out, it's not a big deal. It fixes everything for you."

"Why don't you ever want to get married and have kids? I've never heard about this before."

"Because I refuse to turn into my parents who made their kids feel like an afterthought. Who never prioritized us."

"I know your parents weren't around much, but they love you guys."

"Maybe, but they love their business more. My job requires me to travel. I'd rather not have kids than have them and make them feel the way I felt, like I came in second place. So I'm not having any. Same goes for a wife. I can't exactly work with my wife like my father does; therefore, I'm not getting married."

"What about when you retire? You'll change your mind. You'll want a wife and kids then."

"I'm a pitcher. I can play for a long time. I could play until I'm in my forties. Plenty of pitchers have done it. That's a long time away. And what else am I suited for? I'll end up coaching or being an analyst when I retire. I'll still need to travel. Nope. Never getting married for real and definitely never having kids. I don't want them."

"That's silly. You'll feel differently one day."

"I promise I won't. I'm serious about this. I've seen several urologists about having a vasectomy. No one will perform the procedure at my age, but in a few years, I'll be getting it done to ensure that it never accidentally happens to me. That's my biggest nightmare."

She opens and closes her mouth several times. "But I want to get married and have kids one day."

"Then we'll get divorced. It's just a paper marriage. People do it all the time. "

"The immigration agency would know it's fake."

"We're not strangers. We've known each other for more than fifteen years. No one will question it."

She's silent for a moment before shaking her head. "I don't think I can do that. I want to marry for love. I want something real."

"Do whatever you want, but this solves your problem, and whenever you meet someone, we'll simply end our arrangement."

She quietly contemplates for several long minutes.

"Would we tell anyone?"

"No, of course not. It stays between us."

"I've never kept a secret from Arizona in my life."

I lift my eyebrows. "So you told her that you lost your virginity to me?" I smile. "That you snuck into my bedroom in the middle of the night and seduced me?"

Her mouth opens in shock, and she pokes me in the chest. "What? You seduced me."

" You came to me . Not the other way around."

She scrunches her nose. "You were naked and waiting."

"Because I know how irresistible I am to you."

She rolls her eyes.

"Regardless, I know you haven't told her because she would tear me a new one if she found out."

She's quiet before admitting, "She thinks I lost my virginity to my first college boyfriend."

I smile in triumph. "I thought so. This isn't a real marriage. We'll fuck when we want to fuck and won't when we don't. We're both obviously free to date other people."

"Who says I want to fuck you?"

"I know you want to fuck me. I felt it all over my leg the other night." I smirk. "I refuse to wash my jeans. It's a constant reminder."

She lets out a deep breath. "I don't know if there's room for you, me, and your ego in a marriage."

I chuckle. "I think the three of us could get along quite well." I take her hand in mine. "Look, we're friends. We've been friends for a long time. I'm in a position to help you. This is a quick fix to your dilemma. It will be our secret, and when the day comes that you want to get married to someone else, we'll quietly divorce. No one will be the wiser."

She sighs. "It seems so wrong." She nibbles on her lower lip. I'm jealous of that damn lip. "So…a friends with benefits kind of thing?" She's quick to add, "But no benefits."

I twist my face. "More like a marriage with benefits. The benefits of having sex with each other or other people whenever we please. Honestly? It's revolutionary."

"You're a real pioneer in fucked up situations." She shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm considering this. If we get married, I'm not suddenly having sex with you. It might be better if we don't cross that line…again. This way when it's time to end it, there won't be any feelings involved."

"My offer has nothing to do with sex and certainly nothing to do with feelings. I'll never catch feelings for anyone, and you can't catch feelings for me. Like I said, we'll have sex if and when we want. We're otherwise free to see other people. The ball is in your court. I'm always willing as long as you can separate the physical from the emotional. Physical is all I'm ever offering."

Tears fill her eyes. "I can't believe it's come to this."

I wrap my arm around her. "Don't cry, Shortcake. I hate it. I'm just trying to help."

She relaxes her head into my chest. "I know. Thank you for offering, I just don't know that I can do it."

After several hours of continued conversation and contemplation, Ripley St. James and I officially get married.