Chapter Twenty-Three

Chris acted totally normal with Daphne in the days after what she started to think of in her head as, alternately, the day I made a complete ass of myself or the day Chris Kepler almost kissed me I'm positive of it, depending on what time of night she was lying awake thinking about it. He was professional; he answered her interview questions; he gave her a smile and a nod if they passed by each other in the clubhouse. Really, she could have no complaints.

She had complaints.

Somethinghad happened…right? The air around them had been so charged she'd been surprised she didn't get a static shock when he'd touched her. But then his touch had been so light, a mere whisper of his fingertips on her skirt, that sometimes she wondered if she'd imagined it. Sometimes she felt like she was walking around still waiting for that electricity to neutralize.

And she thought there had been something else building between them, something close to friendship. But was that real, a genuine rapport that developed in the, what, two times he'd given her a ride? Or was that just her projecting because she had been friends with him back when she was texting him as Duckie, a friendship that she'd completely fucked up?

A friendship that had definitely been more than that. A friendship that she missed.

Now, they were on the road in Minnesota. It was Daphne's first time traveling with the team, and her duties were lighter on the road, because she still reported on injury updates and did postgame interviews with the players, but she didn't have as much to do with the main broadcast. Today's game had ended by late afternoon and tomorrow's didn't start until almost twenty-four hours later. It would've been the perfect opportunity to go out and explore a little, take advantage of this rare chance she had to travel to all these cities she'd never been to.

Instead, she'd stayed in her hotel room all day, reading, until finally she realized she'd barely eaten. She pulled on an old college sweatshirt to disguise the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra, slid her feet into some flip-flops, and made her way down to the hotel bar to see if it was still serving appetizers.

She stopped short when she got there. She had no idea what the players did during any downtime in between games—bench-press more? Look at a clipboard with some x's and o's scribbled on it and talk strategy? Go out and try to find a way to blow off steam?

She'd imagined Chris doing all of those things—okay, she was pretty sure the x's and o's thing was more football, and she didn't like to think of the ways he might be blowing off steam, but the bench-press fantasy wasn't too bad. Still, in all her speculation she'd never thought he'd just be…sitting at the bar. Alone.

He seemed to be reading something on his phone, his elbow on the counter, his cheek against his fist as he scrolled through the phone with his other hand. Once whatever he was reading made the corner of his mouth twitch slightly, and that was when she realized she'd just been standing there, staring at his profile like a weirdo. She slid onto a barstool at the counter perpendicular to his—if he looked up, he'd surely see her, but she wasn't about to take the seat next to him or disrupt whatever solitude he was looking for.

"Get you anything?" the bartender asked, sliding a napkin and a bowl of nuts toward her.

"Oh," she said, realizing she'd barely had time to think about what she wanted. "Just a Coke to drink. Do you have, like, chips and hummus, anything like that?"

"We have spinach dip."

"Okay," she said. "That's fine. I'll take one order of that, please."

The bartender reached over to snag the paper menu that had been sitting right in front of Daphne the whole time. She didn't know how she hadn't noticed it, and wondered now if there was something else she should've ordered, something more filling than chips and dip, but she also knew she wasn't about to call the bartender back. She was chewing on her lower lip, trying to think about what to do, when she glanced up.

Chris was looking right at her.

She lifted her hand in an uncertain wave, feeling like a massive dork the minute she did it. She really hoped he didn't think she'd come to the bar specifically because of him—how was she to have known he'd be down here? But he just stood up from his stool and picked up his glass, gesturing toward the seat next to her with a do you mind? type of expression. She shook her head before worrying that made it look like no, don't sit here instead of no, I don't mind, so she patted the seat next to her in a move she knew would haunt her until the end of time. Such a dork.

"You're up late," he said.

"Ten? That's not that late."

He made a noncommittal noise, replacing the soggy napkin that had stuck to the bottom of his drink glass with a new one. A highlight from the game earlier that day briefly popped up on SportsCenter on the TV above the bar, and Chris watched it, a slight tic in his jaw the only sign that he had any reaction at all to the image of Beau face-planting in the middle of centerfield trying to make a catch that had cost them two runs. The program headed into a commercial break, and still Chris only sat there, idly stroking the condensation on the side of his glass with his right middle finger.

"Who's your best friend on the team?" she blurted before she even knew what she was saying. "Randy?"

"My best friend." He laughed, running his hand over his jaw, but there didn't seem to be a lot of humor in it. She couldn't tell if he was laughing at the idea that he had a best friend at all, or that she'd phrased the question in such a middle school kind of way. "Yeah, it would probably be Randy. He's a good guy. When he's not pranking people or saying inappropriate things to the sideline reporter."

So he did remember that brief incident in the clubhouse. Maybe that knowledge was what emboldened her, or maybe she was just at her absolute breaking point with Chris Kepler and his monosyllabic answers and polite little smiles, because she said, "Is there any rule against players and staff dating?"

That got Chris' hand to still on his drink. "Why do you ask?"

She wished she hadn't. It wasn't like her, to be so obvious. She'd been sincere when she told Chris during their text conversations that she wasn't sure if she was ready to date again after her divorce. She knew she was fragile, that whatever capacity she might've had to withstand being hurt had been depleted by the whole experience, and it might not refill again for a while. Maybe ever. How did you rebuild your reserves against being hurt?

But then Chris had made his own feelings clear over text—he was interested. In her. He'd wanted to meet her. And although Daphne knew all the reasons that shouldn't happen, all the reasons it couldn't without her revealing who she was and the way she'd deceived him, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She hadn't felt as close with another person in a long time as the way she'd felt while she was texting with Chris. She missed that. She craved it.

The bartender brought her food, and she welcomed the interruption to busy herself scooping spinach dip onto a chip, taking a bite. Maybe she could get through the entire basket before she'd have to answer his question.

Chris cleared his throat. "As far as I know, it's technically allowed. You'd probably have to formally disclose it to someone. And you're not team staff, technically—you work for the network. But there are unwritten rules."

"Unwritten rules?"

He looked over at her, his expression as serious as if they were talking about a career-ending injury. "They're very important in baseball. Don't mention a no-hitter while it's happening. Don't steal bases if you're ahead by a lot. Don't watch a home run too long, especially if you're ahead by a lot."

"Don't date a member of the staff or broadcast team?"

"I'm sure that's in there."

Okay, so he wasn't interested in her. At least not this version of her, sitting right in front of him. And could she really be surprised? She was wearing her rattiest old clothes, her hair was probably a mess, and there was still the fact of their first meeting between them, where she'd heckled him and made him cry. She went to pop another chip in her mouth and dribbled some spinach dip on her leggings. So, yeah, she couldn't be surprised.

"Maybe it's different because you're only filling in on a temporary basis," Chris said. "I don't know. If you asked Randy to grab a drink after a game or something, I'm sure he'd be thrilled."

Daphne swallowed too fast, causing a sharp corner of chip to catch in her throat. She tried to wash it down with a big gulp of her Coke, but that only made it worse, and it was a couple excruciating minutes of coughing in between taking smaller sips before she was able to recover enough to say, "Randy?"

She'd given him the thumbs-up during her coughing fit to let him know she was okay, but he still looked concerned. "Yeah," he said. "He told me once he thinks you're cute. If that helps."

And she thought Randy was objectively adorable, but she would no sooner think of asking him out than of dating her brother. "I'm not interested in Randy."

His middle finger was back to doing circles on his drink, and he was staring at the glass like he could put a hole in it. "No?"

She had the sudden urge to laugh, and she tried to hold it back, knowing it was an inappropriate response to the situation. But turns out ten was kind of late, she was exhausted, she was in a brand-new city where she'd only seen the inside of a ballpark and this hotel, and now she was propositioning a guy at a bar—not just any guy, but Chris Kepler—which she'd never done before in her life and would never do again after making such a mess of it this time. She needed to go. Take her chips and dip back up to her room, or leave them, whatever, anything to get out of the awkwardness of this moment.

"I should probably—" she started to say, at the same time as Chris said, "There should—"

She paused, waited for him to continue. But he seemed to be doing the same for her, so finally she prompted him to go on. "There should what?"

He looked over at her, his gaze dragging over her face, her mouth, down her throat to her chest, where suddenly she was positive he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. She felt her nipples tighten in response to that single sweeping look, and instead of her usual instinct to cross her arms over her chest, to hide away from the attention, she found herself sitting up a little straighter. Let him look. She wanted him to.

His eyes when they met hers again were hot, like he knew exactly what she was doing. "There should probably be some actual ground rules, if a player was with someone who worked with the team. Not just unwritten ones."

Daphne licked her lips. "Actual ground rules. Okay. Such as?"

"Probably easier if it's not made public," he said. "At least to start. Minimize any potential impact on either person's job."

"That makes sense," she said. "When it's work time, focus on work. Set some boundaries."

"Boundaries are good."

She thought about the actual logistics of sneaking around with him, the way her brother and Layla would react if they found out. Probably not well. Kim would reiterate all of her concerns about Daphne putting too much on the possibility of a relationship with Chris, which Daphne really didn't want to hear. It would be better if she didn't have to worry about that part of things, at least for now.

"Like maybe they should only be together when the team is on the road," she said. "So there's a clearer line."

"Exclusive?"

She snuck a sidelong look at him, trying to figure out how he meant the question. Was he asking because he wanted to be exclusive? Or because he didn't?

"Yes," she said finally. "But with an easy out clause. If either met someone else or the arrangement wasn't working anymore, they could end it. No questions asked. No strings."

When she'd entered the bar, she'd seen the light golden color of his drink and thought maybe it was some type of liquor. But now that she was up close on it, she could see the bubbles. She was pretty sure it was ginger ale. Whatever else you could say, they were both stone-cold sober while they were having this conversation.

"So just sex?"

Once again she wished she could decipher how he meant the question. She'd never had a casual relationship before. She didn't know if she'd know how to even have one. But Kim's words also echoed in her head, and she was scared by the idea of trying to make more out of it than it was. She didn't want to be the person face-planting in centerfield thinking she was going to make the catch.

"That's probably easiest," she said slowly, still thinking it through. "Friends with benefits."

She hoped he understood that it was as much about the friendship as it was about the benefits.

He scrubbed his hand over his face. "Don't get me wrong," he said. "I want to. God, do I want to—"

Daphne was so surprised by him breaking their little game, by that explosive use of I, that she almost missed what he was actually saying. But once she caught up, realized he was rejecting her, she felt her face heat and her heart speed up. Fight or flight kicked in and who was she kidding, she'd always choose flight. She wanted to be out of there as fast as possible. The only problem was she hadn't settled her bill yet.

"No, right." She tried to snag the bartender's attention, but he'd turned away to take another customer's order. "It would be extremely irresponsible. There's a reason it's frowned upon."

"It's not that, it—"

Finally the bartender turned around and Daphne was able to give him the tight smile and eye contact that hopefully was universal body language for check, please! Because thinking that Chris just didn't want to break any rules—unwritten or otherwise—was vastly preferable to the alternative that he just didn't think she was worth breaking those rules for. She really didn't need him to say it.

She thanked the bartender as she added the tip and signed the receipt. There were still about half of her chips left in the basket, and it felt like a damn shame to walk away from them, but she didn't have much of an appetite anyway.

"Wait." He reached out to touch her arm, before drawing back, his hand clenched. "It's nothing to do with you. It's me. I'm all f—" He swallowed whatever he was about to say, then set his hand next to hers on the counter, their pinkies almost touching. "There's someone else."

Whatever she'd expected him to say, it wasn't that. "You're seeing someone else?"

"Not exactly," he said. "No. I'm not. It's over. Or it wasn't anything. I don't know."

He ran an agitated hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up a little in the back. It was so rare to see him ruffled in that way; she almost wanted to run her own hands through it, smooth it back into place. If the whole thing wasn't so sad, it would almost be hilarious. He was turning her down because he was still hung up on someone else—only that someone else was also her. She was touched that he would be so loyal to someone he'd never even met, someone who'd ended it almost a month ago. She was sick inside from what she'd done, this impossible situation she'd created with her own deception.

"It's fine," she said. "You're right, it's late, I'm tired, I guess I was—" The word lonely stuck in her throat, too pathetic to speak out loud. It also would make it sound like that was the only reason she'd wanted him, as some last-ditch companionship, when there was more to it than that. More that she couldn't even express, because he didn't know.

She gave him a smile that she hoped came across as genuine. "I'll see you tomorrow at the game. And don't worry, I won't—" She started to say that she wouldn't make it weird during any interview, but that should go without saying, surely? Eventually she'd get over the mortification of this night. She needed to just finish out the season, keep Layla's seat warm, and then go back to her regular life where she didn't have to think about the rules of baseball, unwritten or otherwise.

"Daphne—" he said, but she was already turning away, hoping she could make it out of there before she did something to make it even worse, like start to cry.