Chapter Twenty-Seven

Daphne knew she owed her friend more than just a coffee for checking in on Milo while she was out of town, but that was all Kim would accept. "I'd say you could buy me a book," she added. "But you know I'm a Kindle Unlimited girl."

Daphne also knew that her friend would die for all the Kindle Unlimited–worthy highlights from her trip, but Kim's last words about Chris still rang in Daphne's head. And you're stuck in another Justin situation where you worship the ground he walks on and he barely even thinks about you.

She had to make sure she didn't let herself get too deep with Chris, that she didn't mistake it for more than what it was. They had agreed to have some fun together, hook up on the road only, no strings, that was it.

"We should be able to find you something here," Kim said, placing her coffee on a shelf while she crouched down to check out the Dating Relationships section of the bookstore. "Jesus, they still sell Men Are from Mars…?"

"I think I'm good," Daphne said. She felt a twinge of guilt at not being more forthcoming with her friend. Normally she'd tell Kim everything. "Didn't you want to look at the stationery?"

Kim was a sucker for cute stationery, and so they spent almost an hour looking through the fancy notebooks, testing out fancy pens on scratch pads, and marveling at how much money it all cost. Daphne was trying to see if she could smell a Scratch 'n Sniff sticker set through the packaging when Kim held up a notecard set, looking suddenly shy.

"I'm thinking of trying to design this kind of stuff," Kim said. "Open an Etsy shop or something. You know I would've studied art if my mom had let me."

They'd been communications majors together in college, Daphne because she thought it was one way to get at what she wanted to do, and Kim because her mom had thought it would be more prudent to study something marketing-adjacent rather than artistic. But Kim had always had a knack for simple, eye-catching design. One of the casualties of Daphne's marriage had been a beautiful print Kim had made them as a wedding present, featuring the details of the day with a border of vines.

"I think that's an awesome idea," Daphne said. "You should one hundred percent go for it."

"Yeah?" Kim still looked a little uncertain, which was so unlike her normal brashness that Daphne rushed to assure her.

"Hell yeah," she said. "I'll be your first customer, but definitely not your last."

"You've inspired me, you know. The way you've really gone for it with this reporting gig. It's so cool to watch you do something you've always wanted to do, and kick ass at it."

Daphne didn't know if she'd go that far. "It's temporary."

"But you're making the most of it. Isn't that all you can do?"

A blue cover on the shelf had caught Daphne's eye as they walked by, and she stopped to pick up the book and turn it over to read the back. Set in Italy during World War II, this is the story of the incomparable, malingering bombardier, Yossarian…

"It's just an interim job," Daphne said, placing the book back on the shelf. "I can't get too attached to it."

One part of her new job that Daphne didn't love was that Layla now wanted her to come over any night the team was off so they could run through film together.

She knew on the one hand she should be grateful. Layla had been reporting from the sideline for years and was a total pro. She had genuine insights into Daphne's performance that were helpful, not only for her current gig with the Battery but down the line, for any potential broadcasting job Daphne might want in the future. Which was the primary reason Layla gave for wanting to run through the film in the first place, although Daphne understood that Layla was also having a hard time giving up control, was bored and unsatisfied with just running the social media and feeding Daphne press briefings to inform upcoming broadcasts. All of that made sense. But some nights Daphne was just tired, and wanted a single day where she didn't have to think about baseball.

And this time, she had an extra layer of anxiety, because even though she thought she and Chris had done a good job so far of keeping their secret, somehow she worried that laser-eyed Layla would take one look at the two of them standing together in a postgame interview and just…know.

"See," Layla said, sitting forward in her bed and rewinding back over an interview Daphne had done with one of the Battery's starting pitchers. "You asked him how it felt to have command over the strike zone. But you'd already asked him how it felt to record season-high strikeout numbers. It's basically the same question."

"I know," Daphne said. "The minute I asked it I knew it was stupid. I was just trying to look at the sheet and I think I saw strike twice and so…yeah, it was bad. At least no third strike, I'm out?"

Layla also never laughed at any of Daphne's jokes. To be fair, Daphne still wasn't sure if she'd hit her baseball humor stride. Look at how she'd gotten into this mess in the first place.

"You did a good job with this one, though," Layla said, trying to fast-forward the broadcast but struggling to get the TV to recognize the remote. Daphne was sitting in Layla's desk chair next to the bed, and she felt like she was on the edge of her seat while she waited to see what she'd done to actually warrant her sister-in-law's praise. Finally Layla held the remote over her head, moving it around until she'd scrubbed the footage to Chris walking over to Daphne on the sideline. She pressed play right as he stopped, his hands on his hips, looking over at Daphne.

He was so handsome in his dark blue Battery jersey, eye black still smeared on his cheeks, his hair damp with sweat. She could still smell him like he was right there next to her in the room. Somehow it was never a bad smell, even when he was at his grimiest after three hours of hard play. He just smelled earthy and real and like Chris, hints of the same scent she could roll over in the middle of the night and still smell on the hotel pillows. He smelled like hers. She couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

"Chris," on-screen Daphne said now, "you went three for four tonight. Describe what was going through your mind when you were up to bat there in the top of the ninth."

"Well," he said, grinning down at her, "my goal is always four for four. But yeah, after I struck out earlier I knew they might try to attack me the same way, high and inside—"

Daphne hoped Layla couldn't tell that she was blushing. The four for four bit had been a joke meant just for her, a reference to how many times he'd made her come the previous night. She'd meant to tell him afterward that he couldn't do that, that he was playing fast and loose with the keep-work-separate rule, but all the players had gotten an earlier flight and so she'd never had the chance. And the truth was, she wasn't sure she did want him to stop. She liked seeing that side of Chris, the one who joked and smiled at her like she was the only person who could make his eyes light up in that way.

Layla apparently agreed, because she jabbed the remote toward the TV. "That is good stuff," she said. "That's what I'm talking about. I don't know how you got him to open up more—god, he was always such a robot with me—but keep doing it. Seems like everything is cool after the whole heckling thing?"

"Um." Daphne didn't quite know how to respond to that. "Yeah, it's cool."

"And engagement is up with the walk-up song poll." Layla tapped something into her phone before frowning down at it. "Do you know why he deleted all his Instagram photos, though? It would be nice to have him posting some of this stuff."

It made me sad.That's what he'd told her when she asked. Or what he'd told Duckie, at least. She wondered suddenly what he'd tell her—Daphne, the sideline reporter, the woman he was hooking up with. Something told her it wouldn't be that.

"I don't know," Daphne said. "I don't really ask them about that kind of stuff."

"Well, see if you can get some info," Layla said. "Not on camera or anything—just mention it casually. You can tell him I was wondering since I was going to tag him in a few things, if that makes it easier."

"I'll try," Daphne said, which wasn't even her first lie of the night. It was starting to really bother her, how many lies she was telling. They were getting harder and harder to separate from the truth.

She was still reflecting on all of that when she showed up at the stadium the next day before the game, planning to clarify a few things on the press sheet with the announcers. But as she walked by the video room, she was surprised when she felt a hand at the small of her back, and Chris guided her inside before shutting the door behind them.

"What—" she started to say, before he spun her around, catching her at the waist as he pressed a long, hot kiss against her mouth.

Her knees felt like Jell-O by the time he pulled away, touching his forehead to hers. "Hi."

"Hi," she said, her voice a little shaky. "I thought—"

"I know," he said. "Road games only. I just never got to say goodbye to you in Chicago, so I figured…"

"You'd say hello to me in Charleston?" She tried to sound chiding, but it was hard when she was smiling.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, starting to type something in. "I also realized we never had the chance to exchange numbers, so—"

She took a step back, unable to hide her visceral reaction to the idea. From the way his brows knit together, she could tell he'd clocked it.

"Unless you don't want to?"

She could get a new number. That was literally her first thought—that she could go all the way down to the kiosk in the mall and get an entirely new phone. Or maybe she could get a burner from a gas station, wasn't that a thing people did? Or she could get one of those free internet numbers, where it rang through to her phone but had a completely different set of digits from the one she'd already given him as Duckie.

Those were all decent ideas, and she wished she'd thought of them before now. But as it was, it was too late to act on any of them—he was already looking away, sliding his phone back into pocket.

"It's not that I don't want to…" she said.

"It's cool," he said. "You're probably right. We don't need to—we'll always be at the same hotel. A u up? text would be redundant."

He started to open the door, and she stopped him with her hand on his forearm, blurting out the question before she could think any better of it. "Why did you delete all the pictures off your Instagram?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

"Sorry," she said. "I just—Layla was asking. Because she wanted to tag you in some stuff."

He stared down at her, and she almost kept rambling, unsure if he was even following what she was trying to say. But then he cleared his throat. "Social media is a distraction," he said. "I needed to focus."

And with that, he left.