6. Emerson

Dammit. It killed me to see that pitying look in her eyes. Like she thought I was pathetic.

Shifting on my feet, I dropped my focus to the floor between us and cracked my knuckles again.

The truth was that, until I was twenty and Chris joined the team, I didn't have a single friend. I was just the stupid kid who was fast as hell. I played shortstop at that point, and nothing got past me. I led triple-A in steals for three seasons. Even then, I ran a faster forty than most of the guys in the majors. None of that made me friends. At seventeen, I didn't know shit about anything. I played with twenty-five years old who were jealous of my speed and spent their free time in bars I couldn't get into. Who had girlfriends and one-night stands and affairs.

At that point, I'd only ever kissed two girls. I was immature and na?ve and not suited for life with the big boys. I made bad jokes and tripped over my own feet when I wasn't on the field.

Though being so out of my element at seventeen had made me who I was now at twenty-six. I'd never fit in, and now, I didn't try to. But I clung to the solid friendships I'd made during my time with the Revs. The guys I played with, especially Chris, were more like family than teammates.

So regardless of how adorable Gi looked with paint on her fingers and shirt and the yellow streak on her cheek, I'd stay away. Even though my heart had skipped when she jumped to my defense, the last thing I wanted to do was piss her brother off. Even if parts of me, especially the parts below the waistband of my gym shorts, wanted to.

But with one last long look at the woman whose brown eyes were narrowed in confusion, I shrugged, playing off the depth of this conversation. "Anyway, I find you catch more flies with honey."

"Bees," she corrected.

"What?"

"It's bees. You catch more bees with honey than you do with vinegar. My father's been telling me that my entire life."

I chuckled. My mom was the queen of getting the expression wrong. And I'd admit I did sometimes too, but this time, I was pretty sure it was Gi who was wrong. But the woman was known to be stubborn, and I didn't want a fight. "Well, seeing as I'm allergic to the bees, I'll leave those for you and Pop," I joked. "I'm starving. Feeling a grilled cheese?"

She blinked at me in response.

When she didn't answer the question, I cleared my throat and headed for the kitchen. "How about this? I'll make a few, and if you feel up to one, you can have it." Bending at the waist, I pulled out the flat pan. "And since I totally messed up your night, I'll be quiet and let you get back to your masterpiece."

She shot me a withering look, her lips pursed and her dark eyes hard. "No need for sarcasm."

"Trust me, that wasn't sarcasm. Your work is damn good, Gi," I assured her, rummaging in the fridge for cheese. I dug out the cheddar, gouda, and pepper jack. The combination was perfect and gave the sandwich just a bit of a kick.

When I glanced back up, she was still standing in the center of the room, glaring at me.

Head tilted, I assessed her. "What?"

"I can't tell if you're being serious." She crossed her arms, and even in the damn oversized T-shirt, I could clearly see the outlines of her full breasts.

For a heartbeat, my eyes lingered on the lace I could just make out through the white fabric. But with a mental kick in the pants, I spun away and ran a hand down my face.

"I'm dead serious." Instead of heating the pan, I went back to the fridge for a beer. Damn, did I need a drink. I pulled out two and held them both up. "Preference?"

She frowned at the Bud Light, then the Sam Adams lager. She grabbed the lager and went for the drawer where we kept the bottle opener. I couldn't blame her for her choice. Bud Light kinda sucked. But it fit into my meal plans during the season a little more easily, so it worked out in the end. I cracked mine and took a pull.

"Are you the one who frames them?" she asked.

Though the question could have been viewed as cryptic, I didn't have to ask her to elaborate. We had three of her oil paintings hanging around the apartment.

"Does it kill the image of your brother to know he doesn't do it?" I chuckled.

Christian could give two shits about decorating this place. If it was up to him, we'd have the ping-pong table and a couch and a TV.

Maybe it was because I'd been on my own so long, or maybe it was just the need to spend time in a place that felt like home since I was so far away from my family. Either way, I couldn't live in a sterile, empty box.

Quietly, she scanned the open living area and sipped her beer. "You have good taste."

I smirked. "And you have a lot of talent."

The way her cheeks turned pink was as attractive as it was surprising. With a finger twirling a single curl, she looked away. Gianna always seemed sure of herself, so the uncertainty in her expression and posture were shocking.

Her brother and her dad sang her praises, so one would think she'd be used to the compliments. Unless, maybe, they were the only ones?

Christian had always bitched about her ex-boyfriend being shitty and unsupportive.

"Did your guy not tell you that all the damn time?"

She looked up at me and opened her mouth quickly, but instead of replying, she sighed. Her brown eyes swirled with so many emotions, but I didn't know what any of them were. They were all new to me, because normally, all I got from her was pissed off.

I set my beer on the quartz countertop and waited, watching her. She dropped her attention from my face again, tracking the lines of the hardwood floor below her feet. Finally, she glanced at her drink and slowly lifted it.

"My friends told me he was jealous." She took a sip of her beer, and a small crease appeared between her eyes, but she still wasn't looking at me. "I made a lot of excuses for why he didn't like to give compliments." She paused again and took another sip of the beer. "But I realize now that he's just an ass."

I chuckled. Sounded like everything I'd heard about the guy. I moved to the bread drawer, deciding that since she was opening up some, I'd push my luck. "What made you decide that?"

"A few weeks ago, he took me to my favorite restaurant, and in the middle of dinner, he told me he got someone else pregnant and was moving in with her." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but the words were like nails ripping through my ears.

I was halfway back to the counter when the bread slipped from my hand. Letting it fall to the floor, I spun back to her. My heart hammered oddly as an irrational anger gripped me deep in my chest. "The fuck did you just say?"

"I know." She slammed her beer onto the counter and then bent to retrieve the bread. "Total ass, right?" She shook her head and passed it back to me.

"Uh…" That was the understatement of the century. But also, Christian was the most overprotective person I'd ever met, so… "How is it your brother didn't eviscerate him?"

Her eyes widened for a second in surprise, but she quickly schooled her expression and hit me with the glare I was so familiar with. "I'm not telling him." With her arms crossed over her body again, she jutted one hip in a way that screamed fuck off.

I swallowed, digesting her confession and wondering what the hell to do with it.

"Look," she said, interrupting my thoughts, "it's embarrassing, and I don't want?—"

"Gianna," I said, keeping my tone soft.

She didn't glance up.

"Gianna," I said more forcefully.

This time, her brown eyes lifted, tracking over my bare chest before finally meeting mine.

"His shittiness isn't a reflection of you," I said, fisting a hand on the countertop. "It's on him." With my other hand, I gently snagged hers and gave it a squeeze. "You are a talented, fierce, gorgeous woman, and you deserve a hell of a lot more than that."

Her lips parted on a quick intake of breath. Besides our hands, no parts of us were touching. Even so, my entire body heated. The air around us buzzed. Her pupils dilated, making it obvious that she could feel the electricity coursing between us too. All I had to do was tug on her hand and let her fall into me. Then I'd claim her mouth. She'd welcome it. I'd welcome it.

But I wasn't going there.

I released her hand and quickly stepped back.

She blinked several times, like she was returning to reality, then her mouth fell into a tight line. "Right." She nodded. "Still, none of it is Chris's business."

Nodding, I turned to the stove.

"I'm gonna…" Without finishing her sentence, she padded away, the sound of her feet on the floor almost imperceptible.

I wanted to kick myself, but what the hell should I have done? Kiss her? If she were any other woman, that's exactly what I would have done, because I wanted to so badly. But Christian was my best friend, the guy who'd been there for me when I literally had no one. And I wouldn't fuck that up by casually hooking up with his sister.

Regardless of how impressive and fucking gorgeous Gianna was, I didn't have more than causal in me. My contract with the Revs was up in four months, and if that didn't get extended, I had no idea what I'd do or how I'd support myself, let alone have the bandwidth to care for another person while I was going through that crisis. Gianna wasn't the type to need to be taken care of, but she deserved a partner who had a purpose. One who brought value to the relationship. Not an unemployable slouch who'd mooch off her. If baseball didn't work out, I didn't even have a degree to fall back on. Unlike most players, I'd skipped college to play in the minors. If baseball was no longer a possibility, then who was I?

With each day my agent heard nothing, I felt less confident that I'd be a Rev next year. There weren't other teams lining up either. My only option would be to go back to the minors. Spend ten months in some small town far away.

I glanced over my shoulder at Gianna, who was at her easel across the room again. Her back was to me as she stared at the painting in front of her. The skyline on her canvas was more interesting than the one out the windows. Her ability to pull things in and make them more was awe-inspiring. All her work was filled with this emotional vulnerability that she rarely expressed anywhere else. A softness that I could only guess lurked under the surface. And shit, if it didn't fascinate me.

As much as I couldn't cross lines with her, I couldn't leave this awfulness hanging between us either.

"Want to learn to flip grilled cheese?" I asked.

Her head snapped my way. "What?"

I pulled the pan off the stovetop. The buttered bread had heated enough that all three layers of cheese were starting to melt. I held it out above the counter so she could see, and with a flick of the wrist, I tossed the bread into the air and caught it again, uncooked side down.

Almost unwillingly, her mouth pulled up at one corner. "Tricky."

I nodded. "Want to learn to be tricky too?"

Finally, I got an almost full grin.

"What makes you think I need to learn?" With one brow lifted, she pushed off her small stool and strode towardme with a look of determination in her eye.

I set the sauté pan down so she could grip the handle. In one smooth motion, she picked it up and flipped the grilled cheese again.

Eyes rolling, she scoffed. "You're not the only one who can do tricks."

"Damn, girl. Nice." I laughed, elated not only because she could do it, but because she'd so willingly come over to play with me. "Can you do two flips?"

She sighed like I exhausted her, but instead of turning on her heel and walking away like I expected, she took the pan back. Turned out she could flip twice, so I did a triple flip and handed the pan back. But she didn't have my skills. She gave it a good old-fashioned try, then tried again as we finished up the sandwiches, but she couldn't beat me.

Once we had our sandwiches on plates, I wandered to the living room. "Want to watch a movie?"

Rather than giving me a firm answer one way or the other, she shrugged and eyed the television.

Taking that as a yes, I pulled up my watch list.

The second the list appeared, she let out a harsh scoff. "I'm not watching Avery's movies."

With my lips pressed together, I scanned the screen. It was loaded full of several of the best rom-coms out there. "I love these. I couldn't pick a favorite. You've heard me talk about the chills I get from a good happily ever after." A sigh escaped me, unbidden, and I couldn't help but smile. I loved seeing people end up happy. It was a drug I couldn't get enough of.

"They depress me."

"Depress you?" I shifted on the couch and frowned at her. Of all the snarky responses I could have predicted she'd come up with, that wasn't one of them.

She picked up the sandwich, keeping her focus trained on it, clearly trying to ignore my question, and took a bite. "Wow, Em, these are really good."

I'd humor her for a minute. "It's the pepper jack. Perfect little kick to the gooey goodness."

After her second bite, she hummed. "I think it's the play between the Gouda and the jack. You get that savory strong flavor, but with the bite of the spice in the jack."

"Exactly." I took a swig of my beer, preparing to return to my question. I wasn't sure why I was harping on it, other than I wanted to understand Gianna.

This same need to know more about her had hit me the first time I saw her artwork. The depth of the dark water, almost lonely in front of the city of Boston, with its bright shiny lights, had entranced me. Like it was speaking to me because, so often, I felt like the water. Alone in a crowd. When Chris had told me that his sister painted it, my heart lurched oddly in my chest. I'd always thought Gi was beautiful, but since that moment, I hadn't been able to curb my curiosity about her.

"So," I hedged, "why are rom-coms depressing?"

She huffed and glared at me for a full minute, slowly chewing. Finally, she set her sandwich down, wiped her hands, and sat back against the sofa cushion. "When you never get the happily ever after, it's annoying as fuck to have to keep watching it happen for everyone else."

Her tone might have been biting, but the vulnerability in that statement stole the smile off my face.

"I never get that." She picked up her grilled cheese and pointed it at the woman who was practically glowing with happiness on the screen.

It was like a knife to the chest, knowing that the men in her past hadn't made her smile. I was nowhere near stable enough to be a forever guy, but I made sure I always left any woman, whether I hooked up with her or not, with a smile on her face. Bringing joy to the people around me was a privilege. And it sucked that no one had gone out of their way to do that for Gianna.

"You'll find it someday." Even with her rough edges, she more than deserved to be loved fiercely. She stood up for people, and she worked hard. I surveyed her, taking in her dark hair, her dark eyes, the serious expression. She had that spark—not happiness; more like heat. Everything with her was hot, and I loved basking in that glow. The prospect of getting burned gave me that same rush that I experienced every time I kicked off the bag to steal the base.

She snorted. "Whatever you say."

Maybe that was what I could do for her in the next few weeks. Show her she deserved more joy.