17. Ari
seventeen
Ari
The winter wind whips through the air as I trudge back to my building, coffees in hand and phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder.
“Why are you awake again, Eomma?”
I hear my mom laugh from the other end of the phone. “No sleep.”
I’m grateful we’re speaking in English since my Korean isn’t as sharp as it used to be, but my mom does struggle with her wording still sometimes.
“That’s because you go to bed at like seven,” I chuckle, gritting my teeth against the bitter cold.
“I’m old, Jae-Hyun.”
I scoff. “Eomma, you’re fifty-five. That’s still firmly middle-aged.”
“But not young,” she replies, tone light and happy.
It’s hard for me to not be happy, too, when I’m talking to her.
“You’re practically a spring chicken.”
“Spring… chicken?”
I can’t help but laugh. “It’s an American phrase. A spring chicken is young.”
“I think winter chicken then.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I shake my head but still smile.
“But you laugh,” she says now, and I can hear the pride in her voice. “My job done.”
I finally make it to my building, and I feel myself thawing as I step into the lobby and head for the elevator. “You have any plans today?”
“I read.” I can hear her flipping through the pages of her book. I get my love of reading from my mom, though she’s not really a romance reader.
“Another mystery book?” I ask, stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for the top floor.
“Yes.”
“Let me know how it is then. Maybe I’ll read it after I finish the book I’m reading right now.”
“Oh yes, you love it,” my mom says happily. It’s almost like I can feel the warmth of her smile through the phone, and it helps her feel less far away.
The elevator dings, and the doors open, so I step off onto my floor, heading to my penthouse door. I precariously perch one cup of coffee on top of the other while I fish my keys out of my pocket, hoping that I don’t drop them.
Thankfully, I manage to open my front door without incident.
“I miss you,” I sigh, walking into my kitchen and setting the coffees down on the counter.
“Miss you, too, Jae-Hyun. You home now?”
“Yeah, just got back,” I reply, watching as Lucia comes to join me in the kitchen.
“I let you go then. We talk soon. I love you.”
“Love you, too, Eomma. Talk to you soon.”
I hang up the call and set my phone down, looking over at my roommate still wearing Knox’s fucking jersey.
Did she do it to annoy me? Yes.
Is it annoying me? Hell yes.
And I have no fucking idea why.
“Was that your mom?” she asks, leaning against the quartz countertop.
“Yeah.”
Lucia looks like she’s thinking hard. “What time is it in Seoul right now?”
“Like five in the morning,” I laugh. “Apparently, she couldn’t sleep, so she called me.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“She’s the best.” I can’t help my large smile.
“I feel like most guys aren’t really close to their moms,” she says. “It’s kinda cool that you are.”
I smirk at her. “Are you saying I’m cool, Spitfire?”
“That is not what I said,” she scoffs. “I actually just think you’re annoying.”
Says the woman wearing my friend’s jersey to annoy me.
“You didn’t think I was annoying on New Year’s.”
Lucia rolls her eyes. “Is that what you’re gonna do? Bring that up every time I say something you don’t like?”
“Probably,” I shrug, enjoying the way it gets to her.
But she turns it back on me just as quickly.
“You know,” she says teasingly. “It seems to me like you think about our night together quite a bit for someone who doesn’t want me again.”
“I don’t think about it,” I lie.
I see a gleam in Lucia’s eye—her deep, rich brown eyes—as she saunters her way over to me. I feel my dick twitch behind my sweatpants.
Why does that have to be so hot?
“I think you do think about it, Ari,” Lucia rasps, and God , is her voice sexy. “I think you like to remember how it felt to be inside me, and I think that you have no idea why you can’t let it go.”
Is she in my fucking head?
Goddamn.
Yeah, I think about it far more than I’m willing to admit, and no, I have no fucking idea why I can’t stop.
The sex was great, but I wouldn’t even say it’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
Yet, here I am in my kitchen, the woman I’ve always claimed to not like standing in front of me, willing all the blood in my body to stop rushing south.
“You’re dreaming, Torres,” I manage.
I’m not sure she completely believes me, but she laughs it off anyway. “Oh, it is so fun to fuck with you.”
“I’ll remember that next time I grab you a coffee.”
Lucia looks at me in confusion. “You got me a coffee?”
I shrug. “I just wanted to get out for a bit earlier, and I stopped by Urban Grind when I was walking home. Figured I’d grab you something, too.”
“Thanks, Ari,” she says softly as I push her cup toward her. She takes a sip, and I think she almost drops the cup in surprise. “This is a peppermint mocha.”
“It is.”
“Why did you get me a peppermint mocha?”
“Because you like them?”
She stares at me now like she can’t figure me out.
That makes two of us because I don’t think I can figure myself out, either.
“I never told you that I like those,” she finally says.
“Oh,” I reply awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just always smell peppermint in your coffee.”
“Yeah,” she smiles. “It’s my favorite.”
“Then you’re welcome,” I smirk, trying to play off the unease I’m feeling.
Why do I know Lucia’s coffee order if she’s never told me?
Why am I so annoyed that she’s wearing my friend’s jersey?
Why can’t I stop thinking about our night together?
Questions that will likely remain unanswered because I have no fucking clue about any of them.
I don’t get to overthink that, though, as I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the vibration of my phone.
I pick it up and sigh.
“Well, gotta take this one,” I say before quickly making my exit, heading right to my room.
I shut my door behind me, harder than intended, before I flop down onto my bed and groan.
I answer the call right before it stops ringing. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Tom?” I say with as much faux happiness as I can muster.
“Don’t disrespect me, Ari,” my dad’s voice booms from the other end, all authoritative and military.
Like he’s speaking with one of his privates and not his own damn son.
“What do you need, Dad?” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I want to talk to my son.”
“No, you don’t.” I can feel him seething all the way in Texas. “You never call just to chat.”
“You’re turning thirty next month, Ari,” he states as if I don’t already know this. “You need to figure out what you want to do with your life.”
I scoff. “I’m a professional athlete, Dad. That is what I want to do with my life.”
“You won’t play forever, and you should do something better with your time.”
I roll my eyes. This man has never had any candor. “Then I’ll figure that out when I retire.”
“Or just come enlist in the Army like I’ve always told you to do and finally make something of yourself.”
I sink into myself. I’ve never had a conversation with my dad that didn’t make me feel small, like I’m not worthy unless I’m doing what he wants.
“I am making something of myself. I’m one of the best first basemen in the entire damn league!” I shout, growing more irritated by the second.
“But you’re not the best, are you?” I hear the smugness in his tone.
Leave it to him to make even the achievements I do have feel like they mean nothing.
“I work hard, and that’s enough for me.” I don’t think I’m even convincing myself, though.
“You need to settle down as well. Get married.”
Ah, yes.
The man vying for the title of Best Husband Ever is encouraging me to get married.
I guess he knows what he’s talking about, though.
He’s been married five fucking times.
Divorced five times, too, though.
“Why would I want to get married?” I ask in irritation.
“Because you’ve had your fun, Ari,” he says sternly. “Now it’s time to be a man and find a woman to spend your life with. Besides, you hang out with those guys too much. People are going to start talking and wondering. I don’t want that.”
I take a deep breath and just sink into myself again.
All he’s concerned about right now is how my image—and who I end up with—reflects on him. He’s not concerned that I’m happy. I don’t think he cares at all that I’m happy as long as I don’t make him look bad.
He wonders why I’ve never opened up to him?
Well, it’s because I can’t.
I can’t be honest with him.
So, I’ll just deal with a lifetime of derision and belittling.
It’s safer that way.