20. ISABELLA
twenty
I don’t think I’ll ever emotionally recover from the sugar lick heard around the world.
Okay, maybe not around the world, but most definitely felt between my legs. Because holy fuck, that was hot.
And no, it is no longer all in my head. I’m sure as a single father, Mateo knows his way around a wet wipe, paper towel, or good old-fashioned hand washing. There is no reason for that whole scenario to have gone down if there wasn’t something more behind it.
I’m just not certain exactly what. Because my lovely brain keeps circling the same notion—that there is no chance in hell Mateo would be not only attracted to me but also bold enough to put all that sex appeal on display with no strings attached.
And before my other thoughts join the chat and try to call me an idiot, I remind them that the last man I let in promised me the world with a ring on my finger, and it still wasn’t real.
So forgive me for my trust issues, but that is something that my friend Kelly and I work on weekly. I call her my friend, but she calls me her client. Even though I secretly know she wishes she could be friends with me. But I get it, professional ethics and all. Which is why I give her a good ten minutes of my best material and personality during the beginning of our therapy sessions before she reels me in and has me reaching for the tissues.
So Mateo must be working on some kind of sexual mental warfare to scare me off before my one-week probationary period is up. I mean, he did give me another strike for the disaster zone in his kitchen. If I keep it up, I’ll most likely earn that third strike on my own before the week is up.
Which sucks, because I designed my favorite cover of all time yesterday.
After Mateo disappeared like Houdini yesterday, I dropped Anna off at school, then parked myself at a table in an indie bookstore café. With my wired headphones that only sometimes give me electric shocks, I used that morning’s breakfast fiasco for inspiration and created a cover bursting with color. It was a remake of one of my favorite indie romances that centers around a bakery owner and her grumpy next-door neighbor. I made a graphic of an exploding rainbow cake that flowed into the book title. Then I drew some freehand designs along the edges to look like the swirls of a vintage cake. It’s something I would never have come up with myself, but with the visual of the morning’s burst of color and Mateo’s intoxicating proximity, I was able to create a design I think I will show the author.
Not only do I now have the time to lose myself in my art for hours at a time, but I’m also more inspired than ever.
Plus, living with a five-year-old will have you looking at colors you haven’t seen in years, since the trending aesthetics usually lean toward the muted and monotone colors of nude.
I’ve yet to bust out the hot pink, but for some reason, I feel like I could probably make it work for a funky cover.
I sigh as I make my way out of my room. I didn’t see Mateo again yesterday after my sprinkle fiasco, and I thank the universe for small mercies.
But I can hear him now, and it’s almost time to head out and pick up Anna from school and take her to ballet.
Strike two .
I need to get it together and fast. I don’t want to lose this momentum I have going with my small business. Even if that means I have to hide from him for the next seventy-two hours to pass the one-week deadline.
And hide my growing attraction to the hottest man on the planet.
I straighten up as I make my way to the kitchen, where I spot Mateo sitting on a kitchen stool.
The second I’m out of the hallway, his eyes find mine. I stagger for a moment before I secure my footing and continue my way toward him. The last thing I need is for things between us to be awkward, so I make my way to the counter separating us and clear my throat, ready to dive into another well thought-out “I’m sorry for almost ruining your kitchen” speech.
He crosses his arms across his broad chest as he leans back, eyes pinned on mine. “Open that mouth with another apology, and you might as well end it with giving yourself that third strike you’re so eager for.”
My mouth drops, and I do a very unladylike Scooby-Doo impersonation. Followed by the death stare I have no grounds to give as someone in a precarious situation, but the Dominican in me controls my facial features so I truly have no say in the matter.
His eyes flash with amusement. As if he already knows which buttons of mine to press to get a reaction out of me. If only he knew all the reactions he could so easily incite.
Jesus Christ, girl. Stay on task and worry about your dry spell when you’re not directly staring into your boss’s hypnotic eyes .
“Well?” he taunts, no longer hiding the small smile playing on his lips.
I place my hands on the counter as I lean forward, hoping this power pose gives me some sort of equal footing. “Me? Apologize profusely for making a mess out of your kitchen, which, in fact, did result in me getting my second strike? Yep, nope. Wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing, Mateo. What kind of woman do you take me for?” I cock my head to the side.
He chuckles, causing his upper body to shake mildly, and my eyes to eat up the slight movement. When my eyes reach his again, all the humor has vanished, and in its place lies a tangible tension.
“Speaking of strikes.” He shakes his head slightly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I straighten. “You’re firing me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Dramatic much? No. Well, actually…”
“Actually what?”
“Well, Isabella, it depends on how you handle what I’m about to ask of you.”
To get on my knees?
Holy hell. At this rate, I need a sexorcism.
“What, um, will you ask of me?” I ask, much breathier than intended.
He sits up straighter, flexing his right hand as he does but never taking his eyes off me. “I need you to bring Anna to my home game tomorrow afternoon.”
And like a bucket of ice dumped over my head, the reality of who I work for finally sinks in.
“As in drop her off?” I ask weakly, already knowing the response.
Mateo stands and starts to round the island. A few moments ago, I would have taken in how his workout shorts hang a little low and offer up a sliver of tanned skin. Or how his black long-sleeve shirt molds to his arms in more places than I even knew possible. But as he comes to stand in front of me, my eyes are unseeing.
All I can think about is the idea of being back in a baseball stadium. Surrounded by thousands of fans I fear may know who I am. Or at least who I used to be.
Only when I feel Mateo’s warm knuckles nudging my chin up do I realize he’s been talking to me this whole time.
“Isabella. Are you all right?” Concern laces his tone as his eyes bounce over every inch of my face.
I nod. “Yeah, sorry. I think I spaced out there for a second. No biggie.” I force a smile.
“Listen, if it’s too much of an ask to come to a game—”
Panic starts to rise within me.
I can’t let this be the reason I earn my third and final strike. And I won’t let reminders of my past keep me from moving on.
So with more confidence than I actually feel, I say, “I can do it. I can go to a game with Anna. It’s, of course, a part of my job. So it shouldn’t be a problem.”
He doesn’t seem convinced as he says, “I was going to say that if it’s too much for you to come to a game, I would never force you. Wouldn’t use it against you as a way to fire you. I promise.”
The kindness in his eyes takes me by surprise. I keep a hand on the counter to remind myself to stay upright.
My immediate reaction to his offer is to take the out. Use this strike-free zone to avoid willingly walking back into that world at all costs.
But I don’t want to hide anymore. Don’t want to feel like I should be banished for actions that were not my own.
Besides, I’ve survived the worst of it.
The online trolls, the unflattering paparazzi pictures, the whispers behind my back from those I thought were my friends.
And all while I was a na?ve twenty-year-old girl figuring out how to be a woman in this confusing and at times cruel world.
I am no longer Izzy, the girl who had treacherous blond highlights to match the hair of the girlfriends of my ex’s teammates. I no longer go by a nickname that leans into the whitewashing of my identity, even though when I picked it, I had no idea that was what I was doing.
I am now Isa. Someone who stands in her power. Even if it’s in the safety of my bedroom most of the time.
I have learned, through many wine nights with my mother and Bethzaida, along with some professional help from my therapist when their advice seemed a bit on the unconventional side, that I am not the culmination of circumstances that surround me.
Even though I know these things to be true, I also know I’ve shielded myself from having certain experiences in my attempt to keep my head and heart safe from the level of destruction it once faced.
Relationships, close female friendships, and, silly as it may sound, even baseball.
Something that was so intertwined in my identity as a kid felt like it was taken away from me. All the games I used to attend as a preteen with my dad. Or the games we would watch at home while trying to convince Mami to make us a “stadium hotdog.” She refused each time, saying “eso no es comida.” That’s not food . Instead, she would make us a Dominican feast, as if to remind us of what real food should taste like. Each time, my father and I would snicker, as if our intention wasn’t to get her to cook for us.
I miss watching Anthony play and attending the games with Denise. After everything came crashing down, all those game nights at their home came to an abrupt end as well.
And I, not knowing how to navigate certain relationships while extracting the baseball aspect out of them, took the coward’s way out and ran.
I don’t know if it’s my new living environment, having a renewed vigor for the work I’m accomplishing on my own, or even the positive voice of an always chipper Anna in my head telling me I can do anything I put my mind to, but with a newfound determination, I take a deep breath as I address Mateo again. “I can do this. Actually, no. I want to do this. It’s been too long, and I think it’s time I get back to my baseball roots.” I smile. This time, it’s a genuine one.
He slowly nods as he takes a step back, taking with him the warmth I didn’t realize was enveloping me. “All right. I’ll have my assistant text you all the information you need. Hank will drive you guys there and will have all the passes you’ll need to access the family area. Anna’s been to more than a couple of games, so I’m sure you’ll need no better tour guide.” He smiles softly.
I swear, if you want to see the sweetest smile known to man, just mention his daughter to this guy. Doesn’t matter where or when. If Anna is near or mentioned, you are one of the lucky ones to get to experience the gentlest expressions that Mateo Martinez reserves for his daughter.
And with her in mind, I check the time and see that it’s time for me to head out and pick her up for the day. I grab my purse from the counter and make my way to the foyer. “I’m off to get Anna. We’ll be going to her ballet class after, and then we’ll probably grab some food before we head home,” I say as I slip on my Converses.
“Hmm. Is she actually going to ballet, or will you be making another one of your, how did you put it? Oh right, ‘executive decisions’?” He looks at me pointedly as he leans back on the kitchen island, as if he’s in some kind of at-home photoshoot, while I hop around like a madwoman who doesn’t know how to sit while putting on her shoes.
“Hardy har har. That was one time, Martinez .”
“Getting real comfortable with my last name there, Morales .”
“Cause we’re a team, and don’t you forget it,” I singsong as he shakes his head.
I’m about to call for the elevator when he shouts, “Hey, Isa?”
“Yeah?” I spin to face him.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
My eyes widen as his sparkle with amusement.
“Tonight? As in tonight, tonight?” I ask, as if any form of clarification would help his request make sense.
He scratches the back of his head, dare I say, nervously. “We’re a team, right?”
“ Right .”
“So yeah. I have dinner with my teammates all the time. Especially the Monarchs, since we’re new. Helps us be more… comfortable around one another, and therefore, helps us play better.”
“You wanna play with me?” I ask, confused.
When he doesn’t immediately respond, I hear the mental playback of what I just said and how it could have sounded. “Uh, I didn’t—” I scramble.
He chuckles. “Dinner, Morales. After Anna goes to sleep, we can order pizza or something. Promise not to make you eat the carbless prepackaged meals I have in the fridge.” He nods toward his refrigerator.
“Dinner. Yeah. Sure. Why not? Ha.” Real fucking smooth, girl. “I’ll, uh, yeah. Be here and so will you, and we shall eat. Later. Tonight.” I curtsy.
I fucking curtsied.
Then I spin and jam my finger into the elevator button more times than necessary. Why can’t I magically disappear as easily as Mateo does when he’s done mindfucking me? I swear he has the elevator timed in his head, so he knows exactly when to retreat. Yeah, that’s it.
“Isabella.”
Fucking hell.
“Yep?” I squeak.
“Do you have something against pizza? Should we order Thai instead?”
I can hear the humor in his voice but turn my head anyway and spot the smirk overtaking his handsome face.
My eyes narrow a bit, and right on cue, his smirk widens into a blinding smile.
The elevator doors finally open, and I launch myself inside.
“Pizza is great. Can’t wait. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I salute him.
I know he’s far too pleased watching me squirm, but I just curtsied, so I have no choice but to flee at a time like this.
The doors close to the sound of Mateo’s soft laughter, and I can’t help but join him.
I don’t think this is a normal crush.
My body shouldn’t be short-circuiting every time he’s near.
Especially if we’re entering a new phase of our relationship where we have dinners together. Alone. Without Anna.
I grab my phone and lightly smack it against my forehead a few times.
What am I going to do? I’m clearly not equipped to handle this alone.
I need backup. Hell, I need an arsenal of tools at my disposal if I have any hope of surviving.
Shit. I need girlfriends.
Without overthinking it, I shoot off two text messages before I hit the ground floor. I don’t know if either will reply, since I have a terrible track record when it comes to keeping up with friends lately.
But by the time Hank is driving out of the underground garage, I’ve gotten two responses, and a group chat is created for the three of us before I even reach Anna’s school.
I sigh in relief as both Denise and Nikki quickly go through introductions and start offering up ideas for a girls’ night out.
By the time I’m seated at Anna’s ballet class, another member is added to the chat. Nikki’s best friend, Amelia.
I don’t know how I went from curtsying in front of my boss to feeling like I’ve joined a girl gang. But I do know that I feel safe, cared for, and thoroughly entertained.
God bless women.