2. Chapter 2
Does it make me a horrible person to hope that my friend’s dates go badly?
It’s not like I don’t want her to find love.
Of course, I want that for her. But every time Alyssa goes on a bad date, she drives to my house after, where I have a new cookie recipe waiting for her, fresh out of the oven.
Then we spend the night eating cookies, watching New Girl, and recapping her terrible evening.
I know if—when—she finds her person, our friendship will change.
So, sue me for wanting to maintain a little of my normal rhythm.
She’s the only person I hang out with in Louisville aside from my teammates.
And I love those guys, but I already spend a lot of time with them.
Alyssa is my escape. And I don’t want to lose that.
I grab a pizza cutter and sing along to the NSYNC song playing over my speaker system before running it along my baking sheet, cutting the cooled vacuum cleaner cookies into bite-sized squares. I hear my front door open, followed by heels clicking against the tile floor of my foyer.
There’s no stopping the smile that tilts my lips. I set down the pizza cutter and walk through the hallway that connects the foyer to the rest of the house.
I nearly trip over my own feet when I see her standing there.
Alyssa’s long blonde hair cascades down in perfect curls nearly to her waist with two little buns on the top of her head.
The black dress she’s wearing looks like it was designed specifically for her.
The fabric on top hangs off her shoulders, emphasizing her neckline, while the rest of her dress hugs her curves perfectly, ending halfway between her knees and ankles.
It’s a real travesty for the man that fumbled her tonight.
I shake my head, stopping myself from surveying her any further.
Stopping myself from thinking about how that guy’s loss is my gain.
Because it’s not. We’re only friends. Just friends.
We might have shared a small moment when we first met, but we can’t be anything more.
Not when Louisville is only supposed to be a stopping point in my baseball career.
It’s not like I have a say in where I play right now, but once I become a free agent, I always planned on returning to Boston to be closer to my family. In the meantime, I’ve dedicated all my focus and drive to baseball, forgoing the dating scene.
I’m not a casual relationship kind of guy.
My parents have been happily married for thirty-three years, and I want a marriage like theirs.
I’m just not sure I’ll find that until after my baseball career is over.
Starting off a relationship where I travel all the time for games and can be traded to a different team at any given moment feels like a lot to ask someone to put up with.
When I decide to look for the person I want to spend forever with, I want to be able to truly commit to them.
Not have them compete for my time with my demanding career.
But at least I get to spend tonight with my best friend. Friendship, I can do.
Alyssa drops her heels by the door and looks up, her eyes finding mine. Her smile instantly makes the room feel warmer.
I’ve lived here ever since I got called up by the Louisville Mustangs three years ago, but I never quite got around to decorating.
When I play over one hundred fifty games a season, it doesn’t leave much time for things like choosing artwork or accent rugs.
And the offseason is filled with training to stay in shape and relaxing.
When I go into chill mode, the last thing I want to do is go shopping to decorate my house.
I guess I could’ve hired an interior decorator, but I never thought I’d be here long enough to want to make this house feel like a home.
But whenever Alyssa is here, that’s exactly what this place feels like: home.
I cross the remaining distance between us in a few long strides. “Hey, Lyssa.” I hear her inhale right before I wrap her in a bear hug. She’s not exactly short at five foot eight, but I still tower over her.
“Thanks for paying for my dinner. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was the least I could do.” When she sent me the SOS text, what I really wanted to do was drive to the restaurant, stare down the guy so he never reaches out to her again, and drive Alyssa to my place where I knew she was safe.
But that sounded like a bit much, so I settled for paying the check. “How bad was it?” I ask.
She groans, her face falling into her hands. “Remind me to never let my cousin set me up again.”
“You’re still letting Patrice send you on dates?” She shrugs, and I blow out a low whistle. “You should’ve cut that off after she set you up with the guy who took you to his aunt’s funeral as a first date.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. But I mean it this time. I just need to muster up the courage to say something to her.” Alyssa waves me off, and I immediately notice her red nails that perfectly match the shade of her lipstick. Looks like she went all out for this one.
I lead her back to the kitchen, grab a plate from the cabinet, and add a pile of the cookie squares to it.
“Come on,” I say over my shoulder as I head to my couch.
Aside from my top-of-the-line memory foam mattress—it was the one purchase I was adamant about splurging on when I bought this place—I wanted a couch that I could practically rot on in the offseason as I play video games with my teammates and binge-watch shows, and this one perfectly fit the bill.
It’s an extra-deep eight-seater that fits me in all my six-foot-four glory with plenty of room to spare.
The oatmeal-beige color adds warmth to the room of white walls, along with the lone potted plant Alyssa’s roommate, Shayna, gave me as a thank-you for helping her out with her flower business earlier this year.
It’s a miracle that I’ve managed to keep it alive the past two months with my crazy schedule.
I set the plate of cookies on one of the middle cushions that makes the couch look more like a giant bed and turn to Alyssa. “Do you want to change?” I ask as she glares down at her dress.
She places her hands on her hips. “You read my mind.”
“Grab whatever you want from the guest closet,” I say as I sink onto the couch.
“Thanks,” she calls over her shoulder before walking upstairs.
Alyssa questioned me the first time I showed her a closet full of clothes in her size in my guest room.
I made up a terrible lie about it being PR merch from the team and companies that have reached out for brand deals.
Luckily, she seemed to buy it, or at least not question it, when the truth is that I stocked a closet with shirts and sweat sets all in Alyssa’s size just in case she ever needs them.
She’s here so often after a bad date, when I have a rough game, or whenever we both have rare free time to hang out, and I want her to be comfortable.
If she knew, I’m sure she’d say I’m spending too much money on her.
That it’s overkill to have clothes on hand for her just in case she needs them.
But I’ve lost count of how many times she’s changed into the comfy clothes, so I think I proved my own point, even if she doesn’t know there’s a point to be proven.
I grab the remote from my end table and turn on the TV.
After selecting the correct streaming service, I click on the New Girl episode we left off on and press pause.
A few minutes later, Alyssa pads down the stairs in a cozy sweats set in a shade of light blue that makes her eyes pop, paired with some fuzzy socks.
She grabs a plush blanket from the corner of the couch before plopping down beside me and burrowing in.
“There’s my little Aly Kat.”
She knocks her fist against my arm. “Is that nickname really gonna stick?”
“As long as you keep burrowing into my couch like a meerkat.”
Alyssa lays the blanket across her lap. I extend the plate of cookies toward her, and she grabs one and pops it into her mouth. She closes her eyes and nods. “Yes. Whatever these are. Just yes. They definitely need to be added to our normal rotation.”
“I’ll add them to the list.” I appreciate that she’s always willing to try my cookie creations, especially since I’m eating healthy right now during the season.
But baking has always been an escape for me, reminding me of all the days I spent with my grandma testing out new recipes in her kitchen.
Ever since her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, I started baking again to honor her, and I’m glad my de-stressing activity doubles by providing Alyssa with some sugary support after all her disastrous dates. “All right. What did this guy do?”
She lets out a long sigh. “It might be the worst one yet.”
“Worse than the guy you took to one of my games who loudly proclaimed tattoos were evil?” I pause to laugh as that day replays in my mind.
There was a guy whose arms were the size of tree trunks—and also covered in tattoos—sitting in front of them at the game.
Then her date proceeded to get in a heated argument with him before getting knocked out cold by Mr. Muscled-Tattoo Man. On the JumboTron.
Her eyes narrow as she shakes her head. “I still can’t believe the camera guy caught the punch on the kiss cam.”
I chuckle. “Even the players all paused to watch that go down. I’m pretty sure the whole dugout was cheering when he knocked your date out cold in one swing.”
Alyssa rolls her lips into her mouth. “That was bad, but I still think this might be worse.” She tilts her head. “Or at least the most awkward.”
“What, did he bring his mom or something?” I tease.
She chokes on her cookie. “As a matter of fact, he did.”
“No.” I grimace.
“Oh, yes, but it gets better.” Alyssa holds up a finger while she finishes chewing. “He asked her what she thought before he said or did anything for the entire date.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was, but he needed her input on everything from what he should order to if he should compliment me to if he should give me a kiss good night.”
My mouth falls open. “You can’t be serious.”
“I wish I wasn’t.”
“I can’t believe you made it all the way to the end of dinner.”
Alyssa lets out a dry laugh. “He works with Patrice, so I was going to suck it up. And get this, his mom is his and Patrice’s boss, so I had to tread lightly. But when he smarmily asked if I picked my dress out just for him, I couldn’t do it anymore.” She shivers.
I clench my hands into fists at the nerve of the guy.
“So then I tried the whole ‘I have to use the restroom, I’ll be right back’ line, but his mom followed me to the bathroom, and I lost my chance to escape.
But you best believe when he asked her if he should kiss me, I cut that off real quick.
I yelled over my shoulder that I wasn’t interested as I sprinted to my car. ”
“He sounds like a real catch,” I deadpan.
“His mom sure thinks so.” She falls back against the couch cushion. Her hair splays around her like a golden halo. “But then you called and saved me. Thanks again for that.”
“You know I’ll always be here for you.”
“Same.” She sighs. “Do you think I should give up on dating? Something must be wrong with me to have this many bad first dates.”
I scoot over and wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her into my side.
The action usually feels friendly, something I’ve done with her hundreds of times.
But tonight, when the scent of her coconut shampoo hits me, something feels…
different. I push away the thought. “There’s nothing wrong with you.
It’s not your fault the men you go on dates with are the worst example of the male species. ” I pause. “It’s Patrice’s.”
Alyssa laughs, her body shaking where it’s pressed against mine. “She’s only responsible for a handful of the dates. The rest were ones I found on dating apps.”
I squeeze her shoulder. “You just haven’t found the right guy yet.”
She looks over at me. It almost feels like she’s searching for the answer to an unspoken question before she faces the screen and sighs. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m serious.” I wait until she meets my gaze again.
Her bright blue eyes look worn down, defeated.
I hate that anyone ever made her feel like that.
Like less than she is. “None of these guys have been right for you because they’re not even on the same playing field as you.
You’re probably the most beautiful, ambitious, and kind woman they’ve ever met.
You need a man who isn’t intimidated by you and has goals of his own. ”
“So, a unicorn.” Alyssa bites her bottom lip like she’s said too much.
“I guess, if you want to put it that way.”
“Maybe I should give up dating for a while.” She runs her palm across the blanket on her lap.
“Talk to your friends about it first. Maybe they have some better ideas since they’ve almost all found love this past year.
” I don’t know why I suggest it. Before she got here, I was just thinking about how I don’t want our routine—our friendship—to change.
But after seeing her sad and dejected, I had to say something. I care about her happiness.
She grabs another piece of the dessert, clearly avoiding any more romance talk. “Can we watch the show? I could use a good laugh that’s not at the expense of my dating life.”
I press play on the remote. “You’ve got it.”