Chapter fourteen
Adrian
I’ve just parked in the players section of the Crowns stadium lot for pregame batting practice when a text from Griffin comes through.
WEST
You free to meet for dinner tonight after the game? We haven’t caught up in a while.
ME
Yeah, I want to hear about this talk show gig. Where should I meet you?
Let me guess. Capital Grille?
WEST
Capital Grille at 8.
Our texts overlap, sending and arriving simultaneously.
ME
You’re so predictable.
WEST
Jeff would be devastated if I cheated on him with another restaurant’s bartender.
ME
You sure you’ll be able to stay awake past 8 now that you’re a retired old man?
WEST
I could still take you any day. Don’t you forget it.
His threat lodges in my chest even though it’s a joke.
I haven’t talked to Sam since the gala two days ago, even though I’ve thought about her every second since.
Every time I debate with myself whether to talk with Griffin first or ask Sam out first, a different side wins.
Which means no side has truly won, and I haven’t decided what to do.
I need to get inside to change for practice before I get in trouble for being late, so I send a typical Adrian joking response to end the conversation.
ME
Take me at what? Shuffleboard? Whatever, viejo. See you at 8.
After passing my keys and a tip to the valet, I enter the front doors of The Capital Grille at the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City, Missouri.
This has been Griffin’s go-to spot for years, and for as much grief as I give him over his restaurant rut, I can’t really blame him.
The food is great, the service is excellent, and the privacy is a relief.
I don’t think we’ve ever been approached for photos or autographs any of the times we’ve met here.
The host recognizes me and says, “Mr. West is sitting over at the bar. I’ll walk you to him.”
Although I know the way, I follow her to the back corner of the U-shaped bar where Griffin is already laughing with Jeff, his favorite bartender-turned-friend. I clap Griffin’s shoulder as I take the seat next to his.
“Adrian, good to see you again. It’s been a while,” Jeff says.
Smacking Griffin’s back again, I squeeze his shoulder hard. “That’s ’cause I’ve been replaced. He brings a different companion now instead of me.”
“Yeah, well, she’s a lot prettier than you. Her hair is way better than this mess,” Griffin says as he flicks the damp curls on my forehead.
“Whoa, whoa, I have it on good authority that this longer hair and goatee is a good look for me,” I jest before realizing I shouldn’t be alluding to any comments Sam has made about my appearance. At least, not before I decide when I’m going to broach that topic with Griffin.
Thankfully, Jeff cuts in, asking me what I’ll have to drink. “Give me the West special,” I say, referring to Griffin’s signature mocktail consisting of club soda, lime, and a splash of cranberry juice.
Griffin raises his eyebrows. “No punchier drink for you tonight?”
“Nah, I’m following in your footsteps. The party days are behind me now—no more alcohol during the season,” I say. After all, I want Griffin to take me seriously as a responsible adult whenever I do bring up the topic of dating Sam.
Jeff smiles and says, “Good, this will give me a chance to teach my protégé, Noah, how to make the drink. He was busy restocking the large ice cubes when I made Griffin’s.”
At the sound of his name, the other bartender appears by Jeff’s side. He holds out a hand to shake ours and says, “I’m Noah. Just started here a few weeks ago after moving from Chicago.”
“What Noah didn’t mention is he was the head bartender at a very trendy club there. He already has our whole system figured out,” Jeff says. “So the West special will be the final piece of his training.”
Jeff moves to hand menus to a couple that sat down at the bar, and Noah returns to the drink he was mixing.
“Sorry about the loss this afternoon,” Griffin tells me. “You can still win the series tomorrow, though.”
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, today was ugly. Hendricks in the seventh inning . . .” I let the statement trail off as I shake my head.
Jeff places my drink in front of me, and Griffin orders the lobster-and-crab-cakes appetizer.
I watch as Jeff and Noah work seamlessly around each other, both laughing and making conversation with customers around the bar.
They weave back and forth crafting drinks, entering orders into the tablet, and serving customers, seemingly anticipating each other’s moves.
Taking a sip of the tart mocktail, I tip my glass toward the bartenders working in tandem. “I miss that, man,” I tell Griffin. “I miss you being out there, the way we could read each other’s minds. Working so flawlessly together. It’s not that way with Hendricks.”
Griffin scoffs rather loudly, and I look over at him. “You know it wasn’t that way with us instantly. It took a little bit for us to gel together.”
Frowning, I say, “I don’t remember it that way. We always got along.”
There’s a small smile on Griffin’s face when he says, “I’m not saying we didn’t get along.
We were friends right away. But it took several months of playing together for us to get into that effortless rhythm.
Months of practice plus me playing along with your ridiculous behavior more in order to get the best out of you. ”
His statement makes me laugh. “I guess you’re right. Hendricks isn’t one for playing along, though.”
Griffin shrugs. “You’re the older, wiser one now. Maybe you need to play along to his tune to get the best out of him.”
Propping an elbow on the bar, I rub a hand across my goatee. “Hmmm. Maybe you’re on to something.” Griffin tips his head in a bow, so I add, “After all—you are the really old one.”
When Jeff delivers our appetizer, we order entrées—steak for Griffin and seared tuna for me—then Griffin tells me all about his guest spot on the sports talk show and the visit to New York City with Danae and Jason.
Noah brings out our entrées before we’ve even finished discussing the trip, and Griffin cuts into his steak to check the temperature. “I’ll be back with another round of drinks?” Noah asks as a question, and we both nod.
I’m one bite into my tuna when Griffin clears his throat and holds up his phone. His gray-blue eyes are piercing when he speaks. “So. Mind telling me what this is?”
Swallowing the tuna, I look at his phone, which displays a photo of the dance floor at the gala—including Sam and me slow dancing.
I take a sip of water.
“That was at the youth sports foundation gala. You knew we were going to that,” I hedge. “What’s the picture from?”
“A friend who was there sent me several photos from the night,” he answers. With his thumb and forefinger, he zooms in on the photo. Zooms in on my face gazing down at Sam.
Griffin gives me an even harder look. “Mind telling me what this is?” he emphasizes, pointing to my clearly lovestruck face in the photo.
Everything in my body goes still, aside from my heart kicking into panicked overdrive. I have no witty remarks, no teasing responses, no diversions.
Maintaining intense eye contact, Griffin lowers the phone to the bar. His voice is controlled when he asks, “Do you have a thing for my sister?”
My default setting is to make a joke or laugh things off when I feel uncomfortable. Anything to deflect attention from whatever I don’t want to acknowledge.
But I do want to acknowledge my feelings for Sam.
“Yeah. I do,” I state.
Griffin’s eyes narrow impossibly further. “Since when?”
Exhaling slowly, I say, “Probably about a year.”
Eyes widening, Griffin leans back. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I say. Before I can share more, Jeff drops off drinks and asks if everything came out okay. We give positive but short responses, and Jeff seems to recognize our need for space.
Griffin gestures an open hand in my direction, a clear command to explain myself.
I do my best to keep eye contact, as uncomfortable as I might feel. I need Griffin to see my sincerity.
“I swear I didn’t see Sam this way back when she first moved here. She’s always been just a friend, and I’ve never said or done anything that would cross the line in the past,” I start. Pausing, I try to come up with the right words to explain the shift in how I saw her.
“Being up close while you fell in love with Danae, seeing you step into Jason’s life, watching you move on from baseball—it made me realize that despite all the fun experiences I’ve had in life, I’ve been missing out on the best experience out there.
I saw in you that settling down isn’t settling at all,” I explain.
Griffin’s expression hasn’t shifted a millimeter, so I continue.
“Honestly, I think I started to see Sam differently in the process of us pushing you and Danae together. I saw her in different situations than just your sister or personal assistant. I saw her with Jason. Watched her support Danae in so many ways. Watched her chase a dream with cosmetology school after years of helping you with your dream. She’s .
. .” I trail off momentarily, then gently shake my head.
“There’s no one else like her. Nothing compares.
I haven’t been able to get her out of my head for the past year, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. I don’t even want to at this point.”
Cocking his head to one side, Griffin’s lips finally twitch with movement resembling an almost smile. Or, at the very least, not a grimace.
“You’re right. Sam is special—in a lot of ways,” Griffin says, and I finally manage to inhale a full breath.
“You know that she’s had a hard time in the past. But you don’t know the full story.
Stories, multiple. I can’t risk her getting crushed again if you’re not serious about this.
I’ve never seen you have a serious relationship.
Ever. No dating Sam just for some good times for a few weeks. ”
Holding up both hands, I shake my head. “Griff, I would never do that to her. I’ve never been more serious about anything, and I’m not just saying that because I tend to not be serious ninety percent of the time.
” He cracks a real smile at that. I say, “The party stuff is long behind me—you may not have noticed because you’ve had your own serious relationship to deal with. ”
Griffin breaks eye contact and stares into space, as though scanning his memories for relevant information.
“That’s true. I haven’t heard about you going out to clubs with the guys in a long time.
I guess I was so wrapped up with Danae that I wasn’t paying attention.
Which is probably how I’ve completely missed that you had feelings for Sam. ”
“Maybe I should have told you sooner. I don’t know,” I say, “I don’t even know how Sam feels about me.
But I know how I feel about her, and it’s serious.
I want to be straight with her and ask her to give me a chance.
But please believe that she’s not just a chance to me—she’s exactly what I want.
She’s all I want for life, if she could ever feel the same way. ”
Griffin’s tensed shoulders finally relax.
“I believe you. Sam’s a grown woman, so she doesn’t need my blessing to date you.
But I’m behind you, for whatever it’s worth.
Just . . . take it slow. Maybe you’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but she needs time to get her feet under her in a relationship. ”
He cuts off a bite of steak, so I follow suit and fork another bite of tuna into my mouth.
Griffin says, “Take it slow, but also, you probably need to start it soon. As in, talk to Sam very soon. Because she hasn’t called to tell me anything about the gala.
Which is completely unlike her to not fill me in.
” He pauses to unlock his phone screen, then adds, “Not to mention that’s the face you were looking at her with all night.
Sam’s an intuitive person, but it would take very little intuition to assume you’re in love with her based on this photo.
So on her own, she’s likely overanalyzing everything about you and her and love and the entire universe in general. ”
Groaning, I nearly choke on the bite of tuna. I cough and take a drink of water, then say, “You’re right.” Staring down at my plate of almost untouched food, urgency builds in my thoughts. “You’re right.”
Tossing my napkin on the bar next to my plate, I stand up. “You’re right,” I repeat a third time before clapping Griffin’s shoulder. “I’ll Venmo you for the food. Feel free to eat it. I gotta go talk to Sam.”
Griffin’s eyes crinkle with a full smile as he claps my back. “I’ll send you the whole bill.”
With great effort, I hold my muscles back from breaking into a sprint out of the restaurant. I’m less successful at holding my right foot back from the gas pedal.
This is my moment. I’m not going to miss it.