Hector (Season One: The Ninth Inning #3) (3 page)

His voice is sexy and I smirk as I unsnap my bra and take it off. I have to give him credit; he has been chasing me for almost two months. I give in.

“Reyes. My last name is Reyes and I’m sure, like I said before, we’re not compatible.”

“Yeah, I got that. Are you from Memphis? How did you become a bartender?”

I walk to the kitchen and fix myself a glass of wine. After a gulp, I pad over to my spare room that I turned into my art studio. I sit on the stool and place my glass on the small table next to the white, blank canvas that’s waiting for me to start something new.

“I am from Memphis and I’m guessing by the accent, you’re not. As for becoming a bartender, the guy who does all my tattoos is also the bar manager. I know how to make drinks and he offered me a job.” I pick up a piece of charcoal and begin sketching.

“Where do you think I’m from? A more interesting question is how many tattoos do you have?”

“I’m not going to guess because I could offend you if I say the wrong thing. I guess you’re of Latino heritage and we can leave it at that. I can’t even tell you how many tattoos I have. I have both arms, my back, and I’m starting on my legs. I like using my skin to tell a story and being an open canvas.” I use my pointer finger to fade out the harsh line.

“It’s hard to offend me, but I’m from the Dominican Republic. Santo Domingo, specifically. But if I want to know about you, then I just have to find the story in your tats?”

“Well, sure. I mean, if you know me well enough, you’ll understand what they mean.” I know that’s a vague answer, but it seems to be the best one to give him now.

“That’s part of my plan.”

“So, what gives, Hector?” I continue to draw as I talk to him. “I’m assuming you don’t have a girlfriend or wife since you’re macking on me so hard. What’s your story? You have a fetish for tattooed girls?”

He laughs and I can picture his smile. “No fetish, but I do like them. No woman either. My story is I’m a pro baseball player, trying to get to know this reluctant bartender. I’m a simple guy.”

“Not much of a story, Hector.” I continue the line I’m drawing. “Let’s start simple. When did you start playing baseball? Did you always want to be in the big leagues?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been playing since I was old enough to be on a team. Playing was always my dream, although I had a backup plan that I sometimes think my parents would rather I had done. Not that they aren’t proud of me, but it’s not exactly the traditional route, I guess.”

“What was the backup plan?” I shade some more of the line and aimlessly sketch more onto the canvas.

“They wanted me to go into real estate. We moved to the States when I was almost a teenager and they have their own company, which has been really successful.”

“Wow. Real estate. No wonder you’re such a charmer and a talker.” I smile a bit thinking of him talking me for the past two months. “Is it just you and your parents? No siblings?”

He chuckles. “You think I’m a charmer, yet it took two months to get your name and number.”

“Just because you’re a charmer doesn’t mean I’m not stubborn,” I correct him.

“That could be an understatement. But, I’m the oldest with a younger sister.”

“Oh, so are you the protective big brother or the cool big brother?” I keep the harsh line and forgo shading it off.

“The cool big brother. I taught her well, and she doesn’t need my protection. Do you have any siblings?”

“Nope. I’m an only child.” I don’t know what else to say.

“What was your childhood like?”

There it is. The question every child of dead parents dreads. You always get the
poor you
look. But since we’re sharing all our feelings right now, might as well dive in the deep end of the pool.

“Well, my parents died in a boating accident when I was three months old, so I was raised by my aunt and her wife. I had the greatest childhood. My aunts and I traveled and they are very eclectic. My childhood wasn’t boring. Now, Aunt Minnie owns an art gallery here in Memphis and she and Aunt Lanny run it.”

“Wow. Sounds like you were raised by great women then.”

I stop for a second. I wasn’t expecting his response. Usually, everyone cringes when I tell them lesbians raised me. Or, I get the look of horror as I call it.

“They are amazing. I love them so much.” I continue sketching. “They’ve supported me in more ways than I can ever repay them for. I didn’t have many friends growing up because people didn’t approve, but I didn’t care because they have the biggest hearts and are the most generous ladies anyone would ever meet. They mean the world to me.” My heart warms thinking of everything my aunts do for others and for me.

“They sound amazing.”

“They really are. I can’t imagine my life without them.” I pause for a second and look at the massive open tree I’ve created. I haven’t drawn anything like this in years. I’ve not been good at them. It dawns on me how much I’ve actually told him. Is it because I was working and not paying attention? Or is it him? “How did you do that, Hector? You literally know almost everything about me.”

“Almost?”

“A girl has to keep a few secrets.” There’s no way I’m going to tell him I’m a starving artist.

“We all have a few. Hopefully, you’ll reveal them to me eventually. It’s been nice talking with you, Zoey, but I should probably get off here. Can I call you again soon?”

I look over at the clock on my wall and I didn’t realize we had been talking this long.

“You didn’t answer my question. How the heck did you do that?” I push a bit harder.

“I didn’t do anything. You just finally talked to me.”

“I’m going to go with black magic for now.” I look at the charcoal canvas. “You’re right. It’s late. Have a good night, Hector.”

“You too, Zoey.”

I glance at my phone as the screen fades. There’s something about Hector and his accent that makes me open up. I need to be careful with him.

“SAY AGAIN?” I ask, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder. Absentmindedly, I grab the cross hanging from my neck, praying my parents aren’t up to their usual antics again.

“We may have found you a more suitable girl this time.” Mom continues to ramble on about some chick and I try not to sigh. For years, my parents have tried to play matchmaker, setting me up time and time again with a nice Catholic girl who happens to be from the Dominican Republic as well. They manage to meet more women from our home country than I ever have. “What do you think?” she finishes.

“I don’t know. I can find my own girlfriend, you know. It never works out when you set me up with someone.” Mostly because I’m never as interested in the girl as my parents seem to be.

“You never give it a chance,” she accuses. “One more time, Hector, please.”

Sighing, I tell her, “I’ll think about it.” It’s the only way she’ll leave me alone for a while. After exchanging goodbyes, we hang up.

The road games were terrible, losing all but one. We played pretty well, but not good enough to bring home the win. I open my fridge, not seeing much of anything, and I’m tempted to drive over to Blake’s. He always has food. My phone dings with a text, so I grab it from the counter and check the message. It’s from Tanner, the youngest on the team.

Tanner: Some of us are going out. You coming?

Me: Where?

Tanner: Don’t know yet haha. Roman’s trying to convince Spencer his choice is better.

Me: The bars they like both suck. Tell ‘em we’ll go to Big Blue downtown

What’s that saying? Knocking out two birds with one stone? That’s the best way to do it; hanging with the guys and getting a chance to see Zoey. It doesn’t take long before I’ve left my house for the bar. The guys haven’t arrived yet, so I scan the room for my favorite bartender. She’s working the tables tonight and is currently busy with one. A waitress walks by me, but I stop her only for a second. What fun would it be to come here and then not sit in her section?

The waitress points me to a table I can take, sending me on my way. A minute or so passes before Zoey notices me. I grin and am quite pleased with myself when she smiles back. She disappears and seconds later, she returns with a bottle of beer.

“Miss me?” I ask.

“Should I have?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure I’m your best customer. I’ve been gone a few days; there’s no way you didn’t miss me.”

Before she can respond, Tanner, Roman, and Spencer are pulling out chairs and taking a seat. Tanner’s eyes eagerly take in Zoey’s appearance. His gaze seems to take forever before it reaches her eyes.

“You’re ridiculously hot,” he states. “No wonder Hector picked this place.” He’s sitting next to me and I thump his temple. “What? I complimented her.”

I shake my head at him. “Are you even old enough to drink? Do you need a water instead?”

Roman and Spencer laugh as Tanner glares at me. A faint smile is on Zoey’s face as she takes their drink orders. It quickly becomes busy and I only see Zoey every now and then when she refills our drinks. With the season beginning to dwindle, our focus needs to stay sharp, so after one alcoholic beverage, we switch to either water or soda. We get up to play a round of pool and I ask the guys how they like Memphis.

“It’s not too bad,” Roman says.

“Helps that we’re with a good organization too,” Spencer adds.

“I’ve just been enjoying the chicks. Our waitress is crazy hot.” As if he needed to repeat himself.

“Don’t even think about it, Tanner,” I warn. “This is my favorite bar and you aren’t going to try to screw her. She wouldn’t give you a second glance anyway.”

He looks over his shoulder at her as Roman steps up to the pool table for his shot. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because she’s already talking to me.” Sometimes, Tanner will feel as if he needs to prove himself, and that’s the only answer that will keep him from trying to sweet talk Zoey. Plus, it’s true. I don’t catch his reaction because it’s my turn. I assess the table, debating my next move. Not going to lie, part of me is wondering if it’s time for this place to close soon. I’m starving, but I got this brilliant idea to hold off until Zoey gets off, so I can attempt to convince her to eat with me. She has to be hungry after working for so long.

Three games of pool and two of darts later, the guys begin to leave and I realize the place is starting to empty out. I take a seat at the table again, pulling out my wallet. I pull out the bills to cover my tab and then an extra for her tip. When I glance up after putting my wallet back and setting the money on the table, I see Zoey making her way over to me.

“All done for the night?” she says, her hand reaching out for the money.

I place my hand over the cash to stop her. “Yes, but I have a question for you first. Are you almost finished here?”

“I am. Why?” Her gaze is already skeptical, and I try to smile.

“I haven’t had dinner yet. Do you want to go with me to eat?”

“As long as you don’t think that because we’re grabbing a bite to eat, you’ll be back at my place for any hanky-panky.”

Laughter shakes my torso. My stomach aches from it when I manage to calm down enough to say, “I wasn’t thinking that at all. Does that mean you’re coming with me?”

“Sure. A girl has to eat, right?”

“Yes, she does.”

We agree on a restaurant and drive separately. I’m not going to lie, part of me worried she wouldn’t actually show up. I can’t seem to figure her out, and after attempting to get her name for two months, I feel like at any moment, she’ll pull the rug from under my feet and pull a disappearing act.

We slide into opposite sides of a booth, a waitress appearing quickly. The place is pretty dead, only four other tables occupied, but it’s not too surprising considering the time of night. We make small talk until after we’ve placed our orders.

“How were the games?” Zoey asks. “I heard they were okay.”

“Lost all but one, so okay is an overstatement. We didn’t play badly, but we didn’t play well either. How’s work been without me?” I grin. My smile is my best feature, according to previous girls, so I’m hoping it’ll work on her too.

Zoey shrugs. “Oh, you know, drunks, college kids, and then a few crazy girls. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before or can’t handle.”

“So what do you do outside of work?” I’m so eager to get to know the person away from the bar; I’m practically like a dog panting on a hot day after running around.

“I...well…” For the first time since I’ve met her, Zoey seems nervous, her eyes unsure as she glances at me and then down at the table. “I’m kind of an artist.”

“Really? What type of kind of artist are you?”

“I draw, paint, or sketch whatever comes to mind based on what I’m feeling. Aunt Minnie thinks I’m great, but I haven’t sold anything yet. That’s why I say
kind of
. I don’t think you can call yourself an artist when only your family thinks you're good.”

Her statement makes me think about my childhood and when I first started playing baseball. Hopefully, I can say something that’s actually more encouraging than some ramblings. Maybe it was all the rejection at first, but Zoey makes me slightly nervous. “If you’re good, you’re good,” I begin. “It’s not exactly the same thing, but I sucked for a long time when I first started playing. My family still thought I was the best, even when I wasn’t. It didn’t make me any less of a baseball player,” I say, making my main point. “Just because you haven’t sold anything yet doesn’t mean you aren’t an artist. You draw, paint, and sketch. You’re an artist.”