Hector (Season One: The Ninth Inning #3) (6 page)

“Don’t ever bring up your ovaries to me again. Ugh.” I shake my head to get that thought out of my head. “She doesn’t listen to me all that well, but I’ll talk to her, at least to get her to back off on the kid talk. No promises, but I’ll try.”

“Thank you. Thank you. I owe you big time. I will do anything if you can get her off my back.”

“I’ll remember that. What else is going on? Talking to anyone who isn’t on Mom’s list? Or does college prevent that too?”

“No,” she sighs. “I’m not talking to anyone. I’m trying to remain focused on schoolwork and projects. What about you? How is Memphis?”

“Good. You need to stay focused, but you need to have a little fun too. Memphis is great. I really like it here and I like my teammates. If you ever want a weekend away, you can come and I’ll show you around.” I’d love to see her sooner than whenever the season is over.

“You like Tennessee? You never liked it when you went there before,” she points out before gasping. “Oh my God, are you seeing someone? Tell me everything,” Carissa demands.

“I just have great friends here, one of which may be a girl,” I tell her, deciding to give her a little information. “Does that answer everything?”

“No, it does not answer
everything
.” I can imagine her rolling her eyes at me and it makes me smile. “Tell me about her. I’m guessing Mom doesn’t know about her, which means something. Spill it, brother.”

“Her name is Zoey. She’s a bartender and an artist. Her aunt and her girlfriend raised her after her parents died, and she has more tattoos than I can count. She’s funny and has a good heart. We’re friends at the moment. Anything else you want to know?”

Carissa begins ticking off what I just told her. “Bartender. Artist. Tattoos. Lesbian guardians. Dead parents. Mom will fall dead into a six-foot grave when you tell her this. Wait, did you say you’re just friends? Don’t you want more?”

“Mom doesn’t need to know right now. She’s more than those things you listed,” I feel the need to point out. A person can’t be summed down into a handful of words. There’s more to Zoey than what I said, what Carissa pointed out, and I don’t want her or my mother seeing Zoey as just those things. “And yes, just friends, and yes, I want more. We’ve been moving slow.” That’s the understatement of the year. “At this point, I’ll take whatever she’ll give me. She doesn’t think we’re compatible for some reason.”

“Well, if anyone can break someone down, it’s you. You can talk a penguin into buying a glass of ice water.”

I chuckle and smile, glancing at my cart full of food. “Thanks for your faith in me. I should probably get going. I’ll talk to Mom for you. Just remember what I said, okay?”

“I will. Thank you. Love you and we’ll take soon about me coming up and visiting Zoey.” She laughs.

“You are always welcome. Love you too. Bye.”

Every time I get off the phone with my sister, I wished she lived closer. It’s always great to talk to her and to catch up on how she’s doing. I love that she’s already excited to meet Zoey, too. It gives me hope that my mom will be as accepting if the time ever comes. I grab the last item I need, a loaf of bread, and head to the check out.

Back home and settled in for the night, I stare at all the food I just bought, none of it looking like whatever it is I’m craving. It’s one reason why I hate grocery shopping. I never seem to want what I have afterward. While I debate on dinner, I decide to check in on Zoey.

Me: How are you feeling?

Zoey: Like I’m going to have cotton-mouth for a year.

Me: Well, I can promise it won’t last that long. Working tonight?

Zoey: I’m in bed with several bottles of water, watching old black and white movies. What about you?

Me: Trying to decide on something for dinner. Are you hungry?

Zoey: Something hot and greasy does sound good right now, but I’m still in pajamas.

Me: I don’t see the words ‘don’t come over’, so...I’ll pick something up and be there soon?

Zoey: You know where I live. Just remember the TV remote is mine and you’re not changing the channel.

Me: Wouldn’t dream of it.

I call in an order at one of my favorite burger restaurants, wondering too late if Zoey is picky about what goes on her burger. It wasn’t my intention to invite myself over, or to even see her tonight, but how could I turn away an opportunity? After picking up our dinner, I head to her place, knocking on her door when I arrive.

True to her word, she’s in pajamas, an old T-shirt and shorts, with that long, black hair of hers thrown up into a ponytail. I hold up the bag of food.

“How does a hot and greasy burger sound?” I ask as she steps aside to let me in.

“Like heaven.” She leads me into the living room where the TV is already showing an old movie.

“What? You don’t want me in bed with you again?” I grin as I tease her.

“Maybe later when the exhaustion hits me again. How was your day?”

“Long, but not too bad. I got to talk to my sister, and now I get to hang out with you. Things are looking up.” I dig into the bag and hand over her food before taking mine out, settling the items in my lap.

“I forgot you had a sister. Younger, right?”

“Yep. She’s twenty-one and in college. She likes to call every now and then for advice and help.”

“Advice? Like what?” she asks curiously.

I enjoy a bite of my burger before I answer. “This time, she’s stressed about school and our slightly crazy, but well-intentioned mother. I think Mom actually pressures her more than she does me.” I sigh as I remember my promise to Carissa. “I’ll have to call her tomorrow.”

“Do you mean she pressures her about school? Does she want you both to be overachievers?”

“She wants us to do well, yes, but that wasn’t what I meant.” I hesitate to continue, wondering if I should bring up again how my mother is. Zoey notices and waits for me to add more, so I do. “I meant about our relationships or lack thereof.”

“What does that mean?” Her brows knit together in confusion.

“Mom plays matchmaker, remember?

Zoey tries to hide her frown as she plays with her straw. “Yeah, but I thought that was more of a joke. Are you saying she pushes you into relationships?”

“She tries, but rarely does a relationship ever come from her setting us up. That’s what’s stressing my sister out. Mom sent her a list of possibilities and has started talking about kids. Carissa’s freaking out and trying to focus on school.”

“Wow. That’s,” she tries searching for the right word before settling on, “interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before, besides in movies.”

I laugh. “Interesting, huh? That’s a nice word for it.”

A slight blush colors her cheeks. “She’s your mother, and I don’t want to be rude. If you want the truth, it’s ballsy as hell, and I’m shocked she wouldn’t want you both just to be happy with the people you find on your own.”

I think about what she said. Mom might have her list of traits she would like, but I think ultimately, she wants us to be happy and to have someone to share our lives with. With that in mind, I say, “If we were to find someone who made us happy, I think Mom would be happy about it, but since we haven’t found someone, she’s throwing people at us who she already knows
she
likes. My family is very traditional, but I’ve always hoped they would be accepting of someone I’ve found if she didn’t exactly match up to what they were hoping for.”

“That makes sense. Her heart is in the right place, it’s obvious. I’m sure it’s all out of love.”

I know it is. However, I’m ready to get away from this topic. “Even though you’ve been recovering from yesterday, have you created any art today? Do I get to see something you’ve done?” I would love to see her work, to see if she’s as bad as she seems to think she is or if she simply fails to see how fantastic she is.

“The room was spinning when I came back this morning. I’ve been in bed all day. And no, you can’t see anything because it’s all crap on a cracker.”

I grin at her phrase, but I’m not giving up that easily. “You are your own worst critic, so I can’t trust your judgment. Please?” I beg. “I’d love to see something.”

She considers it before groaning. “Well, since it all sucks, it can’t hurt, I guess. Come on.”

We toss our trash back into the bag, which I set on the end table before standing and following her. “I’m not going to lie,” I say. “I’m excited.” And I really am.

We stop outside of a room, the door closed, and Zoey faces me. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m telling you it’s horrible, but here it is.” With that, she opens the door.

“Wow.” I walk around, admiring the artwork on various canvases sitting on easels. She’s amazing. How can she not see it? I turn to face her, tilting my head. “Is horrible a code word for stunning or fantastic? These are incredible, Zoey.”

Her brows rise in surprise and then she says, “Um...I thought baseball players were supposed to have good eyesight.”

“My eyesight is perfect; thank you for showing me. I’m impressed and a little bit in awe of you.”

“Really?” she asks skeptically, glancing around at her work and motioning to them. “Because this is not art. It’s more like doodling and mindless sketching.” She shrugs, clearly not seeing what I do.

“Maybe that’s what makes them so great. You’re not over-thinking; instead, you go by instinct or however it happens. Believe it or not, you’re amazing.”

Finally, she gives me a shy smile. “Thank you, Hector. It’s nice of you to say.”

I return it with a grin. “If only you actually believed me.”

THE BURNING SENSATION gets worse with each drag of the tattoo gun. I do my best not to squirm as Storm continues.

“Zoey, I swear your skin is a dream to tattoo.”

I mumble yes because right now, all I want is for him is to hurry the hell up.

“Just a few more minutes,” Storm says as he continues working on my calf.

“Who would have thought lettering hurts more than an actual design?” I groan in even more pain.

“Keep breathing because if you faint, I will make fun of you.”

I don’t say anything to him and focus on several paintings on the wall next to me. Storm has more talent in his pinkie than I do in my entire body. I wish I could paint those strong lines and contrast them with such amazing shading and coloring.

I think about what Hector said the other night when I showed him my work. I didn’t want to do it, but with the hopeful look in his eyes, I couldn’t say no. I still don’t know why. There’s something about those big brown eyes, and it makes me forget everything, even my common sense.

Is that normal? It can’t be. What person in their right mind forgets everything when a guy, and an overbearing guy at that, simply looks at you? It had to be the alcohol still in my system. It’s the only explanation.

“Done.” Storm turns off the tattoo gun and begins to wipe down my calf and tells me all about the after care. It’s not like I don’t know how to take care of a new tattoo, but he’s required to do it every single time.

I look down at my new, fresh ink and read the words:

No matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life goes on, and it will be better tomorrow.

Maya Angelou

I love this quote and it seems to stick with me more and more throughout my life. My life has been amazing, but there always seems to be a small dark cloud lurking around the corner behind me. Following me, because I never got to know my parents, because my aunts gave up their lives to take care of me, and because I lack the talent to become a paid artist.

Storm wraps my calf, and after I pay him, I head back to my apartment. I check my phone as I walk up the stairs. Aunt Lanny tells me about her award-winning roses. She and Aunt Minnie drove all the way to the Indiana State fair to win that large blue ribbon. I smile at the cheesy picture of them, but they look so happy and in love.

What better role models could a girl ask for?

The next text is from Hector. The Angels had come home early this morning from another set of road games.

Hector: All done with practice. What are we doing today?

We?
He’s calling us a
we
? Are we a
we?

Hector: What about lunch?

I stare at the cell phone screen a little bit longer. I think about the past week or so with him. He’s a nice guy. He makes me laugh and is great to hang out with, but there isn’t a
we
. He’s very handsome, and while I’m sure he and I aren’t compatible enough to be in a serious relationship, he would be a great friend. He is a baseball player who travels all the time. I don’t even think he’s home enough to be in a relationship.

Hector: Are you ignoring me?

Yes and no, is what I want to type. Yes, because my epiphany just knocked me on my ass. No, because he’s really a good friend.

Damn it.

Hector: I can see that you are in fact ignoring me.

See? He sees me? I look to the left and then my right, and there he stands. Tall, dark, and handsome, it’s like a black and white movie scene as he strolls toward me.