“Good steal tonight, man. You still got it.”
Josh waved tiredly at the passing compliment and slumped over, braced on his thighs. He was bone-tired and mentally wiped.
“Thanks, man,” he said, not sure who had said it.
He was beating himself up—walking the ball over to her like a magnet pulling him in, letting her know he knew she was there.
What was he thinking? She was wearing ridiculous sunglasses and her friend’s hat jammed over her head, her gorgeous firecracker hair all tucked up under it. She’d sat immobile, her mouth open in surprise as he’d handed her the ball. It was obvious she did not want him to see her there. She’d been hiding, for Christ’s sake.
He’d wanted her to take off her glasses so he could see her eyes, but the words stuck in his throat when she’d made a small sound of terror. He would have stood there like an idiot, and thankfully Sharla had diffused the situation as only she could. It had been the cue to get his ass back into the game.
He was not over her yet. Maybe he never would be.
When he’d stolen third, he’d looked back at her without even a thought, and she’d been sitting up in her seat, cheering for him, her sunglasses in her hand, and their eyes met. The heat that had risen in him almost caused him to walk straight off the field and pull her to him, to connect that heat back to its source. But he couldn’t, of course, and now she was long gone. He had no idea where she lived in the city, or if she would even want to see him.
Her reaction to him when he’d come over with the ball had spoken volumes anyway.
“Dammit,” he swore to himself. He had drinks to go to with friends, and he’d likely be on the list to interview based on his steal, considering it had made the game reel on ESPN.
There wasn’t time for her.
. . .
“Drinks and food,” Sharla said. “Where should we go? You need something like a stiff scotch, at the very least.”
“The One Eighty is really nice and has great views of the city.
It’s one of the restaurants I consult for. I’m sure we can get in and have a late dinner.”
“Sounds perfect,” Sharla said and hailed a cab. “Kevin, we’re going for supper. Coming?”
Kevin leveled a possessive gaze at Sharla and strode over to her, putting his hand on the small of her back as they hopped into the minivan that had pulled up. Gretchen remembered, as 1she stepped in, how Josh had put his hand there when they were boarding the plane.
Tonight was going to be hard. She was the third wheel, and in a weird way, it was dredging up memories of Josh.
“Where to, folks?” the cab driver asked cheerily.
“Bloor Street West. Um . . . fifty-five,” she stuttered as she sat, caught in a memory of Josh holding her as they banked into Vegas. It felt like just yesterday. Her hand went to her stomach, the sensation tingling her nerves.
They zoomed off, the lights and cacophony of downtown Toronto jumbling together. Kevin chatted about the game and Gretchen relaxed, zoning out, half-hearing the conversation. It would be okay. Josh would be long gone by now, back to his hotel.
They were playing again tomorrow, but she wasn’t going. No way.
“Earth to Gretchen,” Sharla said, snapping her fingers in front of Gretchen’s face.
“Sorry,” Gretchen said, turning from the window. “What was that?”
“We’re talking about November and how we’re all getting to Beaujeu,” Kevin offered. “I’m very glad you decided to come.”
“Oh! I’m excited about it!” Gretchen replied, meaning it. It would be her first trip to Europe in years, and she planned to spend a few days touring some of France before she went home after the festival. A solo trip seemed decadent, but she was energized by the prospect of it.
“Good. I’ll send you the ticket information soon, and we’ll look after the hotel. Sharla will, of course, keep you posted.”
Sharla grinned like the Cheshire cat. “We are going to have so much damned fun!”
The cab made it to their stop, and Kevin graciously paid the 1fare. It wasn’t a short trip up to Yorkville, and normally Gretchen would have taken the TTC, but people like the Earl of Rathwell didn’t do public transit, even if he eschewed personal cars and such when he traveled.
They took the elevator up, and Sharla sounded like she was being strangled when they took in the view and held on to the wall, her eyes squeezed shut. Gretchen had forgotten Sharla hated heights and took her hand, but it made Kevin laugh and carefully edge her over, his arms around her. Her hair was blowing in the breeze, and he gently tucked it back behind her ear as he cajoled her into opening her eyes. It was sweet, and it finally made sense as she watched them.
“Oh Sharla,” she sighed to herself. A good guy was in love with Sharla, and she was scared of what that might mean. Thus, she was doing everything she could to push him away. Classic Sharla.
Gretchen arranged a table near the back, well away from the edge, and waved them over after she was settled. They joined her, Sharla admonishing Kevin for trying to kill her, and they bantered back and forth, the mood lifting.
“This place is very nice,” Sharla complimented. “I’m loving your list here. Bravo.”
Kevin looked up. “You’re the sommelier here? Don’t they have one on staff?”
“They do not. I consult and do a lot of the legwork for the owner. I do the same for quite a few of the restaurants in Toronto, a few chains. It’s steady work.”
“How lovely. What do you recommend to go with beef?”
Kevin asked. His very own sommelier was sitting right beside him, but he looked at Gretchen in his entrancing way of talking to someone directly. He was rugged and handsome, like a movie 1star. That he loved wine as much as he did was not apparent, since he was as fit as any athlete. She immediately thought of Josh and the way his stomach flexed, the way the muscles on his shoulders shifted when he—
Gretchen bit her lip to clear the vision. Josh was invading her every thought. She was going to lose her mind. She had to put him out of it so she wouldn’t.
“Well, obviously a red. If you go with the ragout stew they have here, I suggest a deep red, like a zin, or a cab. With the rib steak you could get away with something a little bit lighter, like that merlot, three down,” she said, focusing on the page, clearing her mind to remember the list.
Kevin skimmed the list with his finger. “I do believe I will try the merlot. A good steak seems in order after baseball.”
Sharla looked at her boss with surprise. “Merlot, Kevin?”
“I am game to try what Gretchen suggests, Shar. She’s as good as you. What would you have suggested?”
Sharla sighed and pointed to the exact same two wines, throwing an exasperated look at Gretchen. “I think he winds me up on purpose.”
The two of them wound each other up all the time, and normally it was humorous to watch them interact. This felt different.
She was going to have to corner Sharla later to ask what exactly was going on between her and Kevin.
More conversation flowed as they drank their selections, the food arriving not long after. Gretchen wasn’t particularly hungry and nibbled at her beet salad, knowing she needed to put something in her stomach.
Jumbled conversation and deep, male laughter burst onto the restaurant floor. She froze, a beet halfway to her mouth, dripping red onto her plate.
Of all the gin joints. Josh was with a bunch of the Sixer and Longhorn players, and they were taking a table out on the overlook patio. All of them in dress shirts and designer jeans, expensive watches flashing, looking like the millions of bucks they earned. Gretchen could hear drawls and Spanish accents, but then she heard Josh’s laugh above it and put her fork down.
She couldn’t take this again. Not tonight, when everything was still emotionally raw. She was an idiot for still feeling this way about a silly, spontaneous hookup. She was broken in some way, still pining for him, wasn’t she?
“What is it?” Kevin asked. “You look white. Are you ill? Shar, Gretchen looks ill.”
Sharla looked over at Gretchen and peered into her face.
Gretchen pointed discreetly from her lap over to their table, not trusting her voice not to crack or tears to start if she spoke aloud.
“Oh shit,” Sharla swore, and swung into action, signaling the waiter for their bill. “I’m taking her into the bathroom. Can you settle up? We’ll get her home after that, okay?”
“Of course,” Kevin said, and rose to go with the waiter to the bar to speed the process along.
The problem was that they had to walk past the door to the outer dining area, where the players were seated. Josh was lounging on the end, his tall frame relaxed, which pinged at her abdomen despite how awful she felt. He ran a hand through his shorter hair, and Gretchen groaned inwardly, the memory of it wet and slicked back in the shower as he—
“Fuck,” she swore under her breath. He was devastating and she wasn’t supposed to care.
He looked up, sensing them, and their eyes met, his surprise evident. Gretchen quickly looked away and they hurried down 1the hallway toward the bathrooms. Sharla shoved her inside and stayed in the hall. Gretchen leaned against the door frame as it closed, wiping at the tears that had fallen as soon as their eyes had connected. She was such a marshmallow and needed to figure this out because she couldn’t go around being ridiculously sensitive all the time. Hadn’t she just resolved not to do this anymore, at the ball game?
She listened as Sharla greeted someone, muffled through the thick wood, her bitch tone on in full spades. The person answered back.
“No.”
Who was Sharla talking to? Then she got louder. “You’ve done enough, don’t you think? You ghosted her. Never called; never texted. You made it clear what was more important.”
“Just let me talk to her, Sharla. Please. We left it—”
She put her hand to her mouth. Josh. She rattled the door-knob, pulling, and it was snapped closed quickly. Sharla must have a firm hold on the handle. She stopped yanking as Sharla launched into a tirade.
“Not tonight, big guy. She’s had enough, that stunt you pulled giving her a game ball was hard enough.”
“Wasn’t a stunt. I want to see her. I—”
“Really, asshole? Because it felt like one. Your memory might be foggy, but you left that restaurant, not letting either of us explain. You just stormed out. What gives you the right to act like nothing happened and just saunter over? Did you expect her to fawn over you like . . . like . . .” Sharla countered, her voice snapping with anger.
Gretchen put her forehead on the cool, smooth surface of the door. She wanted to see him, interrupt whatever it was that Sharla 1was, in her own way, trying to fix. But she also knew that the moment their eyes met, she would not be able to resist touching him and that would not be a good idea.
“I—” he replied and she cut him off, launching into another tirade.
“Since you don’t know her well enough, let me fill you in, Mister. She’s been an emotional wreck since Vegas. You broke her heart, dammit! She was so into you, and any idiot could see that both of you were like lovesick puppies! But ultimately you didn’t trust her, and you fucking lost the best thing you could’ve ever had. I won’t let you fuck around with her head again. Nuh-uh.”
“I—” Josh started again, then stopped. She could picture him with his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Tell her if she wants to talk to text me if she still has my number. Tell her—”
“What, Josh? Tell her what?” Sharla snapped back.
“Tell her I’m sorry. For all of it.”
At that moment, Gretchen was sorry too. For not trying harder to explain, for running away when she should have defended herself and made him understand. She tried the door again, but it wouldn’t budge, and she put her hand out flat on the cold metal, wishing she could see him, tears dripping down her face.
A few more beats of silence and a knock at the door. “Gretch, you okay? He’s gone now.”
She opened the door and peered at her friend. Kevin was standing just behind her, a concerned look on his face. That was when she let out a sob and launched into her best friend’s arms.
“I think Mr. Sunshine is more than just a favorite baseball player,” Kevin offered.
“We—” Gretchen started and then let out another sob. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No need. I’m sorry you’ve had such a trying day. Let’s get you home.” he replied. They turned the corner, and the elevator mercifully opened, letting some people out.
“After you,” Kevin offered, gesturing, holding open the doors for them.
As they turned, she saw Josh pacing quickly toward them, and his eyes met hers, pleading with her to hold the door. She stepped forward, reaching to stop the doors from closing, but Sharla blocked her.
“Stop. Wait to talk to him when you aren’t about to faint, Gretch. Bad idea, honey,” she rattled off and stabbed the Close button repeatedly.
“Wait. Gretchen, please—” was all Josh got out as he reached the elevator and the doors closed. Gretchen sagged against the wall as they descended.
“Maybe I should talk to him. He looked really upset.”
“I agree with Sharla,” Kevin piped in. “You are in no shape to deal with the big emotions I see radiating from both of you.
Cooling off first is likely a good idea. What on earth did he do?”
“He fucked up,” Sharla snapped, and for good measure, glared at Kevin.
The elevator was silent for the rest of the journey to the ground floor and they stepped out into the warm Toronto night, the hub-bub of Yorkville all around them. Kevin hailed the taxi this time, and they piled in, one on either side of her.
“Thank you,” Gretchen muttered quietly. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.”
Kevin looked down at her, kindness echoing as his eyes swiveled up and shared a look with Sharla. She rested her head on her friend’s shoulder, exhausted.
“Not ruined, my dear,” was all she heard in a crisp British accent before she focused on the city passing by outside the window, lost in thoughts of Josh.