We stop kissing and look up to see the owner standing cross-armed and staring at us like a couple of adolescents who got caught making out in the back seat of a car.

Sawyer laughs. “Sorry, Henry. I just can’t help myself around her.” He pulls out his wallet and throws a fifty on the table. “We’re leaving anyway. Our work here is done.” He winks at me and stands up, waiting for me to follow.

I don’t fail to notice, however, that his pants have a bulge in the front that wasn’t there before. He grabs my hand and leads me outside. He pretends he doesn’t want us photographed, but I know he does so I try my best to look presentable as we push through the crowd.

When we get in the cab, he says, “I wonder how long it will take those pictures to show up.”

My phone pings with a text from Bass. I look at it and laugh. “Not long,” I say, showing Sawyer the picture Bass texted me of us kissing just minutes ago.

“Sweet!” he says.

“How did he get it so quickly?” I muse aloud.

“He subscribes to a website that sends him alerts any time something is posted about me.”

My jaw drops. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he wants to protect you,” he says. “He threatened to kick my ass if I put you in harm’s way.”

“Are you putting me in harm’s way?” I ask.

“I’ll do my best not to. But after today, you’ll have to be more careful about everything you do. Reporters will want to know everything about you. Right down to every scar and every tattoo.”

“I don’t have any tattoos.”

“I know you don’t,” he says, knowingly.

“How could you know? I’ve never told you.”

He looks out his window. “Uh, I just meant you’re not the kind of girl who gets a tattoo. I can tell.”

I remember what he told me earlier about his ritual. “But you’re the kind of guy who gets them.” I nod to his ribs. “Show me.”

He looks at the driver who seems to be ignoring us. Then he untucks his shirt and lifts up the side. I turn on my phone’s flashlight to get a good look. At first glance, it’s a butterfly, but it’s one of those pictures that, depending on how you look at it, can be two different things. It can also be a skull. It’s the oddest thing I’ve ever seen. Yet I feel like I’ve seen it before.

“Wow,” I say, tracing it with my finger. “It’s horrible and beautiful at the same time.”

He huffs out a breath.

“What?” I ask.

“Nobody has ever said that about it.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s fine. It’s exactly what I meant when I got it.”

“Horrible and beautiful?” I ask, confused.

“Yes.”

“Did you copy this from someone or something? I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

He pulls his shirt down, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not an original. I picked it off the wall of the tattoo parlor when I was eighteen. Maybe a lot of guys have the same one.”

“Considering I haven’t been with a lot of guys, that’s most definitely not where I’ve seen it before.”

He shrugs. “Maybe you saw it in a movie.”

“I suppose. So, why did you get it?”

The cab stops in front of my building. “Here we are,” Sawyer says, leaning over me to open the door.

I get out but he doesn’t follow.

“Oh, no,” I say, sticking my head back in. “You’re walking me up, Tom Sawyer.”

“I am?”

“You’d better believe it. You’re walking me up now and after every date we have.”

“But it’s not a date,” he says. He waves his arms at our surroundings. “And there’s no one here to see us so what does it matter?”

I point to myself. “I’m here to see. And as long as we’re doing this, I’m going to make sure you treat me properly. So get your ass out of the car and be a goddamn gentleman.”

He laughs as he exits the cab. “Geesh, you’ve got quite a mouth for a lady.”

“Based on that kiss at the restaurant, you should know.”

“That I should,” he says with a wink. “And that I do.”

We walk up the front steps. “Five four nine seven,” I say.

“What?”

“That’s the code to get in,” I tell him. “Because from now on, I’ll be expecting you to come to my door.”

He shakes his head and smiles. Then he pulls out his phone and types the code into his notes. “Is this part of my training? I told you before, there’s no point.”

We climb the two flights of stairs to my apartment and then I stop at my door. “Oh, there’ll be a point. Someday in the future, there’ll be a point. And when I see you one day with the woman who becomes your real girlfriend, I’ll be able to take all the credit.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” he says. “But I’ll play along because you never can tell who might be watching.”

“You’ll thank me later,” I say, putting my key in the door. “Goodnight, Sawyer.”

He leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek. “Goodnight, Aspen.”

I close the door behind me wondering why he kissed me just now. Nobody was watching. But that little kiss was all it takes to remind me of the bigger ones earlier. The ones that got me worked up. The ones that got him worked up. The ones that produced the bulge in his pants that I can’t stop thinking about.

I walk back to my bedroom and open the bottom drawer of my night stand. If I can’t have a real boyfriend, I might as well make good use of my battery-operated one.

Chapter Nineteen

Sawyer

The awesome crack of the ball hitting the sweet spot on my bat tells me I’m probably getting to second base on this one. I tear down the first-base line and the coach signals me to keep going. I can see the left fielder running to the far corner to get the ball and I know it’ll be close. He picks up the ball and winds up for the throw. It’s a race to see if I can beat it. The ball is in the air and the second-baseman shifts left so I know I need to go right. I know he has to tag me, so just as he catches the ball and tries to sweep it over me, I dive for the base, catching the outer edge of it with my fingertips just as the umpire calls me safe.

I stand up and brush off my jersey. “Maybe next time,” I say to Devin Kirk, the Rays’ second-baseman.

“Don’t get cocky, Mills,” he quips.

He’s only half kidding. Devin was drafted by the Hawks the same year I was, but he ended up being traded to Tampa a year later.

Caden comes up to the plate. He’s got two strikes on him when I take a big lead. The pitch is wild and I take off for third. But the catcher must have stopped it, because it ends up in the third-baseman’s glove.

Shit. I’m in a goddamn pickle. I turn around and head back for second, but the ball beats me there. I stop and pivot around and head back the other way. I’m fast, but I’m not faster than a thrown baseball. All I can hope for at this point is a mistake by one of the fielders. Otherwise, I’m toast.

I go back and forth, each time the fielders close in on me a little more until Devin Kirk finally tags me out with a smug smirk on his face.

The stadium erupts in displeasure as I make my way back to the dugout. I can’t remember the last time I got caught in a pickle. I’m usually smarter than that. I’m usually faster than that. I look up to where Aspen and Bass are sitting – I can’t make them out, but I know they’re up there.

I throw my batting helmet into the corner of the dugout, hearing it crack as it hits the hard concrete.

Brady pats me on the back. He knows how much I hate to get caught on the steal. “Good try,” he says.

I shake my head and look back into the stands. “She’s a jinx,” I say.

“Who’s a jinx?”

“Aspen.”

“You have to be kidding.”

I look at him sternly. “I’m not kidding, Taylor. This is the fourth game she’s been to and I’ve done something to fuck up in all four games.”

He laughs. “Nobody’s perfect, Mills. And you fuck up plenty when she’s not here.”

“I’m telling you, it’s her.”

He studies me. “Maybe it’s not her. Maybe it’s you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re nervous about her being here.”

I look at him like he’s crazy. “I don’t get nervous,” I say.

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

He backs away and holds his hands up in surrender as I sit down on the end of the bench.

“You bringing the new girl tonight?” Spencer asks.

I nod.

“What’s her name again? Boulder? Vail?”

“Very funny,” I say. “It’s Aspen, you jackass.”

~ ~ ~

I put in the code to get into her building and walk up to the third floor. When she answers the door, I’m stunned. She has on a floor-length icy-blue dress that hugs her tightly in all the right places. I don’t remember her buying this one when we went shopping.

“Nice dress,” I say, still appraising her. “Is it new?”

“It is,” she says, smiling at my obvious ogling.

“I’m supposed to buy your clothes, you know. I doubt you’ll be wearing this one for any of your performances.”

It has a plunging neckline that is far more revealing than she led me to believe she would wear.

“Murphy and I went shopping last week.”

“Murphy? Really?”

“Yeah. We hang out sometimes. We do lunch and stuff. Rylee, too.”

I had no idea she was getting along with my friends so well. We’ve all gone out a few times, and Murphy and Rylee have been a big help in making our relationship seem legit. Still, it could get awkward after Aspen and I part ways.