“No, it’s –”
I hold my hand up. “It’s cool, Daisy. We just met and I’m being pushy. We’re good.” I hand her the menu and hold mine in front of me. I don’t want her to see the look of annoyance on my face. I’m Ethan Davenport; starting third basemen for the Boston Renegades, getting women isn’t a problem for me.
We order breakfast engulfed in an awkward silence. I shouldn’t have tried to force anything on her. We just met and we’re both sober... and it’s not like we’re playing off residual feelings from a night between the sheets.
“Do you work?” I finally ask, breaking the tension.
Daisy sets her fork down and places her hands in her lap. “No, not exactly.” Her answer is curt and to the point. No elaboration on what she does during the day, or when she’s not at the stadium watching the game.
My frustration level is growing by leaps and bounds and I’m tempted to pay the check and bail, but something holds me back. I lean forward and pull her chin up with my index finger.
“Okay, I’ll start. I’m twenty-two years old. I graduated from Oregon State University with a degree in Communications. I play third base for the Boston Renegades. My name’s Ethan Davenport, what’s yours?”
“Daisy Robinson.”
“Hi Daisy, it’s nice to meet you. Where are you from?”
“Boston, born and bred, how about you?”
“Seattle, Washington.” I can’t help but smile, happy that she’s playing along. “When you leave here today, what are you going to do?” I ask before she has a chance to ask me another question. She sighs and looks out the window.
“I’m a student at Boston University. I study journalism.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “How old are you?” Please be legal.
“I’m twenty. My birthday is April thirtieth, and before you check, it’s an off day,” she says with a small smile and a roll of her eyes.
A grin creeps across my face as I pull out my phone to verify that she is, in fact, correct. “That’s a shame. I would’ve had everyone sing to you. What time’s your first class?”
“I missed it. My next one is at ten.”
I lean back, flabbergasted that she’d skip class if she weren’t interested in me. “Why would you do that?”
Daisy shrugs. “I needed to return your sweatshirt.”
“You could’ve brought it to the park tonight.”
“Yes, but then people will talk and you don’t need any more rumors being spread around. You have enough.”
I smirk and lean forward. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
“I’m sure some of them are true.”
“If they were true, they wouldn’t be rumors.” I say, shrugging. I need this conversation to go somewhere else because I don’t like the current direction. I’m not perfect. I never claim to be. I’m also no different than any other single man in the league. I like women and they like me. Some just like to blab louder. She stares at me like I’m supposed to dispel or confirm what has been written about me and that pisses me off.
My mood changes in an instant. Here I am trying to figure this girl out, get to know her and she’s bringing up the rumors floating around about me. I finish my coffee and signal for the check. I can’t change her mind, and I honestly think she’s okay with that. I have a game to prepare for, a title to win.
“I’d offer you a ride, but you’re going to tell me no or ignore me so… I guess I’ll see you at the game or something.” I throw down some money and leave her sitting at the table. I don’t look back to see if she’s watching me walk away, or getting up to chase after me. I already know she’s not. I have the feeling she met with me out of obligation and that’s it, just to appease me. And I don’t need those kinds of people in my life.