Page 32 of Naked

I shrugged. “Everything I said was true.”

“Hunter.”

“Tilley. Tell me the embarrassing story of the asshole who made you think ballplayers are jerks.” Even without the details I was putting together the pieces.

She huffed and popped a fry in her mouth. “This crush of mine sat with me after the game. He was sweet and flirted with me. He kissed me. It was...nice. I was silly to think it meant anything.”

I popped a fry in my mouth to keep from saying what was on my mind.

“He then informed me I was a shitty ballplayer, that I was lucky to be on the team, and that I’d never play in college, but that he’d fuck me under the bleachers if it would help me feel better.”

I saw white. “I’m definitely breaking his legs.”

She shook her head and waved me off. “But that wasn’t what gave me the distorted idea that ballplayers don’t date. I was hurt after that.Devastated.And for the rest of high school I watched. I watched my teammates get better than me, get offers. I watched the guys sleep their way around. They treated women like toys, like they were a game as much as baseball ever was. In my sadness I latched onto this idea because it was what I saw, but it was also, I think, what made me feel better.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But it was easier to think poorly of everyone in baseball, of myself, than to accept that I simply wasn’t good enough to play. Or that it was okay to not be good enough.”

I was out of my mind, so I didn’t really think about the logistics or anything as I stood up, plucked Tilley from her chair, and sat down with her cradled in my lap. “I’m sorry.”

She tucked her face into my neck. “I’m sorry too.”

“Does it help that you’re better at almost everything else?”

She laughed a little. “Maybe?”