Page 10
Tate
A ll that talk about washed-up baseball players in the prime of their youth is a sharp reminder that the Nurples built their kingdom with nobodies.
That’s what I’ve been reduced to: a nobody searching for relevance—a nobody with no one and nothing waiting for him at home.
No wife. No children. Just a large house and a dwindling bank account.
I’ve wasted enough time in the bathroom. Time to rejoin my group and face reality. Even if it’s a reality I’ve been running away from. I head back, thankful Teddy didn’t tag along with me. I needed these few moments alone.
“Excuse me, sir,” a waitress at least half my age, if not more, waits at the door for me. “You wouldn’t be . . .” She moves her head to look at me from different angles. “Yes! It is you!”
For a heartbeat, excitement courses through my body.
It’s been too long since a fan recognized me.
The last one was a teenage boy who said it’d been forever since I played, so he thought I’d died.
That could’ve been funny, but it wasn’t meant as a joke.
The little shit had been serious, and the smile on his face said he enjoyed being mean.
Not a damn thing I could do about it either but plaster on a smile and walk away.
Not wanting to be left deflated from disappointment yet again, I stay silent, waiting for the young girl to say something more.
“It is you!” She leans into me, inhaling before immediately pulling back. “You do smell good. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be weird, but you’re the cologne guy. The one in the lineup where the girl comes in wearing a blindfold over her eyes and recognizes you by how good you smell.”
“You caught me.” I smile. I’d prefer it if she recognized me for playing, but it could be worse. She could have misidentified me as some crazy psychopath. “How do you know that commercial? It hasn’t aired in the States.”
“I went to Belgium with my parents to visit my grandmother last summer, and it ran non-stop. I loved that commercial. Ten men,” she says with animated hands accentuating her point.
“Each one looking smexy. One better looking than the other. You are my favorite, by the way.” She smiles, all dimples and fluttering eyelashes.
“Thank you.” This is the first smile all day I don’t have to force.
She starts fidgeting with her hair, repeatedly smoothing a length near her ear, tugging hand over hand.
“Then the police take her into the room to identify the thief. She leans in to smell each of you, and she chooses you. It isn’t until the end, when she leads him—you—away by the hand, that we find out the thing you stole was her heart.
” The young woman finishes her monologue, bringing her clasped hands to her chest and over her heart.
“Mmm.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, raising her shoulders up and bringing them back down as she exhales.
“It’s so romantic. And here you are!” She squeals.
“Wow, I guess the commercial struck something in you.”
“It did! I loved it so much, I downloaded it to my phone. Every once in a while, when I’m having a rough day, I watch it to remind myself that things will get better.”
Like she’d know about rough days. At her age, I didn’t have a care in the world. I had money, skills I knew would bring me great things, and all the tail I wanted.
“You got all that from a minute-long commercial?”
“Oh my god, yes!” She touches my arm gently. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe you’re here and I’m touching you!”
Boy, do I need to shut this down. I can’t afford negative publicity, and being seen too cozy with a barely twenty-year-old girl, if she’s even that, will garner unwanted attention. Or even worse, I might become a meme.
“Thank you very much for the kind words,” I say, trying to end the encounter and get back to the table.
“Wait, don’t you want to see it? The commercial?”
“I have seen it. I was in it, did you forget? ”
“No, but wait.” She pulls her phone from her apron and scrolls through her camera roll, rambling on about something. “Here it is.” She bounces with glee. I look away because I don’t want to notice her twenty-year-old perky tits bouncing along with her.
My little talk with Gemma’s mother about taking pictures with the younger guys haunts me. Is that how women look at me when I’m out with someone twenty years younger? Like I’m a pervert?
“You look amazing in a tux.” She leans in so that her arm brushes against the front of my chest, and her thigh touches mine as she plays the commercial for me.
When I get these signals from women, I know they’re going to end up in my bed.
Today I’m not the least bit interested. “Do you think you can give me your autograph?” she asks as she tucks her phone back into her apron pocket.
“Of course.”
Her eyes double in size. “Can you sign my bra?”
“Sweetheart,” I take hold of her hands and stop her from pulling down the front of her shirt. “Why don’t you give me a piece of paper? That way, you can save it. Frame it if you want to.”
“I have other bras that I framed.”
What the actual fuck? I should be eating this up, and maybe if I were alone or with the guys and not my nephew, his girlfriend, and—.
“I’m sure a pretty girl like you does, but I don’t think my fiancé would understand.”
“Fiancé?”
“Um hum.” I nod. “She’s sitting over there, with my nephew and his girlfriend.” I point to my little group and wave to Gemma’s mom, who plays her part without even knowing it by giving me a death stare.
“Fine.” The deflated girl takes her pad and pen out of her apron and gives them to me to sign. “Tate Grimm?” She reads my name with a confused look on her face. “Are you a Belgian actor? Are you famous?”
“Yes, for playing rugby. Look me up.”
Without another look in her direction, I head back to the table, prepared for the shit that woman is going to give me.
“FRIEND OF YOURS?” GEMMA’S mom asks. If I didn’t know better, I might think she was jealous. Of course, I do know better. I can’t do anything right in this woman’s eyes.
“Adoring fan,” I say with a shit-eating grin on my face. Technically, that’s true. She doesn’t need to know the kid is fixated on me because she’s a fan of a commercial I’m in that has nothing to do with rugby. “Why don’t you come back to my place for a drink and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Shifting her body so that she’s as far away from me as humanly possible, Eve looks mortified, like I pulled my cock out right here at the table and peed in her soup.
“Mr. Grimm!”
“Tate,” I correct her. Yet again.
“Mr. Grimm. Clearly you are used to dealing with barely legal groupies who may or may not be of consenting age. I’m not one of them.
” Her shrill voice catches the attention of the people at neighboring tables.
“And if you think taking me to a second rate baseball game is going to get me out of my pants-– ”
“Mom!”
“It’s okay, Gemma,” I hold my hand up to stop the young woman from bringing more attention to us than her mother already has, and speak in a quiet voice.
“It’s refreshing to realize,” I continue through a clenched jaw.
“That even though I’ve been nothing but cordial to your mother who I haven’t shown the least bit of sexual interest in, the invitation to come back to my place and talk is seen as a nefarious attempt to get her clothes off and do some mattress dancing. ”
Silence. Finally. Everyone at the table, maybe even the restaurant is quiet.
I did the impossible. I shut the woman up.
Releasing a frustrated breath, I flag the waitress over and order a celebratory shot of vodka.
I’m not sure if she witnessed the interaction, but my drink is placed in front of me minutes after I order it.
I chug the liquid down in one gulp, enjoying the burn in my throat.
Thank fuck this day is coming to an end. I can’t wait to get away from this uptight bitch of a woman. No one has ever pushed my buttons the way she does. So much for being a nice guy. I. Am. Done.