Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“That’s fine.” He reached for my hand, and I pulled away.
“No. You say that’s fine, but I’ve lived in a world of men for ten years. And I’ve seen almost every one of them cheat. There’s too much temptation—it’s not fair for you to be with someone like me, someone—”
“Ty.” He cut me off, his hand pulling at the back of my neck, bringing me forward, his mouth hard as it kissed the top of my head. “Shut up. I’m a big boy, I can handle some celibacy. Just please don’t tempt me too much.” He lowered his mouth, bringing it to mine, and we shared one long kiss, a kiss that had my heart pounding and nails digging into him, the muscles in his arm tight under my grip.
When the kiss ended, we were both breathless, and I pushed my hair back, trying to find my composure, my sanity in all of this. “I can’t tell my dad.” Not yet. Not when his opinion of Chase was lower than garbage. Not when I was barely eighteen, and Dad was finally giving me space. “If he knows, he won’t let me see you. I mean … not like this.” There would be curfews and limitations. He’d watch me like a hawk, and question me to death. Assuming that he didn’t forbid it altogether. I may be eighteen, but I was a Yankee employee. And I was his daughter, his world. For the moment, my life, and my decisions, weren’t exactly my own.
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. “It’s your decision. Just let me know when. But I’m yours. No other women. No drugs. I promise.”
I nodded. And when he pulled me onto his lap for another kiss, I felt his conviction in his touch, his taste, his reverent whisper of my name.
And just like that, five blocks away from the Marriott Marquis, we were official. Officially together.
Officially committed.
Officially screwed.
JULY
“Even once they made the Yankee connection, Ty wasn’t compared to the victims ‘til the fourth girl died. Then some criminal behaviorist finally made the correlation between the hot blondes and Ty. That was really when the investigation started to break wide open. And that’s when the protection detail started following Ty. For all the good they did.”
Dan Velacruz, New York Times
50
Cleveland
I hid my yawn behind my glove, the motion still caught by Higgins, fifteen yards away, in left field.
“Tired Ty?” he called out, reworking the glove onto his hand.
“Nope.” I scoffed, earning a laugh from him, his head turning as the hit went high left. Foul. Five innings in, and we were up by two. The remaining innings were crawling by, my eyes heavy, a nap calling my name. I’d been dragging all day, Dad all but pulling me out of bed that morning. My body wasn’t built for 3 AM bedtimes, a habit that my secret relationship with Chase was fostering. Last night we’d driven to his hometown, a quiet suburb forty-five minutes out of Cincinnati. He’d given me the grand tour, the final stop his high school.
The ball shot through the dark toward me, and I reached out, catching it barehanded, grateful for his light toss. Behind him, the dark lights of the stadium, the high school barely visible across a sea of grass. I stepped closer to him and threw it back, the toss short, him only fifteen feet away.
“It’s so odd,” he said. “That you’ve never been in high school.”
I shrugged, glancing over my shoulder. “I didn’t miss it.” I held out a hand, ready for his throw, but he turned, tossing the ball back to the dugout. I watched as he came closer.
“High school’s pretty great.” He looped an arm around my shoulders and steered me around, heading for the bleachers, his first step up on metal loud in the deserted dark. “I had some great moments here. I hate that you missed it.”
We sat halfway up, the metal hard and cold against my upper thighs, and I looked toward the buildings, a fortress of red brick that looked more like a prison. “What was so great about it?”
“It’s hard to explain.” He leaned forward, rubbing at a spot on his palm. “There’s this energy in high school. A sort of magic.” He looked over at me. “I see it in you, sometimes. The way you smile when you see something new. The excitement you get over something dumb. How your breath hitches when I lean toward you.”
“That’s not high school. That’s just … being young.” I hated that I was five years younger than him. I wanted to have this conversation on an adult level, one where we were equals.
He leaned back, resting his elbows on the row behind him. “I would have loved to meet you back then.”
“When you were in high school?” I wrinkled my nose. “You would have ignored me.”