Page 1 of The Catch

Chapter 1

Saint

After three dates, it's time to end things with my current situationship and move on. As soon as Rebecca leaves the bed and goes to the bathroom, I jump out of the nest of sheets we slept in and put my underwear back on. Wearing only boxer briefs, my diamond earring, and my chain, I trot to my semi-professional kitchen. The elaborate fruit tart I made for her waits in the fridge, and I place it carefully on the white stone of the kitchen island.

A maximum of five dates or one week, whatever comes first— that's my dating style. Secretly, I ask subtle questions about what type of flavors they like on our first night together, then design desserts inspired by them. I have this process down to an art. If I make something special with their favorite treats in mind, I can guarantee they have at least one good thing that day. Even if it's the pleasure of stuffing it in a trash can.

I'm adding the last swirl of fresh cream when Rebecca appears.

"So the legends are true," she says. "You never date for long, and you always end it with pie."

She wears the same impeccable black dress she wore last night, and stands by my marble island with a cocked hip. Her arms crossed, she stares at me with a raised eyebrow.

Her eyes take a long gaze down my body. My underwear is a dark navy with a gold, geometric pattern. It's bold enough that I don't feel underdressed.

Technically, a tart and a pie are not the same, but I don't correct her.

I smile. "Baking for others is a gesture of goodwill. Is there anything cozier than dessert?"

The precise art of flour, sugar, and fat calms my mind. My mom taught me as a teen, and I never gave it up. Muffins, cookies, pastries, and baked bars are for friends. Cakes and pies are for break ups. It's the lore.

The way Rebecca reacts, she's not taking my gesture as a sweet one.

"Yeah, cuddling," Rebecca says.

I place the tart in a carry-out container and close it. "I'm sorry. I'm not the kind to cuddle."

I casually re-arrange my gold chain around my neck. I'm on a schedule. The first order of business is to let Rebecca down gently. Next, run to training. We're in the middle of an important football season. We almost got to the biggest sports event in the country last year. This time, we want to not only make it, but win.

Ah, getting the ultimate trophy. The reason for all of my and my parents' sacrifices. The one thing that will prove that the devotion they had to my career since elementary school— and their support since— was worth it.

"Right." Resignation shows on her face. "I should have known… but you've been so sweet with me… I thought maybe…"

I push the container to the edge of the kitchen island, where she can take it easily. She doesn't.

I step closer to her and give her a kiss on the cheek. "I told you this was casual. That it wouldn't last."

"Doesn't mean I didn't have hope."

I let my smile intensify. I know my dimples will help my case. "Look— you're gorgeous. Your laugh is brilliant. Going out with you was lovely and fun… you're quite the catch."

"Youare the catch, Saint."

It's funny. I'm a wide receiver.Catcheris a baseball term, but it has followed me around anyway. I think one of my many exes came up with the term and it stuck. Catching the catcher has a nicer ring to it, they say.

"That's kind, but what I'm trying to say is— You'll find someone. It just won't be me. I'm not looking for anything long term."

Rebecca is nice to hangout with, but there's no spark. That's okay. Sparks are hard to come by. In fact, in my twenty-nine years of life, I've only felt them once.

So I call a car for Rebecca. Soon she takes the tart and steps into the hallway, sighs, and waves goodbye. The door closes behind her and I lean on it. I release a sigh of my own.

When I felt those sparks all those years ago, I couldn't follow them. Not without testing myself first. No way I would mess things up withher.

The best solution I could come up with in college was finding someone else to try— really try— to go steady with.Shewas in a relationship, anyway, and I couldn't get in the way of that. Could I get to the sparks with someone else, if I gave it time? Could I make it work? All I needed to do was take a break from dating half the girls on campus. Pick someone I liked, and give it a real chance.

The person I tried to date, Kylie… I gave her everything I thought would make me a good boyfriend. Dates, flowers, and cooking for her. I ran her a bubble bath with candles, wine, and sprinkled rose petals. Only to have her flat-out laugh at me. She said not to ruin it with promises I couldn't keep. I had always been a playboy, so why pretend that I suddenly wanted something else? Playing make-believe would only hurt people. Everyone knew I would never be Mister Right.

She wasn't wrong. Kylie had known me for nearly two years at the time. She knew what I had to offer. I'm a guaranteed nice time, not the subject of happilyever afters. When people like Rebecca tell me I am a catch, I know what that means. It's all the external stuff. Success? Check. Fame? Double check. Money? Triple it. But those aren't the things that keep a couple together and in love.