Page 60 of Off the Mark
I kept my smile loose. “Rowan O’Callaghan. Also a huge fan, though yeah, that has a lot to do with being Charlie’s boyfriend.”
“Wow,” he said, looking genuinely impressed. He pumped my hand a few extra times. “It’s an honor.”
“That’s how I feel about dating Charlie.”
He cocked his head, then snapped his fingers. “Theballplayer. You were that hotshot local kid who got called up to the Mets. I watched you blow out your shoulder while pitching against the Giants a few years ago. That’s you, right?”
My casual smile froze in place while I scrambled for a polite answer. Dean and I were used to people’s strange, offensive reactions to our very public injuries. It was annoying, especially from a guy like Steve, who was probably eager to talk a big game about what he would, or wouldn’t, do ifhewas on the field.
Not that he had any idea what it was like to stand on that mound, in front of thousands of screaming fans, and throw a ball sixty feet away over the world’s smallest target.
“That’s me all right,” I said, forcing a laugh.
He winced in exaggerated sympathy. “I always feel so bad for you guys when those injuries happen. You’ve got these big dreams and shiny contracts, thenbam. One bad throw, and you’re out for life. This is why I love sports so much. It’s like watching a Greek tragedy. All that excitement and all that heartbreak.”
He clinked his glass against mine again. “Not that I have to tell you that.”
My back molars ground together. “You sure don’t, Steve.”
Steve glanced away for a moment, like he’d recognized someone in the crowd. I tried to find a lead into the rec center, based on what I knew about him.Speaking of tragedies, my nonprofit is totally fucked. Wanna help?
“I’ve been following dirt bike racing for a long time,” he continued, turning back to face me. “I even used to follow Charlie’s dad, Malcolm.Hewas really something else to watch. Shame what happened to him too, all those accidents. Their bodies get so beat up out there.”
He didn’t look like he thought it was a shame. He looked like he had when describing the loss of my lifelong dreams as aGreek tragedy. Like we were all just actors in a play and not people who felt legitimate pain.
“I bet a boyfriend like you is a real…” Steve faltered, waving his hands through the air like he was worried he was about to irritate me.
“A real what?” I prompted. Already irritated.
“A stabilizing influence. That Charlie’s a wild one. You don’t get a nickname like hers for being well-behaved, right?”
This guy was moments away from nudging me with his elbow like the creepy uncle at a barbecue.
“Charlie is her own person, an incredible athlete, and a grown woman who can make her own decisions,” I said mildly. “She sure as shit doesn’t needmyinfluence.”
But he was already bobbing his head along with my words. “Of course, ofcourseshe is. I meant no offense. Promise.”
The lights in the room flickered, calling everyone to attention. Steve smiled nervously then tipped his head toward the stage. “Looks like things are about to start. It was nice chatting, Rowan. Such an honor to meet you.”
He slipped past and was out of sight before I had time to register that I hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk about the center.
“Fuck,” I muttered, setting my glass down and leaving cash next to it. I knew that part of this job was getting money from people you didn’t like—and I’d talk to donors way more annoying than that asshole to save the senior program and Dean’s job.
But my temples were throbbing from having to be fake polite to yetanotherbaseball fan who thought I was a throwing arm and nothing else. And my stomach still churned with frustration at the way he spoke about Charlie.
I’d been distracted. Big time. If Elaine or Luciana were here, they would have handled it better.
Shaking my head, I moved toward Dempsey, who was motioning me over.
“It’s nice to see you again, Rowan,” she said. “You and Charlie have been the talk of the evening.”
I slipped my hands into my pockets. “That’s all her. I’m the guy lucky enough to come with.”
The crowd hushed around us, pulling my attention to the stage. Ten racers, Charlie included, sat panel-style with individual mics in front of them.
The emcee of the evening tapped her own. “Welcome, everyone, to the women’s motocross championships here in the great city of Philadelphia.”
The audience clapped and cheered. On stage, Charlie appeared as calm and confident as usual. But there was a nervousness to the way she clasped her hands that gave away her unease. At least to me.
