Page 117 of Bad Run

Never had a relationship with a woman where talking was part of the equation. Like most guys in my position, my relationships have been solely physical and shallow.

Unless you’re like Heath and meet the love of your life in college, once you’re in the majors, it’s a whole different ball game.

I know, I know. That sounds cheesy as fuck, but it’s true. During my career, I’ve come across four types of women.

One: Women who are only interested in sleeping with a baseball player. A notch on the bedpost, if you will. No judgement. These gorgeous women made my life easy and spicy. No strings attached.

Two: Wanna-be WAGs. They want the money and the status of being married to a baseball player. I stay away from this group of women. It’s hard to determine if they love you or your money more.

Three: Everyday women. They will go on a few dates with you but break it off because they can’t handle being in a relationship with someone who travels nine months out of the year. I’ve been burned going down this road, and it’s a hit to the ego.

Four: Unicorn women. Almost all taken by the lucky bastards who met them before making it to the show. These women are rare gems in a sea of rocks. I never came across one until now.

Gwen is one of those women. Precious and priceless.

Knew it the moment I met her. It’s why it hurt so much when she walked out on me.

Since we got married, I’ve been doing everything I can to show her how serious I am about us. But it’s been harder than pushing a boulder up a hill with her.

Not that I mind. I already made her my wife. All I have to do is convince her to accept me as her husband.

I press the hands-free button, accepting her call. “Hey, Wife.”

The endearment slips off the tongue, and I’m not mad about it.

“Uh … hey,” Gwen answers. I love hearing the shock in her voice when I call her wife.

“I’ll be home in …” I check the GPS. “Forty minutes.”

“About that …” She hesitates.

My body tenses, going on high alert. I wish I could see her face. Those aquamarine eyes can’t hide her feelings.

A nervous sweat breaks out across the back of my neck as I pull my car over to the side of the road. Keeping my voice calm, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just … not feeling great. So, I’m at my place. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling sick. Catching a cold?”

“No,” she answers.

“Stomach bug?”

“It’s not that.” She sighs. I can sense she’s holding something back.

She’s pushing me away again.

I can’t hide my annoyance. “Then what is it? Because it sounds like you’re just trying to avoid me.”

“Oh my god, I’m on my period,” she shouts at me through the phone. I can picture her red cheeks as she gets all fired up. “I have cramps. I’m bloated. My head hurts, and I feel really freaking tired, and as much as I like your house and want to see you, I didn’t want to drive an hour to get there after work. So, now you know, okay? Are you happy?”

Not answering that. It’s a trap. Because I am happy. She’s not pushing me away. She wanted to see me.

“Will you text me your address?” I ask, side-stepping her rhetorical question.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t argue. Just send it.”