The Unnatural *Wattpad Featured Story*

Chapter 19.1

I walk into a penthouse suite at the Savoy Hotel lit only by a single candle that sits on a small, two-person table where Ishtar waits. Built in 1903, the squat brick building houses the oldest continuously operated hotel west of the Mississippi. Harry Truman was a regular patron of the famous restaurant, the Savoy Grill, as a rising politician back in the '30s. The urban Kansas City eatery has also served Warren Harding, Gerald Ford, and Ronald Reagan.

Ishtar flashes a smile as she rises from her chair wearing a burgundy designer dress cut to showcase her athletic legs. Her white-blond hair hangs in long waves that extend past her waist. I'm wearing jeans, a blue knit polo shirt, and sneakers. I'm wildly underdressed because Ishtar had called me immediately after her private jet landed and informed me that she had arranged for us to have dinner tonight. She sent a limo to fetch me from the ballpark.

Ishtar brushes her lips against mine in a quick, casual kiss whose implied intimacy is more compelling than our impulsive make-out session at Jesters Stadium three weeks ago. She gently clasps my hand and says, "How's my favorite All-Star?"

"Oh, God, don't start. Jared Wallow wouldn't stop pestering me about that today."

"You're leading the vote at DH. He wouldn't be doing his job if he didn't ask. You're about to become the first Jesters player to start an All-Star game since we bought the team."

"Oh."

She laughs. "Jordy, your dreams are coming true. You should be happy."

"I'm happy. I'm beyond happy."

"Then what's the problem?"

I glance at the middle-aged waiter who is standing at the entrance to the suite. Ishtar releases my hand as he steps forward and pulls out her chair to seat her at the table. I reflexively look for a menu before Ishtar says, "I ordered before you came. We're right up against the restaurant's normal closing time. I don't want the room service staff cooking our food."

The waiter says, "Mr. Gil. Ms. Forsythe. Should I serve the appetizer now, or do you wish to chat for a few minutes?"

Ishtar replies, "Please serve now, William."

"Very well, ma'dam."

After the waiter leaves, Ishtar looks me directly in the face with her polychromatic eyes before she asks, "Why do you pout whenever I mention the All-Star vote?"

I try to give her something resembling a roguish grin as I look at the deep v-neck of her dress. I reply, "I'm distracted."

She rewards me an honest-to-God giggle, "Jordy, you might be the only person in Kansas City who would try that with me, but it's not going to work. Now talk."

"Three months ago, I was eating in places like IHOP and Waffle House."

"So?"

"This doesn't feel real. Not yet."

A quick frown mars her features. "You have to do better than that. You've been trying to get to the Big Leagues most of your life. You know what's real."

I've become so accustomed to fending off questions from the press the last few months that I reflexively avoided her question. The determined gaze that locks onto my eyes tells me Ishtar isn't letting me get away with that. I consider my answer for a long time as we sit within the bubble of light shed by the flickering candle. Ishtar waits in patient silence.

Finally, I say, "Those questions annoy me because they make me think the wrong way."

Her features twist with winsome confusion. I wonder how many hours she practiced that expression in her mirror when she was a teenager.

Before she can demand a clarification, I explain, "Winning the All-Star vote requires stats and popularity. Neither of those things helps me hit a cut fastball. In the tenth of a second I have to recognize that pitch, I can't be thinking about my batting average."

I know I've given her a technical answer instead of the emotional understanding she's seeking. However, she seems to accept this response since she doesn't ask any more questions.

The waiter chooses that moment to approach our table. He places two small white plates before us as well as a silver platter containing six avocado halves stuffed with crab meat. He uses a serving spoon to place an appetizer in front of each of us before leaving. Ishtar takes a quick bite from her avocado and says, "You have to try this. It's so much better than anything you can get at IHOP."

I say, "I don't know. The strawberry crepes are hard to beat."

Rather than reply to my ridiculous assertion, she spears a piece of her avocado with her fork and feeds me across the table. As I'm savoring the delicious morsel, she says, "We're not eating in a private suite because I'm a snob."

I grin as if I don't believe her. "Then why are we here?"

"I know Kansas City isn't New York or L.A. There are still a lot of people down in the restaurant who'd recognize both you and me. I'd like to get to know you without half the city prattling about it: including Andy and Jed."

Ishtar is probably the only person in baseball who'd characterize Andrew Bane and Jed Scorpion as gossipy schoolgirls. Talk about a comical image.

I manage to suppress my grin and ask in a flat tone, "What about William?"

"There's a reason he's serving the private rooms. He doesn't talk."

I can't help but think of the 21-year-old girl I had admired at Tulane. The one who hurtled around campus in her bright red Porsche convertible with her hair flying in the wind. The one who couldn't resist vamping Freshmen in the elevator of her boyfriend's dorm. The girl who loved the attention that her short shorts drew from ESPN's cameras at the College World Series. Where was she?

Is this my future? Private dining, private clubs, private rooms at public events, all to create a semblance of the anonymity that I've chaffed against my entire life.

I look outside the window and see the KC One Tower looming over us in the distance. It's red, white, and blue nighttime lights dominate the Kansas City skyline. Ishtar points her chin at the skyscraper and says, "Wagner, Strong, and Roger is the biggest firm in that building. I work on the 40th floor."

"What's it like being a big-time lawyer?"

She gives me a flirty little smile. "Love and war."

I don't even try to make sense of her answer. "You're going to have to explain that one."

She must have been waiting for this demand because she immediately answers, "People come to lawyers to create marriages, mergers, contracts, and all kinds of other agreements. They also hire us to fight their battles when something goes wrong and they want to break these bonds."

"That's a strange way of looking at it."

"Love and war come from the same place. That's why you expect my profession to do both."

"And what place is that?"

Ishtar flashes an impish grin at me before making a soft answer, "Strong primal emotion."

William continues the meal by bringing Artichoke Hearts Mimosa, Onion Soup Au Gratin, followed by Jumbo Lobster for Two. Ishtar and I down enough Sauvignon Blanc that I'm glad I don't have to drive home. We finish with Mocha Coconut Pie and Kona Coffee. I can't complain about Ishtar's choices. The food is fabulous.

As I look at the panoramic view of Kansas City from the penthouse suite, I want to throw open the window and scream, "I'm on top of the world!"

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NEXT CHAPTER: Vic asks Jordan some hard questions about his recent behavior.