Whatever It Is

A few hours later, Gordon appeared back at the apartment, sweaty. He greeted Hazel and Anne with kisses on the cheek, and they both cringed when his sweat dripped on them.

“Ew, Gordon! Go shower!” Anne laughed. He grinned at them and jogged off to the bathroom.

“This is a really nice place,” Gordon mused, looking around as they arrived at Hazel‘s apartment. “Annie helped you pick it out?”

“Mhm,” Hazel nodded, going into the kitchen. It was just going to be the two of them for dinner that night, since they wanted to catch up.

“Why’d you come up here?” Gordon asked as she began getting things out to cook.

“Do you not want me here?” She paused her work.

“Are you kidding? I’m so excited to have you up here,” Gordon assured. “It’s just…I mean, I can see you visiting me. But moving completely away from Georgia?”

“James, you’re my brother and best friend. Home isn’t home without you there anyways. And besides, you’re in the big leagues! I wouldn’t miss that for the world,” she smiled.

Gordon grinned at his older sister, pulling her in for a hug.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

During dinner, Hazel had Gordon tell her all about his experiences with the White Sox and the players as well.

“…Brian and Carlos were really good friends, and when I came along they kind of took me under their wings. But then Brian got traded, so I dunno, I guess Carlos and I just kind of bonded. I mean yeah, we’re all good friends with all the guys on the team. But I guess Carlos is my best friend,” Gordon said.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em,” Hazel muttered.

“Carlos is a nice guy.”

“Oh, the nicest,” Hazel agreed sarcastically.

“Listen, he’s a really-”

“Intense player. I know. Well, he’s an idiot if you ask me. He gets mad at himself when he does bad, so much so that he breaks his own wrists or gets drunk and does stupid things. And when he does good, it’s like it’s not good enough. You know, I watched some games from before and he doesn’t even smile when he gets a home run? He looks angry, like always,” Hazel said. “It’s like he hates what he does. Why bother if you’re not going to have fun? I understand wanting to do well and play as hard as you can. I understand getting disappointed when you lose or do badly. I understand being an intense player. But his intensity is dangerous. It’s violent. And I don’t like it.”

Gordon sat there silently, knowing he couldn’t really defend his teammate. She was right, she had pegged Carlos dead on. But there were reasons for some of it, reasons Gordon wasn’t sure he had any business telling her.

“What’s he so bitter about?”

“What?”

“I know he’s not like that because it’s fun,” Hazel said, rolling her eyes. “Something happened.”

“He just came back from an injury, and he’s not performing as well as he’d like. He’s frustrated,” Gordon shrugged.

Hazel narrowed her eyes at her brother, knowing he hadn’t told her the whole story.

“It’s not my place, Hazel,” Gordon denied, knowing that she knew there was more to it. She nodded, understanding.

Gordon left a little later, and an idea popped into Hazel’s head. She glanced at the clock to see she had plenty of time, and she hurriedly set to work.

Several hours later she had finished her task, wrapping it up and grabbing a few other things in a plastic bag. She made her way over to Carlos’ apartment building, which was actually fairly close, and slipped inside as someone else exited.

She went up to his unit and knocked on the door, hoping he’d be in a good mood. The Sox had won after all, but who knows how he felt about his own performance.

Suddenly, a racy thought entered Hazel’s mind.

If he was such a perfectionist about his performance on the field, she wondered how he was with his performance in bed.

When Carlos opened the door and saw Hazel on the other side, he was surprised to say the least. He thought he had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her company, but apparently not.

“Can I help you?”

Hazel brushed past him into his apartment, and he confusedly shut the door. His eyes traveled to the objects she was carrying, raising an eyebrow at it all.

“What’s that smell?”

“I baked you a pie,” she announced, momentarily stunned by his shirtless form.

“You what?”

“I baked you a pie,” she repeated, setting everything on his dining area table and trying not to look at Carlos' chest. Out of the bag she pulled canned whipped cream, ice cream, and caramel sauce.

Carlos could think of other ways in which to use those things, but he kept his mouth shut and watched her.

Finally he snapped out of the daze the aroma of the pie had put him in and hardened his gaze.

“What the fuck is this?” He snapped.

Hazel stopped what she was doing and turned toward him.

“What makes you think you can just waltz into my apartment-”

“I brought you a pie,” Hazel interrupted in ‘duh’ tone. Carlos walked over to the table, picking up the pie.

“I don’t want your fucking pie,” he said, shoving it into her arms. He grabbed the other stuff and tossed it all back into the bag, shoving it at her as well. He began pushing her toward the door roughly.

“I just thought I was being nice! I figured you could use some company-”

“I don’t want your fucking company either,” he spat. Hazel turned around suddenly, causing Carlos to bump into her. She took a step back and shoved the pie and the bag back into Carlos’ arms before storming back over to the door and yanking it open.

Just before she stepped out she turned around, but her angry features had melted into sad ones.

“I’m sorry. You just always seem so upset, and pie always makes me feel better, even if it’s just a little. I thought it’d cheer you up. I’ve never been to Chicago before, and you’re the only one I know around this neighborhood, so I thought…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Well anyways, I didn’t know you were going to get so offended by me. Sorry.” She walked out, shutting the door softly behind her. Carlos stood there dumbstruck, still holding the pie and bag.

He walked back over to the table, setting everything down. He paused when he heard a soft knock, but it had been so soft he wondered if he had imagined it. He looked at the door, as if he would suddenly have x-ray vision and see if there was someone on the other side.

He sighed and walked over, glancing through the peephole. He slowly opened the door, seeing an embarrassed looking Hazel.

“Please don’t yell at me,” she began. “I’m not here to bother you anymore, I just…left my keys on your table.” She bit her lip sheepishly, and Carlos motioned for her to come inside. She rushed over to the table and grabbed her keys, turning around swiftly and bumping into Carlos. “Sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Carlos sighed. “Listen, I’m sorry about being such a jerk. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Thanks for the, uh, pie.”

“Yeah,” Hazel nodded, shifting around him to leave. Carlos narrowed his eyes, watching her.

“That was my round-about way of telling you to stay for a while,” he called out. Hazel paused and turned around, her own eyes narrowing.

“What makes you think after all of that that I actually want your company?” She remarked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

“You know what? Take your damn pie. I don’t want it,” Carlos said, picking it up and holding out the pan to her. Hazel glanced down at it, taking it out of his hands. She peeled back the foil, grabbed a handful, and shoved it onto Carlos’ bare chest.

“Never tell a southern lady you don’t want her pie. Our pies win freaking pie contests! You didn’t even taste it,” Hazel ranted. Carlos was still glued to his spot, mouth slightly hung open and eyes locked on the pie sliding down his chest. When he looked back up at her, he saw her slowly licking her fingers clean. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stay angry.

When he re-opened his eyes, Hazel was no longer in front of him. He turned around toward the table, where she had just picked up the whipped cream. Before Carlos could act, she had pressed down on the nozzle and whipped cream came pouring onto his chest on the remnants of the pie. Hazel took her index finger and scooped some of it up, holding it front of Carlos’ mouth.

“What the fuck are you-”

“Taste it,” Hazel interrupted.

“Get your finger out of my face,” he said, stepping backwards. Hazel just took two quick steps forward, pressing up against him. Apparently she didn’t care that she was getting pie all over her chest, and quite frankly, neither did Carlos. He swallowed hard and took his gaze away from her whipped cream coated cleavage. Her finger was still in front of his face, a small piece of crust, apple, and melting whip cream all on it.

“Taste it,” Hazel said again.

“Get me an actual piece, and maybe I’ll try it. In the meantime, get your finger out of-”

Hazel seized her opportunity and stuck her finger into his mouth, and Carlos instinctively sucked it clean. He grabbed her wrist as she pulled her hand away from his face, preventing her from going anywhere. Once he let go of her hand he put his hand on her lower back and pulled her closer.

“Was it good?” She smirked. He didn’t say anything. She took her finger again and scooped up some pie, this time sucking on her own finger. Carlos swallowed hard again. “You want some more?” She asked, purposefully pressing her chest closer to his. She smiled up at him, and Carlos pulled away immediately.

Something in her smile was so familiar, so alike…hers.

He didn’t want to think about her. He didn’t want to be reminded of her. And he most certainly didn’t want to be around anyone that was just like her.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Please leave.”

Hazel did as asked, because the hurt tone in his voice was sincere enough for her to not push it.

He didn’t watch her as he left, he just walked away into his bathroom where he washed himself off. When he came back out she was gone, but her pie was still here. He didn’t know whether he had liked the pie because it was genuinely good or because he got to suck it off Hazel’s finger, but either way he cut himself an actual piece.

He knew pie was the last thing he should be eating, but he polished off the entire thing either way.