Exactly As You Are (Love in Louisville #1)

Chapter 1

1

J oan didn’t tell her best friend everything, but she would do just about anything for him.

She approached the baseball field, watching as Lucas collected equipment his team had left strewn about. He waved at her as she pulled open the gate in the chain-link fence.

“Need a ride?” She crossed her arms and leaned against the cool concrete supporting the dugout.

“Sorry you had to drive all the way from Beechmont,” Lucas said.

Joan waved that off. She didn’t mind. She’d been visiting her friend Maria when Lucas had called to tell her one of the teachers had asked to borrow his truck to haul some mulch, and Lucas had let him take it, no questions asked. He was going to get it back “sometime that evening,” which was classic Lucas. He practiced a “give them the shirt off your back” philosophy but often didn’t consider the consequences, such as how he would get home, for example.

“I’m a little confused about why you didn’t just trade vehicles,” Joan said.

“His wife needed his car. They’re both teachers, and they ride to school together.” He wiped sweat off his forehead with the collar of his shirt then grinned at her. “I didn’t think that through, huh?”

“You’re lucky I’m such a generous friend, that’s all I’ll say.” She smiled back at him.

Lucas picked up a ball from a large green bucket on the ground, tossing it into the air. His eyes sparkled, a ridiculous notion until a person met Lucas Malcolm and realized that eyes do, in fact, glint with mischief. “Want to pitch a couple to me? For old times’ sake?”

Joan glanced at the sky. Dark clouds threatened to rupture over the dusty infield, and the sharp tang of ozone filled the air. “Come on, Lucas. It’s about to rain. We need to get to my car.”

“You scared?”

“If you start making chicken noises, I’m leaving you here.”

“Nah. I bet you’re worried, though. You don’t think you can do it anymore.”

She knew he was goading her, and a wave of hot indignation rolled over her body despite the grin she fought. He knew her so well, could pluck her out of a bad mood in less than five minutes. She’d indeed been wallowing in gloom that day. How he remedied that, she’d never know.

“Luke. All you have are baseballs, anyway. I’m not sure I can do it like that.”

He plucked a softball out of the bucket. “I happen to keep one of these.” He continued to smile at her.

“Fine,” she said. “You’re on. But I’m only throwing you three pitches, and then we have to get out of here before it pours on us.”

He tossed a ball to her, and then she stepped several paces in front of the pitcher’s mound, estimating the right distance for a softball pitch. They’d both played college ball, baseball and softball, respectively—and they’d been competing with each other since they were kids.

Lucas crammed a catcher’s helmet on his head. He adopted a casual posture, bat in hand, tapping his foot to the rhythm of a distant car alarm. He assumed his batting stance, grinning under the black of his helmet. Thunder crashed in the sky, closer than it had been five minutes before. They were adults, and Joan knew they were being silly, but she wanted to deliver at least one pitch.

She lined herself up, staring him down from her position, then shifted her weight to her back foot and pulled her arm into extension, loading it like a pinball spring. When she pushed forward, windmilling her arm, she launched a powerful pitch right into the strike zone. Other than a belated flinch, Lucas barely moved.

After a stunned moment, he tossed the ball back to her. “Alright,” he called. “I’m ready now.”

Lightning streaked beyond the high school building. Joan shot him an alarmed look.

“We’ve got to leave,” she said. “You’re holding a conducting rod and it’s about to storm.”

He made a “bring it” gesture. “Just a minute, Ben Franklin. I swear we’ll leave soon.”

“Fine. If you die, I’m telling your mother you’re stupid.”

“She already knows that.”

Joan delivered another pitch, faster than her first, and Lucas took a crack at it. His powerful muscles bunched underneath his faded Cubs tee in what precipitated a beautiful, level swing, though he caught nothing but air. She could almost hear the whiff sound above the rush of ominous wind. Lightning struck again, this time closer to the field.

“Lucas!” she cried. “I’m serious now.”

“One more try, and that’s it, I promise.”

She could see that she’d gotten to him. His stance became more intentional as he squatted down farther, weight loaded on his back foot, cocking his elbow and choking up on the bat. He wasn’t grinning anymore.

He almost connected with her third pitch but missed it by a needle-thin margin just as the first of several heavy raindrops rolled down her forehead. Lucas ripped off his helmet. “Where are you parked?”

“Teacher’s lot.”

They grabbed his equipment bag and the bucket of balls and took off, sprinting toward her old Honda Civic as the rain picked up. The heavy bucket banged against Joan’s leg as she ran. It started to pour, a wall of rain so thick it seemed like a solid thing besieging them, so that by the time they made it to her car, they were soaked. They slammed their respective car doors behind them.

“You have any towels?”

“Just napkins. Glove compartment.”

He handed her a stack of them and she tried to mop herself up, starting with her face. Water dripped from her eyelashes. She reached down to pull her athletic shorts away from her body, creating a horrific squelching sound that elicited a startled glance from Lucas. His gaze flashed briefly over the hem of her soaked shorts, and then he returned to his own ineffectual drying process.

“You lost.” She set the napkins on the console and pulled out her seatbelt.

He’d looked a little intense back on the field, but he smiled at her then, a happy, carefree grin. That was Lucas—never settling into one feeling for too long.

“I’d forgotten how hard those are to hit.” He tugged on a strand of her hair. “I’m impressed, Kathy.”

She swatted his shoulder. Her name, Joan, was out of fashion for a 28-year-old and he’d long taken to nicknames better suited to someone from an earlier generation—Linda, Betty, Barbara, Ethel—and she pretended to hate his teasing. She’d been named after her kick-ass grandmother, though, and she loved her name.

As she pulled out of the parking spot, he shook his hair like a wet dog. She squealed, giggling as his happy mood spilled over into hers. She’d been in such a funk that her own laughter almost startled her.

“What’s been going on with you, Jo? I feel like we haven’t talked.”

A sharp pinch of guilt pricked her. She’d been keeping secrets from him, but she couldn’t talk to him about her problems. She leaned forward, squinting at the parking lot. The rain pounded the roof of her car.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Don’t do that.”

She could hear the eye roll in his voice.

“I know you. Is this about Chet?”

“I mean, I’m definitely a little upset about being dumped again.” Her voice faltered. “That’s probably what it is.”

Lucas paused, and she fought the urge to glance at him.

“Well, he sucked, anyway,” Lucas finally said. It was a nice thing for him to say, though Joan didn’t think Chet was all that bad. The problem, as usual, was her.

She shrugged in lieu of a response.

“I’ll be here if you want to talk.” He directed his voice at her profile, perhaps willing her to confess something.

She knew he would be, too, which only made things worse. He’d proved himself a loyal friend and surprisingly sturdy when you needed him, especially for someone who seemed to live his life in five-minute increments without much attention to what came after that. She couldn’t imagine life without him. For a moment, she reminisced about their past, little vignettes involving high school and college graduations, first jobs, and Saturday meetups at their favorite restaurants. They’d seen each other through everything—heartbreaks, family struggles, and calculus tests.

“You had the right of it.” She sighed. “My love life is in the pits.” That wasn’t the whole story, not really, but it was all she could reveal without admitting things that embarrassed her. She thought she would rather walk across a bed of nails than spill her darkest indignity to him at that moment.

She wanted the sort of love story for herself she’d witnessed with some of her friends and with her own parents—the kind of unwavering devotion she could only imagine. Her future didn’t seem destined for that.

She could sense his gaze burning the side of her face again.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

She shrugged, hoping to derail the conversation before it spun out of her control. “Dry clothes, then pizza?” The rain had slowed a bit, so she relaxed into her seat.

Only a moment of hesitation preceded his response. “Hell yeah.”