Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Breslin POV
I jogged up the steps to the east end of the athletic building. I was on track to arrive early, aiming to talk to Coach about the mandatory study sessions versus my community service hours. I’d stopped at the campus bookstore to grab a water bottle and caved to a sale on last season’s Strikers baseball shirts. Bought one for Dad, and it was buy two, get one, or a terribly lame ploy by the female salesperson. Ally? Emily? Dark auburn hair and lots of freckles, she threw in a button-down jersey with the mascot’s name: Rally, on the back. Rally was a cooper hawk, also known as a “striker”. Can always donate it.
I spied a sign for the restrooms and the thought pinged in my brain to fill my water bottle.
I turned the corner, spotting the water fountain . . . and froze. Long, tan legs ran what looked like ninety feet to a pair of red running shorts—stuck to her legs in a sheen of sweat, and rounded at the top. She bent down into the water fountain. Water ran over her forehead and cheeks to kiss her lips, then dribbled over her chin. She straightened, cupped her palm and dabbed a handful of water at her nape, then filled her “cup” again.
Blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, her light pink top was soaked through to the skin. God, I had a weakness for blondes. Especially the kind with long legs and?—
She hissed and turned her shoulders my direction, eyes closed and dragging one hand down her neck to her collarbone. My heart lurched and then stopped. The front of that shirt was see-through to the pinkish tan tips of her breasts. A chain reaction ignited. My body tightened, hard . Images swam in my brain—her in my bed, legs on my shoulders. Writhing and panting out my name.
Her eyelids lifted. Blue-green eyes sparked, and all I could think of was sucking water from the valley of her breasts.
“Oh.”
“Thought we were supposed to shower in the dorms.”
She pressed her lips into a lopsided smirk. Jesus, I wanted that mouth on . . . any part of my body. I moved my duffel to cover the front of my shorts.
“Ha ha. Was just trying to cool down a little.”
“It's hot. But . . .” My gaze strayed down to her chest, again, and the rest of my sentence curved and broke. My brain reached for it, swung, but completely whiffed. Empty.
“But what?” Her eyes flit up to meet mine, then quickly away.
I swallowed, shook my head. I'd never been a suave conversationalist; I was an actions-speak-louder kinda guy. But this was ridiculous.
A light-colored eyebrow arched.
“You get used to it?” You're officially a moron, Breslin.
“I think not.” She huffed with a scowl. “Pretty sure this is what it feels like to live on Mercury.”
I had to kiss her. I could just . . . kiss her. Couldn't I? I was going to yank that blonde ponytail, lean down and kiss her senseless.
The slam of a door opening. Laughter. A male voice broke above the hum.
“. . . can't wait! Show you buncha assholes how it's done.” The voice echoed down the hall.
“Yeah, right. Bet you’re sucking wind out there with me and Hester.”
“Hey, now.”
The voices grew closer. My hand froze in midair. An instinct. Something I should remember.
She glanced at her phone. “Shit. I've gotta go.” She tucked her device into her bag and moved hair out of her face.
Footsteps scuffed against tile. “. . . spent the summer traveling?—”
My brain clicked into gear, and I grabbed her arm as she tried to brush past me.
“Excuse me? You don't have?—”
“Don't go.”
Her eyes widened. Nostrils flared. This chick would be bad for my health—and amazing in my bed. I finally managed to gesture and say words. “Don't walk around like that.”
“Like what? A melted ice cube? I can't be?—”
Voices again. Closer. “Dude, playing for Coach Schorr?—”
“We're going to win so hard.”
I dropped my duffel and planted my arm against the wall. I curled the other one around her waist to hold her in place.
“Manhandle much? Let go of me. You don’t have permission?—”
“Your shirt. You don't strike me as?—”
“Oh, I'm about to.” Her eyes narrowed. I leaned back and caught the arm before she could hit me.
“Man, I've heard so many rumors.” Voices chattered right behind us. “Wonder who'll be here. I gotta make the roster . . .”
“Don't.” Her breath on my collarbone sent chills through every nerve ending.
I ducked my head. “Your shirt is see-through.” I hissed near her ear. “You don't seem like someone who wants to, uh . . .”
“Fuck,” she said with a groan. She leaned her head back against the wall, exposing her throat. My mouth watered with an urge to bite into her neck. My body hovered inches away. Everything inside me screamed to just . . . move.
She placed her hand on my shoulder, and I uttered a mental prayer that she was about to put me out of my misery. I didn't have permission, but she sure as shit did.
“Are they gone?”
I swallowed and tried to regulate my breathing. I nodded and took a half step back.
She pulled at the front of her shirt. I willed my eyes to look away, but my body had stopped listening to me. The fact that it'd been months since anything this appealing had caught my notice . . . was not something I could dwell on. I needed to get to practice. Right?
Right.
Except.
A grim set to her jaw, narrowed eyes. She bit the end of her thumb and kept her arms tucked around her chest. The fabric she'd pulled away molded back to her skin. I let my eyes rove down her legs to her running shoes. What was she doing here? School didn't start for another couple of weeks, and, as far as I knew, only football, soccer and baseball held August camp.
Why wasn't I asking for her number? Because it's a douchebag move. Right. “You got something else to put on?”
She shook her head and looked away. “Going outside should be like standing in a giant hairdryer.” She grumbled. “But I have an appointment. I'll be late.” She turned her back to me. Probably my cue to leave.
But.
A lone brain cell woke up and ignited. I grabbed my duffle and dug out the Rally mascot shirt. “Here.” I tossed it to her when she turned. “It's clean.”
“Rally?” She made a face. “You buy it for your niece or something?” She held it up, but my eyes couldn't focus on anything but her.
“Bought a shirt for my dad.” I shook my head. “They threw this one in.”
“Well, I hope you didn't have your heart set on being the first to wear it.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “I'll live.”
She hugged the fabric to her chest. “Well. I, uh, I'll give it a good home, then. Unless you want it back?”
Yeah, I wanted it with a burn mark where it spent time covering my lampshade. Or even better—hanging off her shoulders while she straddled my lap. Yeah, I was probably grinning like an idiot. “Nah. Takes a special level of enthusiasm to pull it off. All yours.” I should turn away. Leave. Get going before I missed my chance to talk to Coach. My feet stuck to the floor.
“You think I'm enthusiastic?” She tilted her head.
I blinked. “Yeah? Uh, sure.”
“Shouldn't a student athlete be just as enthusiastic? To be here, I mean? In fact, when my brother was here, he gushed about this place all the time. He was a stone-faced wall on the mound, but, off the field, get him drunk enough and he would've dressed up like Rally and put on a show.”
That's never been me. “Won't be here long. Shouldn't be here, now.”
She paused mid-stride and cast a glance over her shoulder. It started near the floor then traveled up to my jaw. My wraparound Oakleys covered half my face.
Still, her razor-sharp glare cut through the mirrored lenses and stared into me. That little half smile perched on her lips, with the blonde ponytail and long legs—she would have been a special level of kryptonite even if I hadn't been without for . . . Geez, since we snuck out of baseball camp two years ago, and?—
Guilt twisted my stomach into something queasy. Like a knife to my abdomen, it sliced away anything pleasant about that memory. I'd had no idea Mom was back in the hospital. Some fucking asshole son I was. I hadn't been there when she needed me.
“I'm glad you were here.”
The words sounded strange. Something about the way she said it. Or the way I heard it? I was supposed to be number one, on a track. Everything I did furthered my goal: IML baseball.
But that guy wasn't who helped her out.
Rally Girl's eyes slid from my face. She clutched the gifted shirt to her collarbone and disappeared into the women's restroom.
“ That's my one regret, my dearest son.”
No. Don't think. Focus. One foot forward, then the other.
“I won't see you grow into the man I see in you. The one I know you can become.”