4. Callaway
4
CALLAWAY
Highlight. Highlighter. What do women call it?
Not that it matters, but whatever that buttery glow stuff she’s lathered in has me drawing my attention to her chest like a starved man.
I was just front and center with the pretty demon, and now I’m giving her a ride—pure stupidity.
She smells like toasted vanilla and coconut.
What is wrong with me? I took a whiff of my sister’s best friend playing passenger princess in my Jeep. I need to shut it down before I get too personal.
I’ve heard stories about the infamous Dakota from Navy, but I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her. I could tell by our initial interaction that she’s been having a bad day.
When Navy texted asking for my help, I couldn’t say no.
Navy and I have always had each other's backs, and if Dakota matters to Navy, then she matters to me.
Thankfully, I was heading in her direction anyway for practice.
I’m the crazy one who likes to show up two hours beforehand to put in more fielding work. Being a pitcher in the Major League is terrifying most days, but so fucking rewarding the next. The pitcher and the catcher are responsible for holding the game together. If our game isn’t on point, a loss is almost guaranteed. That’s why I turn into a dedicated psychopath before the season starts—I want to be the best of the best.
We’ve been driving in silence for what feels like hours but has only been minutes. Her presence is taking up all of the extra space in the Jeep. I might need to have a chat with my sister about the golden little secret she’s been keeping from me.
The secret being the beautiful woman seated next to me.
The sharp ringing of her phone grabs my attention, taking my eyes off the road for a second. I don’t like the idea of eavesdropping, but it’s kind of difficult when there’s nowhere for me to escape.
I’ll sit here silently and let her do her thing.
“Hello?”
I can’t hear what’s happening on the other line, but she’s suddenly tense. That has my ears perked, hoping everything is alright.
“I was going to, but I’m having issues with my truck.”
Dakota shifts her body in the seat, angling her legs closer to the window, most likely to shield herself from my nosiness. I’ve never been one to keep my nose out of things. In this situation, though, I choose to turn the volume up slightly, enough so that she can still hear, but also enough that confirms I’m not listening.
But I am.
“Trevor, I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t have a car that runs right now so it’s going to have to wait. You don’t have to yell at me about it.”
Who is Trevor ?
“I’m sorry, okay… no, please don’t put it outside! There are important things in that box.”
I’m sorry, who is this douchebag? He seems undeserving of even his shitty name.
“I’ll Uber myself there in the morning, and you won’t have to hear from me again.”
That’s it. Time to intervene.
I speak up probably too forcefully, “Dakota, hang up.”
Her hazel eyes dart in my direction, looking at me like I’m insane, and if I speak another word, she will execute me on the spot.
I am insane, but I don’t give a shit.
Dakota is shaking her head while continuing to entertain this guy's bullshit.
“Trevor, stop. We may have ended things, but you can still treat me with respect.”
If I knew her better, I might guess she was on the verge of crying.
It sounds like it.
Her emotions sound bundled up in her throat like she can’t hold in what she’s feeling anymore. I guess I need to be even more assertive.
Leaving her no choice, I snatch the phone from her ear and hang up the phone myself. There. Much better.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She’s angry, but I’ll take it over her tears.
I choose to ignore her because she knows damn well why I did that.
I give her no other option. “What’s the address?”
I’m accustomed to eye rolls. Navy holds the award for sassy attitudes, so Dakota’s does nothing to deter me from my mission.
“What are you talking about? Cut the shit, Callaway. ”
“Oh jeez, she used my full name. I’m taking you to get whatever it is you need. Stop asking questions and give me the address. Are you always this stubborn?”
She may be in a sour mood today, but I’m not willing to let that ruin the both of ours any longer. I’ve got some time to kill, so it’s likely better I take her than for her to be forced to do it on her own—especially after how that conversation sounded like it went.
She looks mentally and emotionally drained, which is probably the reason she decides not to put up a fight, handing her phone over to me with the address typed into the maps.
“Look at that. She listens.”
Her annoyed huff gives me a small amount of happiness. I know I shouldn’t be happy at the evident torment crossing her face, but I can’t help it. She looks like she needs someone to help her, and I’m happy to be the one to do it.
For Navy, of course.