Chapter 6
six
Reese
The snap of the ball hitting Parker's glove was the only sound I needed—a satisfying pop, another out. The game narrowed to the silent conversations between Parker and me. Each signal in his glove, each nod or head shake—a language only we understood. The world beyond the diamond faded. Even the batters didn’t matter.
It was just him and I playing catch—well that’s how I saw it anyway.
The batters on the other side might not agree.
The innings flew by. No runs had been scored against us, but we weren’t making it happen either.
We were well matched. It wasn't until the seventh inning that finally Boston tagged home. One to nothing. When the last batter struck out in the bottom of the ninth, our team erupted. We won. By one run, but I’d fucking take it.
This weekend’s tournament was finally over, and we’d won it all.
"Let's celebrate," Bailey yelled as he threw his arm around my shoulder.
Crew chimed in, pulling off his batting gloves. "Let's go to that country bar across the street," he hollered. "Best part is, we can walk there from the hotel." We were a few hours away from Bayside, and we didn’t have to check out until tomorrow.
"Yeah, but we all know your ass will be crawling back drunk," Bailey joked.
I was all for celebrating the tournament win, but I also knew that Chandler—the girl I was kind of with last summer—was on the Blue Devils committee this year.
Which meant she’d be around tonight. And while I’d been doing my best to steer clear of her, avoiding her completely?
Yeah, that wasn’t happening. She’d be there with the rest of the committee members, looking gorgeous, laughing like nothing ever happened between us.
And Boston would be doing everything he could to pursue her while I had to act like that shit wasn’t getting to me.
We headed to our rooms to shower, and just as I slid open the bathroom door, a knock sounded.
Parker, sprawled on his bed, didn’t so much as flinch—completely ignoring it.
Basically naked, with the exception of the towel wrapped around my waist, I yanked the hotel room door open.
Outside, a train wreck of whistles and catcalls awaited me, led by my best friend himself, Bailey.
"What the hell do you want?" I barked, glaring at their grinning faces.
"Hurry your ass up and get down to the lobby," Bailey said, emphasizing every word with a finger jab to my chest. "We're grabbing some appetizers and drinks before we hit the bar."
I glanced back at Parker, still lounging on his bed, hat no longer hiding his face. He rolled his eyes and muttered something about how a guy can’t ever get some quick beauty rest in.
I sighed, shutting the door on the commotion. I turned to glare at my weekend tourney roommate. "Parker, in your case, I think we can drop the 'beauty' and just call it rest."
Parker shrugged, swinging his legs off the bed. "You’re right. These good looks are natural. No sleep needed." He tilted his head in my direction. "But, you might want to change out of your birthday suit because girls won’t even look my way if you’re dressed like that."
I shot him a wink and stalked back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
When I stepped out, I was freshly dressed in jeans and a casual black fitted tee.
I shot Parker a sideways glance as I adjusted the pendant necklace around my neck then grabbed a hat off the desk to throw on. "Ready, Sleeping Beauty?"
Parker grinned, adjusting his cap. "Let's do it."
The dimly-lit hotel bar was packed with the team and other guests. I spotted Crew, Bailey, and Boston at a table in the corner.
"Over here!" Bailey waved me over, almost spilling his drink in the process.
Just then, the elevator doors swung open, as Chandler and Willow made their entrance.
Boston was practically drooling over Chandler in her little black dress, and I understood the reaction—she could pull off fucking anything. Bailey caught me staring. He knew the situation between us. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and steered me away from the group before she reached us.
"Let's go check out these cowgirls," he slurred, gesturing to the lobby doors.
I downed my drink and followed him, knowing everyone else would slowly make their way across the street.
I needed distance from Chandler. I knew I’d done the right thing.
Hadn’t I? Being the bigger person to let her explore her connection with Boston was supposed to feel good…
so why did it feel like I was the one who’d lost something?
Maybe because I had. Not just her—I lost the chance, the possibility of what we could have been.
And now, all I was left with was the question: what if?
Maybe she wouldn’t have picked me anyway.
Maybe I was torturing myself over something that was never meant to be.
The scent of spilled whiskey and worn leather filled the bar. Bailey waved down the bartender with that familiar mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. He ordered shots as more of the guys started to join us.
"Alright," he said, sliding a row of glasses towards our newly formed huddle. "We're taking this shot, and there's a group of girls on our left. We're all gonna pick one to slide next to on the count of three."
I shook my head. "Why do we go along with this shit?" I asked, but Bailey was already counting, his voice carrying over the pulsing music.
"One, two, three…"
The sharp sting of tequila hit the back of my throat, a fiery reminder to never let Bailey pick the shots again. Then, we let him lead the way. He dove into conversation with a girl whose laughter sounded more donkey than human.
Crew and I drifted over to two brunettes nearby. The girl closest to me glanced up, her eyes searching me closely. "Well, hello gorgeous," she purred.
"Hi," I replied, flashing her a dimple. Before I could ask her name, Bailey's voice interrupted with our prearranged code word. "Blue Devils, fire drill!"
Fire Drill was code for “let’s switch girls”—a douchey-yet-effective tactic to remove ourselves from conversation we didn't want to be in, and have someone else take over and distract. It was shitty, but here I was, always backing up Bailey, even when he was an idiot.
"Excuse me, it's been great," I murmured just before the annoyance flared in her eyes.
"Where are you going?" she called out as I slipped past her, Bailey and Crew shadowing my movements, an orchestrated shift down the line.
As I moved toward the next person, I noticed a pair of sexy tan legs and a glimpse of blonde hair. Blondes weren’t my preference, but it was just a chat, right? Then she turned around, and instantly, I realized my mistake. It was the one and only, Caroline Matthews.
"Caroline," I said, making a sad attempt to hide my disappointment. My gaze landed on the two shots lined up in front of her. "Double fisting? Classy. Really setting the bar high."
She grabbed one without hesitation. "What can I say? I aim low—survival was the only goal this week." Then she tossed it back like a pro.
I leaned against the cool wood of the bar. "I know that feeling."
She turned, her glare sharp. "I doubt you've ever had a rough week in your life."
A mirthless laugh escaped me. "You have no idea.”
Caroline's attention snapped away, drawn to something, or someone, across the room.
I followed her gaze to Boston and Chandler, all over each other on the dance floor.
I winced, the image burning my retinas, overwhelmingly unwanted.
In a strange way, I knew Caroline was feeling the same discomfort I was.
"Another shot," Caroline commanded the bartender.
"Shouldn't you finish that—" Before I could finish my sentence, she swept up the second shot glass and downed it—making it disappear in an instant.
"Nevermind," I shook my head. “Guess you know what you’re doing.”
The bartender slid another whiskey my way, the ice clinking against the glass. Before my fingers could wrap around it, Caroline's hand darted out, snatching it from me.
"I'll take that, too," Caroline declared.
"Of course you will," I shook my head as I looked down at her. I had a significant height advantage over her—a fact I never failed to enjoy. Her long blonde hair framed her face in effortless waves, and those cowboy boots she wore only made her look even more defiant.
"Need this more than you do," she snapped back, blue eyes flashing.
"Maybe you’ve had enough," I added, dryly.
"I didn’t come to the bar for judgment," she shot back, slamming the empty glass onto the bar with satisfying finality.
I signaled to the bartender to get me another drink, and he nodded.
Then Bailey's voice carried over with another "fire drill" call, and I felt an uncharacteristic resistance.
My feet remained planted on the sticky bar floor, and beside me, Crew didn't budge either. We formed a silent pact, turning our backs to Bailey. For once, I wasn’t going along with it—maybe it was the gravity in Caroline's gaze that anchored me.
Or maybe it was my curiosity about her that kept me there.
"Fire drill!" Bailey bellowed, throwing his hands up in distress.
The bartender closer to him raised an unamused brow at Bailey. And before any of us saw it coming, she grabbed the water tap and aimed it with precision at her target, drenching him.
"What the hell?" Bailey spluttered, water dripping from his hair, down to the collar of his shirt.
"Sorry," the bartender said, though the smirk playing on her lips spoke volumes to her lack of remorse. "I thought you said there was a fire."
Bailey grinned like a fool and shook his head as he wiped the water out of his face. Caroline threw her head back in a loud, infectious laugh. I couldn’t hold back either. We both sat there snickering uncontrollably while Bailey looked like a soggy cat, trying to regain his dignity.
"Did Bailey just try to fire drill you?" Caroline laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Because that went terribly wrong.”
"Yeah, it's Bails," I admitted, still chuckling. "Would you expect anything less?"
"Not at all," she shot back, still trying to fight the laughter.
"You better stop laughing like that, or I might think you're actually enjoying my company."
She turned to me, those sky-colored eyes holding mine. A taunting smirk played on her lips. "Trust me, I'm not enjoying your company.” The way she said that didn’t sound all that convincing.
Then it hit me that it wasn’t just some girl at the bar Crew was talking to—it was Sam, Caroline's best friend. "Is Crew talking to...?" I started, turning toward Caroline.
"Sam?" she confirmed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, and she hasn't stopped smiling from the moment they started talking."
As if feeling our eyes on her, Sam turned our way. "Caroline," she called out. "Will you go back to the hotel room with Crew and me? Please!" Her smile widened with hope. "Maybe we can drink a little more and relax? I'm ready to get outta this bar."
I glanced at Caroline, anticipating her fiery spirit to challenge the suggestion, but instead, she seemed to consider it. "Ugh, fine," she relented with a sigh, giving in quicker than I expected.
Crew threw an arm over my shoulder. "Reese is coming too!"
Caroline barely talked to me most days, barely gave me the time of day.
When she did, it was pure, unfiltered hatred.
Us getting along? That seemed borderline impossible—unheard of.
Most women were drawn to me—I hardly had to try—but never Caroline.
No, she didn’t swoon, didn’t blush, didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash in my direction.
Why was she immune to my charm when it worked so well on others?
Honestly, I didn't know whether to be impressed or offended by her ability to see right through my bullshit. But one thing was certain: She had my attention. Every move she made, every sharp remark, every damn time she didn’t give me the reaction I wanted—I wanted to know more. Needed to.
I leaned closer to Caroline, her perfume mingling with the smoky ambiance of the place.
It was now or never. "Can we have a truce for one night?
" My voice was barely above a whisper, but the intensity behind the words was unmistakable.
"Put our differences aside for our friends? You can go back to hating me tomorrow."
Those dangerous eyes twinkled with a playful fire—one that could warm you up just as easily as it could burn you down. Possibly both.
She took a slow sip of her drink, buying time, calculating.
"I'll take that deal… for my friend, and because I've had a few too many." She paused, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Which may be clouding my judgment, but we'll go with it."
I leaned against the bar and caught the bartender's eye. "I’ll take the tab for everyone over here," I said, pointing from Sam and Caroline to the Blue Devil athletes.
The bartender reached under the counter, and passed me a long strip of paper that made me immediately regret my decision. "Here you go," he said, a lopsided smile playing across his face.
As I scanned the textbook sized bill, one item snagged my attention—a fifty dollar charge for water. My brow creased. "What's with the water tax?"
He tilted his head toward Bailey, who was engaged in an intense discussion with the bartender who sprayed him, droplets still glistening on his shirt. "For the fire drill game that one was playing. Had half the bar believing it was a genuine emergency."
I shook my head at the absurdity. Only Bailey. I paid the bill and tipped with appreciation, but when the bartender cracked open a bottle and set it next to him on the bar, I grabbed it up in one swift motion, bringing the whiskey bottle to my lips.
“This is coming with me."
"Considering your generosity, take it as a parting gift," the bartender replied.
I held the bottle tightly in my grasp as I left the bar, the entourage trailing behind me.