11. KOA
11
KOA
“How’s the planning going for Nash’s party? Are you and Syd playing nice?” Hart asks as we run laps around the field before practice starts.
“We’re making it work.” If you could call her giving me orders via text, and icing me out from the rest of her life making things work.She's been colder than usual lately. It makes me think the moment in her bedroom got to her as much as it did me. I was very close to showing her what would happen if I lost control.
The fact she is opening up to a stranger on the internet more than me is showing me just how much work I have ahead of me if I want to get her back. And I do want her back.
“The party is this weekend.”
“I’m aware.” The last week flew by with all our away games and classes. I hardly had any time to construct a plan to get back in her good graces. It didn’t stop the memory of her in her tiny sleep shorts and tank top from playing on an endless loop in my mind .
I can still feel the softness of her hips in my hands and her warm vanilla scent still lingers in the air reminding me what it felt like to be close to her, even if it was only for a moment.
I admire her in the stands as we make the final stretch down the third base line on our last lap. She has her hair braided and twisted on the top of her head and a handmade headband keeping her bangs off of her face. She’s wearing another pair of loose patterned pants and a cropped shirt.
She is temptation personified.
“I’m surprised Syd showed up today,” I say, lifting the front of my workout tank and wiping the sweat off my face and head as we walk into the dugout.
“Lauren made her come. She said something about us not having very many practices left and coming to them is not the same without her. They also need to work out the details about the food for the party.”
It makes sense that it took Lauren strong-arming her to get her to show up. She’s been coming to our practices less and less since the new semester started.
She claims her classes and the extra hours spent in the lab are taking up more of her time but I know she’s been avoiding me as much as possible. I hate it, but I’m not mad at her for it. It’s my fault.
I tend to run cold or colder with her. When you love someone you can’t be with, it’s hard to know how to react around them. When we’re together my natural instinct is to touch her. I want to hold her hand, kiss her forehead, wrap my arms around her waist, and breathe her in until she is my only source of oxygen.
But I can’t because I promised her brother I wouldn’t. At thirteen, I didn’t think anything of it. It was a decision that allowed me to stay friends with both of the Pierce siblings.
It worked for awhile but as we got older and baseball took over more of my life, I could feel Sydney slipping further away. She retreated more to herself, focusing on getting her scholarship to Newhouse.
And me…I waited as long as I could until I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t go to her graduation night with the intention of having sex. I wanted to talk to her. I barely had the chance to say two words to her the whole night.
She looked like a dream laid out on her bed. All I could think about was making her mine permanently. Instead I held her for as long as I could before everything went to shit in the morning.
I take a long sip of my water and grab all of my catching gear before heading back out on the field for drills. Hart hops over the barricade into the stands to talk to Lauren while I head to the sideline to stretch.
Taking a seat in the grass, I lean back on my hands and bend my knees at a ninety degree angle. Moving my knees from left to right, I warm up the joints in my hips. Then I stretch out over one knee and repeat the process on the other side.
Every time I come out of my stretching position, I catch Sydney watching me. Her tongue flicks out between her lips and her eyes glaze over in a sultry stare.
I hold back my smirk. I guess it’s good she at least likes what she sees even if she doesn’t like me. I have to take the wins when I can from her.
I might as well give her a little show if she wants to watch. I face the infield and give Sydney and everyone else in the stands my back. Bending over I touch my toes, then drop into a squat. I press my elbows into my inner thighs and stretch until it burns. Then I grab the sides of my cleats and straighten my legs. I repeat this for a few sets of a ten until it feels like my limbs are loose.
I glance over my shoulder, pretending to look at something in the dugout, and make sure I still have Sydney’s attention. She has her phone out, typing away, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s alphabet soup on her notes app because her eyes are glued to my ass.
Good. Getting down on my knees, I slide from knee to knee mimicking the same motions I would catching pitches on either side of the plate. I spread my knees apart and alternate stretching out my legs with each pass. I’m close enough to the ground I’m practically humping the grass.
What I wouldn’t give to have Sydney underneath me instead. Now is not the time to be thinking about sinking my cock into her. I don’t need the guys to notice and talk shit about warmups making me hard.
“You ready?” Wyatt asks. He readjusts his hat and pulls at the black hairband he’s wearing on his wrist. “Or do you need some more alone time with the grass?”
“I’m good. Are you warmed up?” I pick up my chest protector, throw it over my head and clip it on.
“Yeah. I threw the ball around for a bit with Miller.”
“Good. We need to win out the rest of the season if we’re going to make it to the playoffs.”
“I know,” he says, annoyed with my reminder. Ever since Wyatt came back from spring break he hasn’t been in the game like he was before. He still gives his best and plays to win, but his heart isn’t in it.
It’s almost like he’s playing for us and not himself anymore.
“Enzo’s been talking more shit. He said they’re going to take us out in our last set of games.” Enzo plays for Alabama State along with his little brother, Marco. Their dad is a professor here at Newhouse and they decided to attend one of our rival schools to put some distance between them and their dad.
“They could do it.” Wyatt throws the ball into his glove as we walk toward the pitching mound.
“We aren’t going to let them.” I want another championship. I love my friends but I’m not willing to hand them the win. They will have to fight us for it.
“No we aren’t,” he agrees with a curt nod.
I put my helmet on and pull the mask down over my face. I take my place behind the plate and it feels like coming home. This is where I feel the most comfortable.
I was six years old when I put catching gear on for the first time. My dad wanted me to play in the outfield or first base like he did in high school.
But I loved the idea of being behind the plate. I liked having my eyes on the entire field. A lot of people think the pitcher is the one who controls the game, but I have to disagree.
I see what’s happening behind the pitcher’s back. Like when a runner is going to steal a base. I hear what a batter mutters when he swings and misses. I can figure out what pitch will send his confidence reeling and have him striking or fouling out.
Behind the mask, I don’t have to hide my emotions. No one can see what I’m feeling based on the look on my face. Like right now, looking up at Sydney, I can smile at her and enjoy the way her hair blows in the breeze.
She has no idea how many of my smiles she owns.
Hart steps into the batter’s box and I focus back on my job. I give Wyatt the signal for a fastball right down the center. He shakes it off. I knew he would. Hart would smash it easily out of the park.
“Is he going to give me something I can hit?” Hart asks.
“Probably not.” I signal for a slider and Wyatt nods in agreement. Hart manages to get a small piece of it and fouls it off down the line. “Nice try,” I say, grabbing a new ball and throwing it to Wyatt.
I signal for the slider again. I want to see if we can get him to swing a second time. Wyatt throws and Hart doesn’t move a muscle as the ball lands in my glove .
“I’m not going to fall for that bullshit twice. Tell him to give me something high and fast. I want to see if I can hit the ball down right field.”
“Alright.” Wyatt doesn’t like the call but he throws it anyway. Hart swings hard and the ball flies down the first base line into the corner. It would easily be a double if not a triple.
“Again,” he demands. Rolling my eyes, I grab another ball and throw it back to Wyatt. I signal for the same pitch and he shakes me off. I try the signal again and he smirks back at me.
“You saw that right?” I ask Hart.
“Yeah. I’m ready for it.”
Wyatt releases a nasty curveball but Hart tracks it efficiently and swings with everything he has. I laugh as Wyatt spins and watches the ball sail out of the stadium.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Hart jokes.
“You got lucky with that one. I practically gave it to you,” Wyatt shouts as Hart heads out to the field to trade places with Scott, our backup shortstop.
“Do you want to give it to me again?” Hart pushes back, pointing towards me at home plate.
“Nah, I’d rather wrap this practice up and give something to Birdie.” Wyatt turns his attention back to me. Thomas—Wyatt’s least favorite teammate—is up at bat. Thomas said something about Wyatt’s girlfriend before they got together and he still hasn’t let it go.
Wyatt’s first pitch is just outside and Thomas reaches for it. I shake my head. He should know better. “You’re getting too cocky. You can’t hit every ball. Wait for your pitch,” I advise him.
“Every pitch is my pitch,” he says, before swinging and missing again.
“Is that so? You can’t touch his slider and you know it. No one can. That’s why he’s the best pitcher in our division.”
“Then tell him to throw me something I can hit.” He digs his cleats into the dirt and tightens his grip on his bat.
“I’d rather not,” I say, as I slide on one knee to catch another ball low and on the outside from Wyatt.
“This is bullshit. I’m going to the cages.” Thomas storms off the field. Wyatt gives him a goodbye salute and waits for his next victim.
“When are you going to let that shit with Thomas go? It’s not good for team morale,” I say to Wyatt once we’re back in the locker room. After another hour of running drills, I am more than ready to get out of here.
“If he had said something about your girl, it doesn’t matter if it was something insignificant, you wouldn’t let it go either.”
“Sydney would never wear another man’s jersey to one of my games in the first place,” I say.
Wyatt raises an eyebrow. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
“What?” I ask. Hart joins, tossing his bag over his shoulder.
“You said Sydney,” Hart states.
“And?”
“Wyatt said your girl . He didn’t specify who. You did though,” Hart explains, smirking .
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I mutter back, stepping into my locker more so to hide my face than to get my stuff together.
Fuck , I can’t believe I let that slip. I know my actions speak louder than my words most days. It’s been fairly easy to mask my true intentions behind my actions the last few years but it’s starting to become a chore.
I wasn’t kidding when I told Sydney I was emotionally exhausted from all of this pretending. Every day it becomes harder to fight against exposing every raw emotion Sydney draws out of me.
“Sure it doesn’t,” Wyatt jokes, laughing with Hart.
“You weren’t even with Wren when she wore his jersey.” It’s a weak comeback but I’ve got to try something to get the heat off of me.
“We were together in my heart,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his chest.
“Didn’t she still hate you?” Hart asks.
“Birdie never really hated me. It was all an act,” he claims, waving a dismissive hand toward Hart.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t we go ask her then? I’d love to get her side of the story,” I say, lifting my pack onto my shoulder and heading toward the door.
Walking between me and Hart, Wyatt pulls out his phone and starts typing frantically.
“Are you warning her?” Hart asks.
“What? No. I wouldn’t do that,” Wyatt says, typing another message .
“It’s okay. We all know the truth even if you deny it,” I say, slapping him on the back.
“We know your truth too.” Hart nods toward Sydney and Lauren who are waiting by Lauren’s car and talking to Joe.
Protesting will only confirm he’s right. Silence is sometimes my best friend. It isn’t what I prefer but it’s been the only option to keep myself out of trouble.
Right now I would like to tell Joe to hit the pavement and stop trying to make a move on my girl. I may not be obvious to everyone now but she’s mine. There isn’t another man who will be able to make her happy except for me. I know that for a fact. I just need her to give me an opportunity to show her.
She may be smiling right now at whatever dumbass thing he's saying to her but it’s not real. This girl hasn’t truly smiled since I dimmed it in the hallway outside her bedroom door. I said something I didn’t mean, and before I could correct her she was already walking away and removing me from her life as much as she could.
Wyatt says his goodbye and gets into his truck while Hart pulls Lauren to the side, leaving me awkwardly standing in front of Sydney and Joe.
I’m not thrilled about seeing them together for a third time. Although this is a much easier pill to swallow than seeing him getting cozy with her back at her dorm.
The image of her wearing one of my old sweatshirts still pops up when I close my eyes. She’s like one of those optical illusions. The longer I stare at her, she’s all I see no matter where I look.
I bet she doesn’t even remember I let her borrow that sweatshirt when she was over watching football with us. The temperature dropped unexpectedly and she was shivering on the couch while she was reading.
We didn’t have blankets and shit so I offered her a sweatshirt. Seeing her curled up in my clothes is another memory I won’t soon forget. Her nose would dip under the neck and I swear she was breathing in my scent.
If she didn’t look so fucking good in it the other day, I would’ve asked for it back. I bet it smells like her now. I would love to take a hit of that every morning. Sydney sitting in her kitchen looking like mine is the only reason I didn’t push harder for Joe to leave.
There’s no way she is really interested in him. Please let him be another guy wasting his time.
“Syd, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask. “About Nash’s party,” I add when I feel she is about to deny me and claim we have nothing to talk about like she usually does.
“We have plans,” she replies, taking a step closer in his direction. Her arms are crossed over her chest defiantly.
“It will only take a minute. I won’t ruin your plans .”
Joe’s eyes ping pong back and forth between us. “I’ll wait for you by my car.” He walks away, looking over his shoulder once. Hart and Lauren also say goodbye, leaving me alone with Syd.
“What is it that can’t wait?”
“I wanted to make sure you had everything done on your end.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You already know I do. The girls and I are coming over early to decorate and to get the food and drinks organized. If you and the guys can set up everything outside, that would be helpful.”
“We can do that. Sounds like everything’s coming together. Nash will be happy even if it isn’t much of a surprise anymore.”
Her back stiffens. “As long as Nash is happy. That’s all that matters,” she says coldly. “I need to go. I’ll see you Saturday.”
Sydney’s statement doesn’t work its way through my brain until she’s halfway across the parking lot. She isn’t talking about his party.
This is the culmination of all the times Nash’s happiness has been prioritized over her own. It’s been happening for years. I thought the choices I made were for everyone's best interest and I was the only one paying for it emotionally.
I need her to know she’s always come first to me despite what she thinks. Maybe it is time to show her and fuck the consequences like she said. I just hope I’m not too late.