Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
CASSIE
I wake up on Saturday morning in a tangle of blankets, and when I look over, there’s a note on my pillow.
Hey Cass,
Had to head to the stadium. You were sleeping so well, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.
I have a silly game I have to go to that will, unfortunately, put a pin in hanging out. Hope you got some good sleep. Catch you later.
-L
P.S. You look hot when you’re sleeping, it was hard not to wake you up.
P.P.S. Make sure you have the balls (or the lady version of that) to ask for what you want. You might surprise yourself, I’m telling you.
I chuckle at the note, then get up and go through my morning routine. A couple of hours later, the heat hits the second I step outside.
It’s not just warm. There’s thick, heavy humidity in the air. The kind of hot summer air that sticks to your skin before you’ve even taken a full breath.
I duck back inside, pushing the door shut with my hip, and catch my reflection in the mirror by the entryway.
I tilt slightly, studying myself.
Short shorts.
A cropped T-shirt I definitely didn’t need to cut.
Big sunglasses perch on top of my head.
I narrow my eyes at my reflection.
“Normal,” I repeat, like I’m trying to convince myself.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Avery.
I swipe to answer, still staring at myself.
“Soooo?” she says immediately. “What are we wearing?”
I huff out a laugh. “We?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t spend an extra twenty minutes deciding,” she shoots back. “You told me you were going to Logan’s game today. The first one you’re going to.”
“Guilty as charged,” I admit.
I snap a quick selfie in the mirror and send it her way.
“Ah, yes. Love the shorts. Great outfit for attending your first game seeing your, ah, what are we calling Logan? Your rebound, still?”
I hesitate. Rebound seems like an understatement.
“He’s my, uh, whatever. Just my home stay.”
She pauses.
“Just your home stay. Okay.”
“I’m not getting my hopes up!” I add defensively to fill the space. When I do, I feel something in my body—something in my gut arguing with me. I do want to get my hopes up. But I don’t want to admit it.
“Cass. Really?”
“He’s literally here through…what, August? And then the season is done. It’s already July.”
She makes a knowing sound. “Mhmm. Okay. So your little scantily clad outfit has nothing to do with a certain baseball player? Slash cowboy…just busting out your “A” game for no particular reason?”
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see it.
“It’s ninety degrees and humid, Avery. I’m dressing for the weather.”
“Right. And the short shorts just happened to be the most climate-appropriate option?”
“Exactly. They are breathable.”
She laughs. “You’re unbelievable.”
I glance back at the mirror, and the way the shirt hits just above my waist, and how my legs look.
I feel a little…different. More open, maybe. And a little daring.
“No,” I say, quieter this time. “I’m just…going to a game.”
Another pause. I don’t know who I’m trying to convince at this point. Me or her.
Then she says, a little softer, “Okay. But just so we’re clear? You’re allowed to look hot for someone.”
My stomach flips.
“I’m not—” I start, then stop. “I’m just going to have fun with my family.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “Call me later. I want updates. Any hour of the day, Cass! I’m up at six a.m. these days with the new puppy.”
“Noted.”
We hang up, and I stare at myself one more second, and just then see Jackson’s text that says he’s out front.
I push my sunglasses on and head for the door.
Jackson’s car pulls up right as I walk out.
Ivy leans across the front seat, grinning. “Damn, Cass. Who are we impressing today?”
“No one,” I say quickly, sliding into the back.
Jackson glances at me in the rearview mirror, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Sure.”
“Shut up.”
“Relax,” Jackson grins. “What kind of big brother would I be if I didn’t give you shit? I guess Eric is gonna be there.”
“Honey, you really think Eric is her type?”
Jackson shrugs.
The drive is short, but the energy builds with every mile.
The music is up, the windows are down, and the heat is rolling in.
And then the stadium comes into view, rising just past the river.
We walk inside and through the gates.
The stadium sits right along the Mississippi, with the river stretching wide and slow behind the outfield like it’s part of the whole experience, and it really adds something.
Especially when most towns in these parts are landlocked by cornfields, Riverbend being an exception because we have a small river flowing through our town.
Boats drift lazily in the distance, and the air smells like sunscreen, beer, and hot dogs.
It’s already buzzing inside.
Music is blasting. Kids are running around. Mascots dance near the entrance and on the field, too.
And it’s not even noon.
“This is actually so fun,” I say, scanning everything.
“Told you,” Jackson grins, handing me a drink. “Best setup in the league. We’ve got a fun group coming. Some of my athletes from the university team and, uh, Eric, and maybe some other people from the college.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We find our seats—front row, first-base side, just like he promised.
Too close, honestly.
Like…Logan will definitely see me close.
I try not to think about that.
By the time first pitch gets closer, the drinks are flowing.
Some of Jackson’s athletes—he coaches college football—are packed into the section behind us, already loud, already chirping at anyone within range.
Ivy’s laughing. Jackson’s eating it up.
And then there’s Eric.
“Didn’t realize this was a fashion show,” he says, looking me up and down.
I arch a brow. “Didn’t realize you were judging.”
He smirks. “Just saying. Didn’t peg you as the ‘try this hard for a minor league game’ type.”
Something about the tone. The way it lands.
It clicks almost instantly.
Oh. He’s…insulting me on purpose. To try and make me get his approval.
I tilt my head slightly, studying him.
“That’s funny,” I say lightly. “I didn’t peg you as the type who needs to insult someone to get their attention.”
Jackson snorts behind me.
Eric’s smirk falters for half a second.
Then he laughs it off. “Relax. I’m messing with you. I’m just curious why you didn’t answer my texts this week.”
“I was busy,” I say, turning away. “And besides, you don’t know me well enough to make fun of me.”
And just like that—I’m not interested in some “friendship” with him. And definitely not romantically. Not like I ever was.
“No, I didn’t mean…” He tries to backtrack.
“Hey, Eric,” Jackson booms, since he overheard the whole thing. “What’s the deal, man?”
“No deal.”
“Maybe you should go take a walk, man.”
Eric looks at me, then him. Jackson’s face is stone cold.
“You’re serious?”
“‘Fraid so, bud. No one talks to my sister like that.”
There’s a tension in the air now, our entire group silent.
Jackson nods. “I think I see some open seats in the outfield bleachers. Maybe they’d be interested in talking to a Harvard professor?”
He scoffs, muttering something unintelligible, and heads off.
“And find a new ride home, too,” Jackson adds, as he starts to walk up the stairs to the landing. Jackson puts a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, sis. Didn’t know that guy was such a douche.”
He’s the epitome of “nice on the surface, insecure on the inside,” I think.
“It’s not a big deal. Thanks, though.”
“It is a big deal. Relax and enjoy the game.”
“Thanks, big bro.”
Jackson’s the oldest of my three brothers. And definitely the most protective of me. And I don’t hate it on a day like today.
A few minutes later, a salt-and-pepper-haired man in a polo and sunglasses makes his way down toward our section.
Jackson straightens slightly. “Oh—hey. George! Didn’t know you were joining us.”
“Just saying hi.” The guy smiles, extending a hand. “You must be the crew I’ve been hearing about.”
Introductions happen quickly.
And then his eyes land on me.
“Hey, this is the owner of the team,” Jackson says. “George, this is my sister—”
“You’re Cassie, right?” he says before Jackson can finish.
I blink. “Yeah?”
“I saw that post you did for the coffee shop,” he says. “The video with our players. Really well done.”
“Oh—thank you.”
“I actually stopped by this week,” he continues. “Place was packed. Coffee is damn good, too. June’s a hoot.”
I grin. “Yeah, it’s been kind of crazy lately. I was just worried they were going out of business. And it’s important to keep local places going. Adds character to the town.”
“Exactly!” He nods, glancing around the stadium. “Hey, you ever thought about doing something like that for a team like this?”
I hesitate.
Then—my brain starts turning.
“Honestly?” I say. “Yeah.”
He smiles. “Good. Because we could use it. Been trying to find creative ways to get people in here. What do you charge? If you make some videos for us?”
“Oh, uh…”
I just throw out a random number, using all the liquid courage I currently have in me. “I charge five thousand per post.”
My heart hammers. I have no idea where I got the balls to put that number out there.
Well, maybe I do.
Logan’s voice echoes in my mind. I like it when you have the balls to ask for what you want. You should do that more often.
George studies me, and I worry that I’ve overshot myself. I’m insane. That’s way too much.
“Sounds good,” he finally says, to my utter surprise. “Do you charge a bonus if it goes viral?”
I clear my throat. “Yes. It’s one thousand per fifty thousand views.”
He nods. “Done. Let’s talk later. You can get my information from Jackson.”
“Sounds perfect,” I manage to croak, sounding as businesslike as humanly possible, given the imposter syndrome that’s kicking in.
When he leaves, I feel Jackson’s hand squeeze my shoulders.
“Sis.”
“Bro,” I jokingly chide him back.
He laughs. “Did you just pull off what I think you pulled off?”
Ivy chimes in. “She’s a social media professional now. That was honestly some of the best negotiation I’ve ever seen. Have you been manifesting or something?”
Manifesting? Only if you count sex magic, apparently.
I shrug and sip my drink. “Thanks for the introduction.”
“Ohhh, you’re not gonna downplay that,” Jackson booms. “Hey everyone, we’re kid-free today, and I’m buying another round of drinks. Who wants one?”
I shrug. “I mean the beers are only five dollars. Way better than the major leagues these days.”
“That’s the attitude I like. Let’s go. Where’s the beer guy?”
“Cass,” Ivy says suddenly, nudging me. We’re well into the fourth inning of the game, and the vibes are high.
My mind is already swirling with ideas for a post for the team on social media.
That’s when I look up and see Logan walking up to the plate.
Everything else kind of…fades. The noise. The crowd. It all dulls for a second.
He adjusts his gloves, rolling his shoulders once.
And then he looks up, right at me.
My breath catches, because there’s no way he should be able to see me this clearly from the batter’s box.
Then again, this is a small stadium. I grab my phone and hit record on a video as fast as I can. I zoom in on him as he holds the bat and gets into the batter’s box.
And then?
Logan winks, waves the bat, then points it out at the Mississippi River in right field.
Heat rushes straight to my face.
“Oh my God,” Ivy hisses. “Was that—”
“Sshhh,” I whisper.
The pitch comes in, and Logan swings.
The sound is immediate, sharp, and clean when he makes contact with the ball.
The ball launches high—higher than I expect—and for a split second, everything goes quiet.
Then the crowd erupts, standing up.
I follow it, squinting up into the sky as it sails out.
Over the wall. Way, way over the wall, and straight toward the river.
“No way,” Jackson laughs. “No friggin’ way. Did he just call his shot like Babe Ruth?”
The ball disappears into the Mississippi, and the camera on the Jumbotron even catches the splash.
The stadium around us loses it.
People are on their feet. Cheering. Shouting. Some guy yells that it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen.
I’m still holding my phone up, heart pounding.
Because I got all of it: the wink, the swing, and the home run.
And somehow, it feels like it was meant for me. A minute later, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Logan: Locker room after the game.
I stare at the screen, then back out at the field.
Where he just rounded the bases like nothing just happened.
I narrow in on the third-base dugout and see him texting me. He waves nonchalantly.
“Uh-oh,” Ivy says, leaning in. “That look means trouble. Are you…texting someone?”
I look over my shoulder and see that Jackson is a few people over, out of earshot.
I don’t even try to deny it.
Ivy’s eyes widen. “Does someone have a little crush? Who is that?”
“It’s…okay, it’s nothing.”
She leans in, already peeking at my screen.
Hot Cowboy.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Hot Cowboy? Who’s that?”
I groan. “Don’t.”
“You’re dating a cowboy now?” she says, grinning. “Wait—what happened to no dating this summer? Is that why you’re not interested in Eric?”
Heat rushes straight to my face.
I don’t answer. I just text him back.
Cassie: Why, what’s up? You have some strategy you need to discuss?
Logan: Yeah. Uh…strategy. Thanks. See you later.
Just then, Jackson comes over.
“Hey, just wanted to say—thanks for watching the kids tonight. Ivy and I really appreciate it.”
I blink. “Wait—that’s tonight?”
“Yeah,” he says casually. “Shit, did I forget to remind you? I’m sorry, been all over the place this week with recruitment events at the college. I just texted Logan two seconds ago. He’s going to drive you home. Ivy and I are heading to Galena for a little R&R at the spa.”
“We’re going to make another baby,” Ivy announces, smiling.
My eyes widen as I look between them.
“Sorry,” Jackson says with a grin. “Inappropriate. But yeah—we may try to add to the Knox legacy.”
I shake my head, laughing despite myself.
“Yeah, yeah. Go make your baby. I’ve got the kids.”