Chapter 14
Brooks
“Pride and Prejudice?” I held the book like it was dipped in poison.
“With sprayed edges!” Brielle looked positively happy.
Whatever that meant.
“Wasn’t this written like a hundred years ago?”
“Actually, two hundred. And look!” Brielle snatched the book from my hands—granted, I wasn’t hanging on to it too tightly—and opened the hardcover to show me the inside paper. “It has embossed letters in the title—inside the book.”
“Is that . . . good?” I had no idea.
“Bruh.” Brielle’s shoulders dropped a bit, her excitement shifting over into the disappointed-in-me column. “How could you even ask that?”
“Okay. I won’t ask again.” I shot her a grin that I hoped was enough of an apology. It must have worked. Her face reddened, and she looked away for a second.
We were at her house again. Reece wanted me to come over, and I wasn’t going to say “no” to his epic setup in the basement.
Tryouts were in a week, and I wanted to be ready.
But Reece hadn’t shown up from school yet—something about a grocery order pick-up for his mom.
So I was at the Walterses’ house with Brielle.
Alone. I was sure her dad was going to be thrilled.
“—Darcy, and don’t get me started on Wickham.”
“Huh?” I hadn’t been listening.
Brielle plopped onto a kitchen chair and stared at me in green-eyed disbelief. “You really know nothing about Pride and Prejudice?”
“Sorry?” I took a chair opposite her with the table between us.
“No, I’m not mad,” Brielle assured me. “I’m just—woah. I thought everyone at least knew about it, or had seen the movie.”
“There’s a movie?” I couldn’t imagine furthering the torture.
“We can watch it!” Brielle looked way too happy.
Especially after today. We’d been interviewed by Phoebe of the school newspaper.
I’d held Brielle’s hand to make our “relationship” look more authentic—that hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected—and we could barely walk down the hall together without someone snapping a pic of us.
Me and my big mouth. If I hadn’t told Jenessa about Brielle’s AI angle, none of this would be all that interesting.
We could have flown under the radar, written our Lit paper for extra credit, and been virtually unbothered by the whole thing.
At least, that’s what I was telling myself.
Now, I was staring at a book that might as well be as thick as a loaf of bread, and I had Brielle staring at me with the kind of expectation that suddenly made me not want to let her down.
“What was the last novel you read?” She tapped the old book as though reminding me I wasn’t off the hook. I would read it, we’d make our presentation on this dude, Mr. Darcy and his girlfriend, and at least that pressure point on our fake relationship would be resolved.
“Well?” Brielle was waiting.
All I could think of was the fact that I really wanted Reece to get home. Heck, I’d even help unload the groceries.
“What was the last novel you read?” she repeated.
The question hit me then.
I stared at her. Nope, I wasn’t going to go there.
“Green Eggs and Ham,” I retorted.
Brielle gave me such a look of exasperation, I almost laughed.
Almost. If she dug too hard, then this relationship stuff was going to get more real—and I didn’t want to go there.
I mean, I was cool being friends and all, and I wouldn’t argue that she was pretty cute, but I wasn’t going to actually let her in. Not to the personal stuff.
“Hey, don’t knock Dr. Seuss.” I used my crooked grin on her again because it always made her blush.
This time, she didn’t. Brielle narrowed her eyes. “Have you ever read a novel?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t say any more.
Brielle studied me for a second. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something?”
“Maybe because you’re nosy,” I quipped.
Brielle sniffed. “I’m your girlfriend—isn’t that my right?”
“Don’t push it.” I hadn’t meant to sound annoyed, but I must have. She was poking a sore spot with me.
Dang, if Brielle didn’t look a little hurt.
“Sorry.” She leaned back in her chair, pulling away from the table and the book—and me. “I was just teasing.”
Now I felt like a jerk.
I never could come out ahead when it came to books.
To my studies. To anything my dad liked.
My mom was cool—but she was Mom. Dad was like a walking library.
He had two Masters degrees and thought studies were way more important than baseball or athletics.
I mean, while most guys’ dads were too hard on their sports performance and pushed them to be the best, my dad was always disappointed that I even played ball in the first place.
It was just another thing my parents argued about.
Me.
Mom thought I should be free to pursue baseball, and she dreamed big—in her mind, I’d be in the Major Leagues by the time I was twenty.
Dad fought back and said she was “babying” me and giving me “false hope”.
That he was sick of this family not being realistic.
That I needed to focus on my education and do something profitable with my time.
Then that turned to Mom somehow taking it personally, and the arguments always shifted off of me onto her career, something about how this wasn’t the life they’d planned and . . . yeah.
I was always living one step away from my parents splitting up.
“I just—Sorry.” It was my turn to apologize.
Brielle’s expression softened. I looked away because she was studying me now, and I had a feeling she was someone I wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from for long.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I managed to pull myself together. I reached for the book. Pride and Prejudice. “Yeah, I’m good.”
She hesitated.
I was turning the pages of the book so I didn’t have to look at her.
I could feel Brielle’s eyes on me.
“I know I sort of got you into this mess,” she said quietly. “But, I would like to be friends.”
I lifted my eyes. I could tell that she knew I was holding something back from her. But it really wasn’t any of her business. I think she knew that too, because she didn’t press for more.
Friends?
For some reason, I remembered taking her hand earlier that day, when Phoebe was interrogating us for the school newspaper.
Brielle’s hand had been warm, and she held mine as though she meant to.
She hadn’t seemed embarrassed or even nervous.
When I slid my fingers through hers, it was weird—I’d actually felt more confident.
So yeah. Friends would be a good place to start.
Especially since I was new at school, I was under pressure with tryouts coming up, had two dysfunctional parents, and was a disappointment to my dad.
“Yeah,” I nodded, and our eyes connected. “Friends. I’d like that, Shortstop.”
“Why would Coach want to see me?” I shot Reece a look over the table at the fast food restaurant we frequented for lunch. It was only two blocks from the high school and had way better food.
“I dunno.” Reece was mowing down a hamburger. “Probably something to do with tryouts next week.”
“I want to make the team,” I stated. If I was honest, I kind of felt like things were imploding even worse than when my parents told me were moving here in the first place.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Reece dipped three fries into his ketchup. “We’ve never had a strong catcher—not like you anyway. And Dameon—who played last year—broke his arm skiing over Christmas break. So, considering he had to have surgery and they put two pins in it, he’s out.”
“Dude,” I muttered. Any ball player’s worst nightmare was an injury that took him out for a season. I was glad to know competition wasn’t stiff, but not at the cost of Dameon’s broken arm.
“So,” Reece said as he chewed his fries, “who knows why Coach wants to see you. Probably just to talk.”
Just to talk.
That turned out to be a joke.
Coach Priestly was a nice guy. He was taller than me, with gray hair and a mustache. Reece had said Coach had played in the Minors before he’d been injured. Another injury. That’d be just my luck.
“Ready for tryouts next week?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I nodded. I added the “sir” part because I thought Coach reminded me somewhat of Brielle’s dad, and I knew Mr. Walters liked the element of respect.
“Call me Coach,” Coach Priestly waved me off. He sat on the corner of a desk in the athletics department office and crossed his arms over his chest. I wanted to sit down, but I didn’t. I kinda felt it’d be rude. “So, I’ve heard you’re a pretty passionate player, Mason.”
I nodded. I didn’t really know what else to say.
“And you made quite the stir your first two weeks here at school.” A smirk.
Brielle.
Yeah.
The viral video.
I shrugged. “I guess.” Really, what did anyone say to that?
“Aside from your popularity in the love department, I got an email from a good friend of mine. He’s a recruiter.”
Okay. Now, Coach had my attention.
“Apparently, he’s got you on his radar to keep an eye on this year.”
My eyes widened.
“He wrote that he checked out your stats from your school in Minnesota, and that you’re a strong player.
He saw your video too—going around social media—and said he’s impressed by your maturity.
You haven’t monopolized the video on your own socials, and you’re keeping low-key.
He likes that. Said it suggests strong character and focus. ”
I felt sick. Now a recruiter was judging my maturity based on how I responded to the viral attention Brielle and I were getting?
How about coming to a game and checking out my ability?
But I knew recruiters were looking for guys who could play the long game.
Dealt well with pressure. Which, apparently, in my case, meant being popular—thanks, viral video—and keeping your head about you while still playing a good game.
“Reece is pretty excited about you playing with us this year,” Coach continued. “Said he’s gotten to know you pretty fast since you’ve been dating his sister.”
Crud.
“So,” Coach slid off the corner of the desk and slapped my upper arm in encouragement. “You’ve got a lot going for you, kid. Keep your chin up, eyes on the ball, and you might keep getting attention. And not just in the romance department.”
Coach laughed.
I managed a weak smile.
I kind of felt like I was a baseball player trying to juggle instead of playing the game.
I was juggling my parents, a fake dating scheme gone wild, my grades, and now the potential attention of a recruiter.
I didn’t think it was necessarily fair to compare my world to Brielle’s, but in that moment, I did.
She had a great family. A dad who’d kill to protect her.
A basement set up to help any guy make it as far as he could in his baseball career.
Books to her heart’s content. Aunts and friends who cared enough about her that their affection and interest in her life actually annoyed Brielle.
The girl pretty much had everything going for her, and all she was really juggling was—well, me.
It hit me like a ball to the face.
Brielle could end this fake dating thing pretty much at any moment without too much at stake.
But me? I had a lot at stake. And a lot of it depended on Brielle hanging in this fake relationship until I didn’t need her anymore. I was going to have to play this game very, very carefully.