Chapter 15 #2
“There you go being bossy again,” I fired back, needing to relieve the seriousness of the conversation.
He shook his head but tugged at my hair, his gaze lingering on my mouth, before he went to his side of the field.
That little hair tug pulled at my heart.
It was cute, possessive, and not very like him.
But I played with the tip of my hair he touched, absolutely unsure what was happening with him. Was it playing the part?
No … he was kind like that behind closed doors.
“Come on, Cass, we’re getting ready to start.” Pavin whistled for me, waving me to the dugout. “Real talk,” he said, his eyes wide when I approached him. “I have a bet with O’Brien so I really need to win this game. That means we need to mess with him.”
“I knew you were my favorite.”
His cheeks reddened but he threw his head back and laughed, drawing attention. I couldn’t help but eye Nate who glared at us. I winked, and he shook his head, his jaw only tightening.
“This is exactly what we need, Cass. God, this is gonna be fun.”
The first pitch came in low and fast, and Pavin, being Pavin, swung like he was trying to hit it into the next county. The ball skittered past second base, a blooper at best, but he threw his bat and ran like he’d hit a grand slam.
I stood at home plate, laughing so hard I barely remembered I was supposed to be on deck.
“Focus, Calloway,” Nate shouted from his team’s bench, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on top of his head.
“I’m focused!” I yelled back, twirling the bat like a baton. “On winning. On being amazing. On living my best life.”
“On embarrassing yourself,” he called, smirking so hard I wanted to hurl the bat at him.
Instead, I blew him a kiss and stepped into the box.
Someone named Bria lobbed the next pitch like a volleyball, and I swung as hard as I could … but missed. “Damnit!”
“Aw, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Garcia jogged from the dugout toward me, brows set in determination. “Let me fix your stance.”
“You’re a little evil, Garcia. Doesn’t match your kind face.”
“That’s why I’m a kick ass catcher. I keep you guessing.”
He stood behind me, his chest to my back as he adjusted my stance at the plate. He touched me a lot but he didn’t cause goosebumps or butterflies to explode throughout my body. Not like Nate’s touch.
Speaking of … I snuck a glance over my shoulder as Garcia touched me and Nate looked ready for murder. Literal murder. This chaos inducing attitude was where I thrived and I wiggled just a little. “Thanks for the help, Garcia. You’re such a gentleman.”
“You’re absolutely unhinged, I fucking love it. He needs this.” He chuckled and left me to bat. Bria, a local radio host, pitched again and I swung hard.
I made contact, sending the ball dribbling just past the mound and I screamed with joy. “YES!”
“Run, Calloway!” Pavin screamed from second, waving his arms frantically.
I ran—okay, stumbled aggressively—toward first, barely beating the throw.
I planted myself on the bag, grinning like a lunatic, heart racing.
“Safe!” Garcia called, exaggeratedly waving his arms like he was a real umpire.
“You’re lucky you’re cute!” he added, winking at me.
I couldn’t help but grin. My adrenaline had never been higher.
My heart pulsed in my ears and I focused on the game, making sure to run if the player made contact with the ball.
I didn’t even focus on Nate, not when I wanted to be safe and score a run.
When I rounded third two batters later, I could feel his gaze on me but I didn’t look back at him.
A few batters later, it was my turn to run again—third base, one out, the game tied. Pavin was up to bat, naturally, and everyone was shouting and laughing and not taking it seriously.
Until Pavin actually connected.
The ball rocketed toward third—a hard, low line drive—and for half a second, I froze like a deer in headlights. It was coming right for me, no time to duck, no time to run.
A body slammed into mine, knocking me sideways and sending us both tumbling into the dirt. It wasn’t hard or painful—more like a chaotic tangle of limbs and surprise.
When the dust settled, a younger guy on the team, Wilson something, was crouched over me, grinning.
“You okay, baby girl?” he said, brushing dirt off my jersey.
“Jesus Christ,” I wheezed, laughing as I remained on the ground. My arms ached a bit and a scab formed on my elbows. “I’m fine, I think.” I did a once over on my outfit and yeah, dirt covered it and my knee bled a bit. “Thanks for being my hero though. That could’ve been bad.”
Someone in the stands wolf-whistled, and Wilson grinned wider. “She said it, not me!” he called over his shoulder.
I laughed, shoving at him playfully as he helped me stand.
The crowd was still giggling when I turned and locked eyes with Nate across the field.
He wasn’t laughing. Not even a little bit. He stood near first base, jaw clenched so tight I was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he gripped his glove harder, the veins in his arms popping.
Oh.
Oh, he did not like that.
Pavin jogged past, clapping me on the back. “All good, coach. You survived.”
“Yup, totally okay. Plus, blood makes me look cool,” I teased, but my voice was half-hearted, still rattled by the way Nate’s gaze pinned me in place.
It wasn’t playful. It was … intense. Unforgiving. Raw.
I jogged back to the dugout, brushing dirt off my shorts, feeling Nate’s stare follow me the entire way.
Every hair on my body stood on end.
Lauren passed by and winked. “Keep it up, Calloway. You’re winning the Internet today.”
“Winning’s the only thing I do,” I said lightly, tossing my helmet onto the bench.
But my hands shook a little as I tied my hair back up.
Because I wasn’t sure what scared me more:
Almost getting hit by a softball, or the way Nate O’Brien looked at me like he was two seconds from walking across the field and claiming me.
And I kinda wanted him to.