Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
HARLEY
The sun peeks through the window, causing me to stir, and when my eyes flutter open, I panic for a brief second, thinking I overslept and missed practice, but then I remember that it’s New Year’s Day, and Coach gave us the day off.
Which is good because between my legs is sore.
Though we both fell asleep quickly, we also woke up every few hours and had sex … again.
Quietly, I turn my body so that I’m facing Cane. His neck is slightly crooked, with his cheek against the pillow, as he quietly snores. I smile like a weirdo as my eyes sweep over his face. He’s undeniably handsome, and as creepy as it may be, I could stare at him forever.
As if feeling my gaze, he shifts subtly before finally, he yawns. Stretching his body, he cracks his eyes open, and the second he takes me in, the corner of his lips lifts into a crooked smirk. When his dimple is exposed, my heart flutters.
“Hi,” I whisper, unable to stop smiling.
“Hi,” he says back, flipping his body all the way toward me. “How’d you sleep?”
“I slept pretty good, all things considering.” I wiggle a little closer, and the heat from his body warms me. “How about you?”
His eyes dance with amusement. “I had a hot redhead in my bed, Catch,” he drawls sleepily. “And once she was done taking advantage of me, I slept pretty damn good.”
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t seem to mind it.”
His fingertips run through my hair. “How do you feel about last night?” His eyes dance between mine. “Any regrets?”
“Major,” I tease, biting down on my lip. “You?”
“So many,” he says back with a grin, and I giggle when his other hand tickles my side. “Nah, Catch. I’m joking.” His expression grows somber, and he brushes his thumb across my cheek. “I have no regrets.”
“Me neither,” I whisper. “So, does this mean …”
“That you’re my girlfriend?” he cuts me off. “Hell yeah, it does. I might just go shout it from the rooftops too. That way, everyone knows that Harland Meadows isn’t on the market.”
“I was never on the market, you idiot.” I laugh before lifting a brow. “Though I may want to be the one yelling it from the rooftops. The women of NEU love baseball boy Cane Hale, you know.”
“What’s not to love?” He winks. “And you can shout it from anywhere you want, Catch. I want everyone to know I belong to you.”
The words he just said … maybe to some, they wouldn’t mean much. To me, him saying he belongs to me and not the other way around, they mean everything. They mean enough for me to say what I do next.
“I belong to you too, Baseball Boy,” I utter, kissing his cheek. “But I’ll warn you: I have no experience in having a boyfriend. So, be patient with me, okay?”
His hand runs down my bare body, resting at the bottom of my abdomen. “Trust me, Harland. The fact that I’m your first everything … it drives me fucking wild.” He kisses my forehead. “What an honor. What a gift.”
I used to worry that when, one day, I did have sex or did date someone, I’d be embarrassed at being so inexperienced. With Cane, I don’t feel ashamed. The way he looks at me makes it hard to feel anything but happy.
“What are your plans today, Catch?” he murmurs against my forehead.
“I don’t really have any.” I shrug. “With no classes and no softball, I don’t know what to do with my time. You?”
His palm splays out across my stomach, and he brings his mouth to my ear. “Well, first, I want to fuck you in the shower. But then … I have somewhere I want to take you. And before you ask me because you’re a control freak and you can’t stand not knowing, it’s a surprise.”
First, I shiver at the mention of a shower with my boyfriend. But then I narrow my eyes at him when he pulls his head back.
“What are you up to, Hale?”
“Guess you’ll see, huh?” He brings his lips to mine, kissing me.
“Now shower first. And if you’re a good girl and let me fuck you from behind so that I can watch my cock slide in and out of you, I’ll wash your hair after.
” He suddenly smirks. “What am I even saying? I’m going to wash your hair either way. ”
And before I know it, we’re out of bed and headed to the bathroom. And I’m eager for yet another first.
CANE
Harland stares at me, completely and utterly confused. “We’re at a tattoo shop …”
“Yes,” I say as we stand in front of the door.
I don’t dare to walk inside because right now, it’s obvious she’s freaking out.
“Why are we at a tattoo shop?” she asks, staring at the sign.
“Because for years, I’ve wanted to get my father’s signature on my bicep. And I want you to sit next to me while I get it done.” I cringe. “I told you, I’m not a fan of needles.”
“Yet you helped me inject myself with my insulin, and you came here, on New Year’s Day, to get a tattoo?” she says, lifting a brow. “Do you want to squeeze my hand during it?”
“Yes,” I say instantly, not giving a fuck if I don’t sound like a tough guy. “I sure as fuck do.”
She flashes me the tiniest smirk before she takes the initiative to pull the door open.
When she walks inside, I follow behind. I may be twenty-one years old, but I don’t have any ink yet.
Tattoos aren’t anything I’ve ever cared about, but my dad’s signature?
That I can justify the needle and the pain for.
And truthfully, I asked Harland here because she’s one of the few friends I have who has lost a parent. She gets it.
All of it.
“Did it hurt?” she asks, watching the artist bandage my arm. “Be honest. Because I saw you cringing and I think you hissed a few times too.”
“I mean, it didn’t feel good,” I admit, looking at the man who just did the work on me. “I know some people say it hurts so good and they love it … I’m not your guy.” I look down. “That felt disgusting, and it hurt like hell.”
“Baby.” Harland snickers, calling me out for being a wimp.
I’d tell her she doesn’t know, but the woman has had to give herself injections for years and stick her monitor into her flesh too. She’s told me stories before of ripping the monitor off when she was sliding into a base or diving for a ball and how it bled everywhere.
A tattoo would be nothing to her.
“You next, Red?” the guy asks her, almost as if it’s a dare. “I have a little more time before my next client.”
She shifts around in her chair, looking about the room nervously before her eyes land on mine.
I can’t explain what it feels like to have a woman like her look at me like that.
Like, in a room with other people, I’m her calm.
I know Cash thinks it’s a problem—me wanting to fix everyone—but, fuck, I’ll never not want to be the one to calm her down or to help her out.
I don’t give a fuck what any therapist says.
Finally, she stands. Her shoulders square up, and she holds her head tall, nodding once. “You know what? Yes. I am next.” She glances at me, shrugging as she blows out a long breath. “YOLO, right?”
“That’s right, Catch.” I grin before sliding out of the chair.
The tattoo artist cleans the area and gets fresh supplies. Then, Harley slides in quickly, almost as if she’s nervous that if she overthinks it at all, she’ll back out. So, now she isn’t giving herself that option.
“What are you going to get?” I ask, knowing deep down, it’s going to be a tribute to her father.
Her jacket sits on her lap, and she reaches around in the pocket before pulling out a piece of paper. She folds it a few times, until just the bottom is showing, and then she hands it to the artist.
“Show them. Love, Dad,” he says, looking it over. “So, you want it just like this, right?”
“Yes, please,” she whispers.
“And where do you want it?”
As if she already knew, she pulls the sleeve of her shirt up, exposing her forearm, and points. “Right here, please.”
“You got it,” he answers, and once he disappears to get the tattoo prepared for her, her big green eyes find mine.
“You’re pretty cute,” I tell her because she’s got to be the most adorable human on the planet.
Her red hair spills down her shoulders, and even though she probably won’t admit it, she’s anxious.
“Thanks.” She sighs. “My dad always said that.” She smiles.
“When I was little and I got cut from the team, he’d say, ‘Harley, if you want to make the team, show them you deserve to be on it.’ And when I was the new kid on a team and they’d keep me in the dugout, he’d say, ‘Next time they put you in that field, show them. Don’t give them any choice but to see you.
’” She pauses, resting her head on the back of the chair.
“His last words he said to me were, ‘You showed them.’ And in this letter, a letter he wrote when he first got sick, that’s how he signed it.
” She pauses, her eyes dancing around my face.
“Thank you for bringing me today because I don’t think I would have ever done this. But now I can’t imagine not doing it.”
I reach for her cheek, brushing my thumb against it.
“This club of ours … it’s a pretty shitty club to be in. And I’d do anything to make it so you weren’t in this one with me,” I practically rasp. “But I’m glad we have each other, Catch.”
“Me too,” she whispers. And even though she’s said it a few times now, it’s never been random or out in public. So, when she opens her mouth and says, “I love you,” before smiling … well, I can’t help but lean over that chair and kiss her plump, pretty lips.
Because how the fuck am I the guy who gets to hear those words from Harland Meadows?
“I love you,” I say, hovering my mouth over hers before kissing her again.
“All right, you disgustingly happy lovebirds,” the tattoo artist says, suddenly appearing next to us.
I sit back in my seat, grinning from ear to ear.
“You ready?” he asks her, and she nods, with zero hesitation and no nerves.
Then she reaches for my hand, and I get to be the lucky son of a bitch who holds it.