Chapter 2 #2
Alma’s standing at the window with her arms folded, watching over us like she’s ready to jump over that counter and spank Banker Bro with a wooden spoon if he so much as sneezes at us.
I give Alma a “stand down” look, which she ignores, and walk over to the guy.
“Hey, man, it sounds like you’re in a hurry,” I say.
“Uh, yeah. I have an important meeting I’m late for.”
“Shoot. That’s awkward. I gotta think the one with a real job is the one who actually needed to be there on time.”
Banker Bro’s face reddens, and he looks like he’s trying to calculate how far he can keep pushing. “What do you know about having a real job?”
Logan and I look at each other. And burst out at the exact same time. “Absolutely nothing,” I say. “We’re morons who throw a-hundred-mile-per-hour fastballs.”
“One of us is a moron,” Logan corrects me.
I shrug. “Guilty.” Then I look at Banker Bro. “Listen, man, you wouldn’t be throwing a tantrum waiting in her coffee line if her job didn’t matter. Just apologize.”
The guy looks around, cowed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll apologize.”
“Great,” I say. “In that case, enjoy your coffee.”
“And be sure to give Alma a huge tip,” Logan adds.
***
When we arrive at Mudflaps stadium, my hands are warm from holding drinks the whole way over. “I’ll meet you in the locker room,” I tell Logan, looking at the stairs that lead up to the administrative offices.
Something behind my sternum pulls taut the way it always does when I’m about to see Scottie, though it hurts more today. And the pain is spreading with every step.
I walk down the halls, so different than they were last season, when they resembled a condemned frat house more than a Minor League facility.
Our owner has sunk some serious cash into it, updating all the facilities over the season and finally finishing the staffing areas last. New LED lighting, the concrete floors have been replaced with polished epoxy, old water-stained walls are now glass-fronted offices.
There’s only one office I care about. The one that belongs to Scottie.
Scottie, who I should absolutely not still be thinking about, considering her stupid boyfriend posted a stupid “moment” on ReelTime when he picked her up for their stupid date last night.
It was a selfie of him and Scottie in front of her condo. The caption said:
Flew back to the Ridge with the lady and fit in one last date. Till next weekend, Hot Stuff.
And then he dropped a heart emoji with three hashtags about kissing that made me want to throw up.
How is she dating this guy? He’s everything she’s not. Loud where she’s quiet, reckless where she’s careful, chaotic where she’s competent. Yeah, I must not be her type, either, but at least I can see why.
Jake Rodgers has the self-awareness of wet cement and way less interest in changing shape.
Logan was right. It’s stupid that I even thought of bringing her a coffee this morning, let alone accepted the one Alma pushed on me. Why didn’t I protect my heart? I’m asking for Scottie to squash it in front of my face.
I’m five steps from her office when I stop myself and stare at the cup in my hand.
This was a bad idea.
Watching my mom slowly fade away taught me a lesson I’ve clearly forgotten: wanting something badly enough doesn’t make it yours—no matter how hard you show up for it.
Scottie chose someone else.
I turn around, and instantly knock into someone.
“Watch it!”
And in spite of myself, I grin. “Scottie!”
I haven’t seen her in months, and my excitement is as automatic as it is unfortunate. I have to remind myself that she’s part one-that-got-away, part might-have-been.
With a side of only-in-my-dreams.
She adjusts her big tortoiseshell glasses, but not before I can see the pink in her cheeks. It looks extra pretty against her pale blonde hair and oversized white dress shirt. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her blush before, but knowing her, it’s probably more like annoyance.
I have that effect on people.
“Lucas?” She takes a step back, looks me over, and then snaps her eyes up to my face, almost like she shouldn’t be looking at all.
And it’s that shouldn’t that reminds me to take a step back, too.
Alma’s words rattle in my head like a bad cough. If I find out you two cheat—
“Here,” I say, thrusting the drink in her hand. “I went by Meant to Bean this morning, and they were so used to making me an extra drink that I couldn’t stop them.”
“Oh,” Scottie says. She stares at the drink. “It was nice of you to bring it up, but I’m trying to cut back on coffee. Kayla bought me that big Quench tumbler last year and told me she’s going to spot-check it to make sure I’m getting enough water every day. She’s mean since she got pregnant.”
Our owner doesn’t mess around when it comes to her water obsession, but this is more than a statement about cutting back on coffee.
She’s cutting back on me.
I stand there, stunned by my own stupidity.
“Got it,” I say with a nod, reaching my hand out to take the coffee back from her. “Here, I can toss it out for you.”
She yanks it back so fast, hot mocha splashes out of the sip hole in the lid and onto the floor between us. I grab the napkin from around my to-go cup and wipe the floor.
“On second thought, I’ll let you keep that one,” I say, barely letting myself chuckle. “How are, uh, things? With, uh, Jake?”
And then Scottie does something utterly un-Scott-worthy.
She beams. “So good! Really good. Just great, really.” Her eyes flit past me, looking left and right. She seems acutely aware that there are other people on the floor watching us.
Considering I’ve never seen Scottie care what anyone thinks, this is weird.
“Uh, cool. Good. Glad to hear it.” I look at the floor. At the cup. Fold my arms. “Anyway, I have a camp, so—”
“Yeah, I gotta get to work,” she says at the same time before taking a sip of her drink and then sort of … saluting me.
The whole thing is weird.
I nod and turn, and get a few yards down the hallway when I hear a satisfied sigh.
My heart pinches. I’ve been waiting for that sigh since the first time I offered to bring Scottie coffee and she refused to tell me her order.
“Good luck,” she said. “No one’s ever guessed it.”
She had no problem turning other players down—I’d heard it more than once—so the fact that she didn’t say no outright was all the confirmation I needed.
I showed up the next morning, set a cup on her desk, and left without a word.
She didn’t throw it out. A week and two road trips later, I came back with something that had caramel in it, and she called it “not bad.”
I was a goner.
But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s dating someone else.
I breathe in like I need all the oxygen available for what’s to come. When I get on the elevator and exhale, though, everything bunches up inside me. Like my organs are huddling together.
Trying to protect my heart.