Chapter 11
“Do you need a ride?” Kellan asks, his voice rumbling from the phone pressed to my ear.
“Nah. I can drive myself.”
“Before or after you stalk Quinn?”
I pause, hesitating on the curb. One foot on, one foot off, I stare at the dimmed interior of Blank Page and tap my knuckles on my passenger door.
I’ve already decided that the neon green sticker she placed there earlier was going to stay.
Green has always been my favourite colour, and just knowing that she put that there herself is more than enough to have me keeping it, even if it’s going to constantly make me look like a shitty driver.
The list of traffic violations beneath the giant letters spelling the words You Parked Like An Idiot brings a smile to my face even now, when I’m exhausted and my forearm’s tender from a longer-than-normal ninth inning.
It may not be anything sweet, but it was funny.
She had to go out of her way to put that on my window, and that means she was thinking about me while running out of the café.
It doesn’t matter that she didn’t know the reason behind my need to escape for a moment.
Honestly, it’s probably better she never learns of it.
I’m certainly not going to tell her that simply touching her hip was enough for me to nearly come in my pants in front of her and an old woman with knowing eyes.
That’s a secret I’m going to take to the grave with me.
“I’m not stalking her. She gave me her number,” I tell him, still stuck in place.
“Why?”
“Do you have to say it like that?”
I can hear the fucking grin he must be wearing. “Like what?”
“Like it’s unfathomable for her to have given to me just because she wanted to.”
“I mean . . . I’ve seen her with you. You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.”
“She’s going to give in eventually.”
“How long are you going to wait for that? Obviously, she’s beautiful. But come on, man.”
I suck my chest in when it puffs. Every instinct tells me to warn him away from her. To never call her beautiful again. It’s pathetic, and I hate myself a little bit for it.
“I told her we could be friends.”
Silence. “Why would you go and do something stupid like that?”
“Because I still want to know her? I don’t fucking know why I’m doing this, Kellan. Stop interrogating me. I’m not taking feedback on this.”
His words are exasperated. “Fine. My lips are zipped. Just be here, Beck. Even Roman’s coming, so don’t ignore us for coffee that you don’t even like. Wes has been looking forward to this party for days now. He needs us here.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise.
The Havoc are my family, and while none of us really knows what’s been going on with Wes these last few weeks, he’s been struggling at the plate. Not to mention quieter than usual. With so much changing around us, I don’t blame him for tripping up a bit.
First, it was Finn and Aubrey. They were the least surprising couple to form, considering their lifelong friendship, but seeing them together romantically changed the dynamic of the group.
And now, Roman and Brielle . . . whatever it is they’re doing.
If Wes is losing it, too, then I need to be extra careful.
Missing the party our catcher is throwing at his mega-mansion isn’t a possibility for me when I know how much it will mean to him if we’re all there.
“Text me when you’re on your way, then. And bring me a juice while you’re at it.”
“Say please.”
He groans. “Please, jackass.”
“Yes, dear. See you soon.”
Three beeps follow my words. I pull open a text conversation before I continue on my way to the café. The last message sent came from me an hour ago. I shouldn’t even be here. The last response I received has made that more than obvious.
We need to talk about what happened earlier.
It’s Beck, by the way. Make sure to save my contact under something sexy. Maybe King Of My Heart.
Quinny
*attached photo*
It was a screenshot of my newly added contact. That Guy.
I’ll take it.
Quinny
Desperation has a scent, you know?
You didn’t seem to mind it when you all but forced me to touch you earlier.
Quinny
Forced? Be for real.
Don’t deny it, baby. I like a bossy woman.
Quinny
I’m going to block you.
Don’t. We need to talk about why you needed my hands on you.
There was a fifteen-minute break between texts that had me pacing the clubhouse, hoping to fuck she’d answer before I had to head to the field.
Quinny
What if we just forgot about it?
Not an option.
She never replied after that, which led to me going into my game with not only a massive erection in the tight material of my baseball pants, but also a sour attitude. I’ve yet to see a picture online of me rocking a hard-on in the bullpen, so at least I avoided that nightmare.
Quinn can ignore my texts and pretend what happened earlier wasn’t a big deal, but I’m not planning on accepting that. There’s something going on, and I want to know what it is. Now.
Yanking open the door, I ignore the familiar chime and stalk inside. It’s silent, and for the very first time, I look around and see all of the tables empty. Apprehension nips at me as I wander to the counter and scratch the side of my throat, waiting for someone to greet me.
I glance at my watch twice, then shuffle from side to side. The drinks in the open cooler are already refilled and straightened, and the coffee machines are distinctly quiet. It’s eerily silent.
“Hello?” I call, getting antsy.
The sound of scuffling feet makes my heart skip. I straighten, expecting Quinn to push through the kitchen door, but it’s Callie’s face I see. Hiding my disappointment, I pull my lips up into a smile.
Quinn’s younger sister hastily pushes her messy hair back and adjusts her wrinkled apron. There’s a pink tint to her neck and cheeks, in addition to a slight swelling of her bottom lip. Intrigued, I suddenly wish the door had a window so I could see if Eli’s hiding somewhere under a counter.
“Quinn isn’t here,” Callie says, a bit out of breath.
“I’m piecing that together.”
She flushes deeper, so similar to the pink that floods Quinn’s face when I say something that I know will annoy her. Only this look is because of something very different.
“I, uh, we’re about to close. But if there’s anything you want from the cooler, I can ring you up. Quinn’s already given the leftover baked goods to the shelter.”
“Which one?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Her head tilts slightly. “Which shelter?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“Don’t do much volunteer work, do you?” she asks, but there’s no judgment there.
“Mostly with the team. We don’t do enough of it, though. How often do you give the leftovers away?”
“Every night. Quinn likes to do it herself because she changes where she goes every few days. And to answer your first question, there’s a women’s shelter that loves the jam-filled croissants, so we always bring them there when they’re on the menu.
We shouldn’t talk about that, though. You’re not technically allowed to donate non-perishables there. ”
My chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I doubt that influences Quinn much. Your secret is safe with me.”
“You seem to know her pretty well, considering how little time she actually gives you in a day.”
“I’ve always been observant.”
“Clearly. Still, I don’t think she’s going to change her mind.”
Leaning forward, I press my thighs to the counter and cross my arms. “Why’s that?”
“She’s got a huge thing against athletes. And you are a very popular athlete. The odds are stacked against you.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“Other than the obvious?” She says it as if I should know better. Like maybe there’s a gaping hole in my skull where my brain should be.
“There are a few things that could be the cause. I just want to narrow down what her specific issue is with me,” I clarify.
“I haven’t asked for the details. But it wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume it has something to do with arrogance.
You know, the whole larger-than-life attitude that seems to be a collective trait amongst your type.
You can get away with anything because the consequences never seem to affect your careers, and it shows in the way you carry yourselves.
Having to act appropriately to avoid repercussions is a regular person thing. ”
“I’m a regular person,” I argue, the hairs on my arms sticking up. There’s a boulder in my stomach that seems to grow heavier by the second. “And I’ve been affected by the consequences of my actions multiple times over the last few years.”
Lost endorsements, the lack of trust from team management, and an inability to check social media without being ambushed with hate.
“You mean because of the whole fuckboy stunt?”
My brows twitch with surprise. She speaks again before I can ask her to elaborate.
“I’ve done my research on you. And Eli’s a big fan.”
“He’s made that clear.” I wipe a hand down my face, eyeing the door. “Is he back there right now? And don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m almost twenty-three, so before you lecture me—”
“I wasn’t going to lecture you. I’m just making sure this conversation doesn’t wind up spreading beyond us.”
Realization washes across her face. “He won’t say anything. Fan or not.”
“I’m assuming you don’t want your sister to know what you’re doing with him back there?”
“That’s not your business,” she rushes out, turning into a tomato again.
I hold my hands up, letting it go. “Just tell me if it’s my reputation doing me dirty here. I can fix that if it is.”
“I don’t know what it is. Honestly. Quinn is a pretty closed book, even with me. There are certain things we don’t talk about.”
Fuck.
“Yeah,” I mutter, stepping back from the counter as my phone buzzes in my pocket. The timer I set for when I needed to get the hell out of here keeps making my thigh vibrate. “I’ll pass on the drink tonight, then. Make sure you lock up before you go back into the kitchen.”
“I will. And for the record, I don’t think you’re the worst athlete who could have found this place.”
“I’ll take that,” I say before grabbing my phone and cancelling the timer. “Have a good night, Callie. And Eli.”
There’s a small clatter from the kitchen when I reach for the door. My smirk feels a bit out of place, even if I do enjoy listening to the guy flounder after getting caught.
Something is settling wrong as I think about what Callie said. Quinn has never brought up knowing me from school, so I’ve followed her lead and kept quiet about it. Maybe I should put an end to that and mention it so we can clear the air.
If it isn’t my reputation that’s got her keeping that steel wall up between us, then maybe it’s coming from something in the past. It’s all fuzzy now, but I don’t remember talking to her much back then. If I did . . . maybe I was an asshole?
Wringing the back of my neck, I reach my car and stare at the sticker on the window. My usual parking spot sits empty now, just like she wanted it. I debate snapping a photo for proof and sending it to her before scolding myself and getting in.
Kellan’s name flashes across the screen in the dash once I start the engine, but I ignore his call. I’ll be there soon enough, even if I’d rather be tracking down a sassy, coffee-obsessed workaholic instead.