Perfect Score (Easton U Pirates 3)

“Oh my God,” he said, making a funny face. “How are you so weird?”

“If I’m weird, so are you because you do everything with me.” I looked down at him, at how the blue in his favorite shirt picked up the same hue in his eyes. “Even if you’re still wearing that damned blue turtleneck in the middle of spring. Now throw the ball.”

“Hey, it’s still chilly out.” He walked up to the line, aimed, and ended up knocking most of the balls down.

He whooped, we high-fived, and I turned to see Jasmine, Vickers, and Girard watching us. “You’re up,” I told Vickers, pointing to the screen displaying our names.

“I did say you two should just date already,” Vickers replied, pushing past us to get his ball. Jasmine cocked an eyebrow at Girard.

Morgan scrunched up his nose. “He did?”

“He was joking,” I said, giving Vickers a warning look, but he was already throwing his ball and none the wiser.

“For what it’s worth, you’re adorable together, even as friends,” Girard said, his gaze fleetingly searching for Maclain in the next lane as if it somehow soothed him, and I totally got that. “It’s nice to see you again, man.”

“You too,” I said, and we fist-bumped.

Girard and Maclain got together while playing for the Pirates. I’d heard all about it from Vickers, who told me how it went down at the last game of the season. But apparently, they’d been fooling around throughout the year. And the kicker was, they were both supposedly straight until they started crushing on each other. Quite a story.

We bowled some more, then bought tickets for auction items. We didn’t win, but it was fun regardless. We played Jasmine and Maclain in foosball and laughed at how competitive they were with each other, especially Maclain. He was a bit of a grumpy dude, but he completely lit up around certain people, like Girard’s mom and sister, Gemma, who were running the snack counter. It was sweet, really.

Morgan and I found seats near the pool tables and sat down. The attendants began thinning out at the end of the night, and Girard’s mom and sister served us warm, salty soft pretzels while we listened in on the team’s banter. Kellan became more animated once Coach Crawford left—and who could blame him? Apparently, it’d been tense around his dad when they’d begun dating. Kellan was now sitting on Brady’s lap as he recounted a locker-room story involving a rubber mouse.

“Does it make you miss being part of a team?” Morgan whispered to me.

“Maybe sometimes. But their schedule is brutal, and most of them won’t go on to play professionally anyway. Look at Girard and Maclain. Brady too. They’re not playing anymore and seem perfectly happy.”

“True.” Morgan’s fingers absently curled around my wrist, and I was so distracted thinking about how easily we’d always touched each other that I’d missed hearing someone call my name.

“Huh?” I said when Morgan nudged me.

“I asked how you know Vickers,” Kellan said with a smirk.

“Sorry about that.” I looked across the table to where Vickers was devouring another salty soft pretzel. “From intramural teams over the years, and then we were high-school rivals.”

“We’ve done some charity stuff together too,” Vickers added. “Before his injury.”

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “After I hurt my shoulder, I knew it was all over.”

“That’s a bummer,” Kellan said, and Brady murmured in agreement.

“Is what it is.” I felt Morgan squeeze my knee in support, and it helped unravel the momentary ball of tension in my gut.

“You ever interested in coaching?” Girard asked from near the counter, where he was helping wipe down the surface.

“You mean as a career?” I asked, using a napkin to swipe the salt from my fingers.

“He means the little league team,” Maclain scoffed. “He’s always trying to recruit people to help us out during the big tournament in the summer, and this year he wants to try and organize fall ball.”

“Wow, hardcore,” I teased, but I’d admit the idea appealed to me.

Morgan nudged my leg. “You totally should. You’re good with kids.”

“I suppose I might be interested.”

“Cool, we’ll exchange numbers,” Maclain said. “Your boyfriend could help too if—”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said at the same time as Morgan proclaimed something similar.

“Sorry, my bad.” Maclain held up his hands. “You just seemed…I dunno.”

“They’re just best friends and roommates,” Jasmine said, shaking her head. “And always have each other’s backs.”

“You got that right,” Vickers said with a smirk. “Remember that charity game to raise money for the umpire’s son?”

“You mean the one Elliot twisted my arm to play sophomore year?” Morgan said.

“Hey, it was for a good cause,” I said. The league was trying to help the man’s family raise money for his sick child. “And what was the harm? You played well.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t. And I hated blowing the game.”