“Sorry, Jaz.” I sank down in the chair across from her, the one that had come from my parents’ basement. In fact, most of the castoffs in our place came from my childhood home.
Pulling my laptop out of my bag, I got straight to it. After we quizzed each other on terms for a few rounds, we decided a break was in order.
We headed out the door and walked a few blocks down to Melt, the custard shop. My favorite flavor was birthday-cake because it was loaded with cake pieces and sprinkles and was pure heaven.
Once we’d placed our order at the counter, we decided to eat at an outside table. My eyes caught on a shock of blond hair under a backward baseball cap as Donovan rounded the corner with three of his teammates.
“Christ,” I mumbled, which made Jasmine turn her head just as they walked toward the glass entrance, apparently on their own custard mission.
“Look, it’s Kiddie Crawford,” Maclain said, and I clenched my jaw.
Couldn’t help it where he was concerned. Wished I’d told my dad today that he sucked donkey balls, but karma would probably come back to bite me in the ass. Besides, he thought he was funny, and what did I care? His nicknames were harmless, really.
“Cut it out,” Donovan said, which only made me grimace.
I normally ignored the team when we saw each other on campus because I wasn’t trying to be friends. So I stood up to throw away my napkin, hoping Jasmine would take my hint to leave. Donovan would undoubtedly try to make nice, and honestly, it was overkill. Most of the time I wanted to tell him to cut it out, but I also knew it was coming from a good place.
“Let it go,” I said to Jasmine, who had quite a mouth on her, and right then her eyes were flashing as she joined me near the sidewalk. Maclain irritated her just as much, but there was always this strange banter between them. More than likely, he found her attractive—and who wouldn’t? She had perfect bone structure and gorgeous dark hair, which most days she styled in a messy bun, though the intricate braid she was wearing now looked just as good. It made my gut squeeze tight that Donovan probably found her attractive too, which was ridiculous because he had every right.
“The only kiddie thing I see around here is in your pants,” Jasmine said, and I groaned because she could never hold back.
Hollister snickered, which would only add fuel to the fire.
As expected, Maclain had to use full bravado as he strutted closer to us. “You saying you don’t like what you see?”
But before she could respond, a snappy retort jumped from my mouth. “She might need to borrow a magnifying glass.”
Eh, I said it, and he fucking deserved it. Jasmine cracked up as she pulled me down the street.
Don’t look back. But I couldn’t help myself. Donovan had this weird, dreamy, smirky look on his too-pretty face. Ugh, why was he so cute?
For the record, there was nothing wrong with having a small package. Hell, mine probably qualified, and I’d never had any complaints. But there was just something guys like Maclain—the arrogant, athletic type—brought out in me. Definitely not an excuse, and paybacks were a bitch. Maclain was sure to be a dick to me when I saw him next, but that was nothing new.
Besides, we weren’t anywhere near the field or clubhouse, so Dad couldn’t fault me for not being professional on my own damned time.
3
Brady
The Pirates had a pretty steady fan base, as evidenced by the bleachers already being half full. Hollister threw me a grounder from first base. Once I fielded the ball, I threw it more leisurely than I would have during game time, to save my arm. Maclain was on the mound because he was the starting pitcher this game, and he had all the cockiness to go with it as he threw what looked like a curveball to our catcher, Girard.
My attention got diverted to the stands again when Mom and Ricky arrived. They sat near Hollister’s girlfriend and family, and when our mothers waved to each other, it brought me back to our childhood. Hollister and I would practice for hours at the park in our neighborhood before and after games. Baseball was in our blood. You had to enjoy it to play it so damned much.
Hollister used to be an outfielder, until he proved his chops at first base in high school with a steady hand and impressive footwork on the bag. I’d always been able to ground balls like a champ and earned my position on the team by rarely letting grounders get by me. I was a decent batter as well, but nothing like Devers, who could easily hit it out of the park with the right fastball. Unfortunately, he’d hurt his shoulder sliding into home plate early in the season and was on the bench until the doctor gave him the thumbs-up to play again.