Home Plate (Easton U Pirates 2)

I decided to take a leak in their upstairs bathroom before heading home. I wanted to make sure my parents didn’t need any help at the bowling alley, even though it was bound to be a less busy night.

Once finished, I cut the lights, and when I walked back into the hallway, Maclain was standing just inside the door to his bedroom. I’d seen all their rooms before—or at least glimpses after being here so many times—and I’d always been struck by how sparse Maclain’s was compared to Donovan’s or Hollister’s. Like either he didn’t have much of his life to display or didn’t want to, and that made me feel melancholy, given that my family’s photos were plastered all over my apartment and even in the bowling alley.

When he didn’t even notice my presence in the hall, I considered heading downstairs and out the door, but something about the way he was staring off into space made me pause. “Hey, you okay?”

“Huh?” He blinked as if coming out of some deep thought. “Yeah, I…I’m cool.”

“Okay.” I twisted toward the staircase but my feet faltered, so I spun around again, determined to say what was on my mind. “Hey, listen. I don’t want this year to be like—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on giving you another bloody nose,” he quipped.

“Well, that’s good to know.” I absently reached up and ran my fingers over the barely noticeable knot where he’d clocked me good. “Or I might have to kick your ass.”

“Yeah, you think you could take me?” Maclain asked in a teasing tone.

“Probably.” I looked him over. “I got at least thirty pounds on you.”

He cocked an eyebrow, like the arrogant jerk he was, then flexed his arm. “But do you have guns like these?”

I rolled my eyes as I leaned forward and circled my hand around his bicep. “Hmm, guess they’re pretty solid.”

When I squeezed, Maclain gasped, and before I understood what was happening, he shrugged me off and retreated a step.

Exasperation rose in my chest. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Nothing.” He shook out his arms. “Maybe I don’t like you touching me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I countered. “Weren’t you the one who wrestled me to the ground in the locker room after that game last year?”

“That was before…” he sputtered. “Before I…understood some things.”

“What things?”

His entire face grew red. “Never mind. I don’t know what I’m saying.” His hand was gripping the door handle behind him, no doubt ready to shut me out. “Just forget it.”

“I’m not going to forget it. We have to be able to work together, for Christ’s sake.” I clenched my jaw. Why was this man so freaking frustrating? “Is that why you gave me a bloody nose? Because I put my hands on you?”

“No! Fuck, it was just a reaction. A bad one, I admit. You just…” He glanced over my shoulder as if to make sure we were still without an audience. “Anyone could’ve seen you.”

“Could’ve seen me teaching you how to bowl?”

“Like I said, forget it.” Maclain threw his hands up.

Feeling discouraged, I said, “How long are you going to punish me?”

His eyes flashed. “Punish you?”

I leaned toward him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I’d seen him in the fucking shower and now he was making my life hell.

When he didn’t say anything, I wanted to shout, but I tempered my tone. “You know what, Maclain? Screw you. I’m not going to waste my breath.”

“Hey, wait,” he said as soon as I got to the stairway. “I don’t want this to be a thing between us. I didn’t mean to—”

“Then don’t.” I stepped closer, noting the bald honesty on his face. Maybe we were getting somewhere. “This is the last year for both of us, and I want to make it a good one, you know?”

“Yeah…yeah, okay.”

“I’d say let’s shake on it, but you don’t want me touching you, so…”

He briefly screwed his eyes shut before shoving his hand out to me. “I was being dumb.”

I met him halfway, and my fingers felt warm and tingly as we clasped hands. Then we just stood there, staring at each other, and I could feel the tremor that wracked him. “Maclain…”

“No, don’t.”

He stepped backward into his room and knocked into his dresser. Something small fell and hit the ground, and I leaned over to pick up the soft, plush stuffed animal that looked worse for wear.

“What’s with the bee? Is this from childhood, or do you collect them?”

“Collect them?” He snort-laughed and shook his head, and I guess it was funny to imagine Maclain collecting anything except frowns, so I laughed too.

He reached for the bee and held it to his chest like it was a precious commodity. “I’m allergic to bees, and when I was a kid, my mom tried to show me they weren’t that scary. I know it’s stupid.”