“We’re friendly,” I countered, but the sentiment fell flat.
Coach arched an eyebrow. “Seems some days you barely tolerate each other.”
I could feel Girard’s gaze flash toward me, but I couldn’t make my head move, not even an inch. The room fell silent and the tension between us grew even thicker.
“Why do all this, Coach?” I asked, finding my voice. “Why not have Girard work with someone else he’s got decent chemistry with?”
“Because I believe in you, and last year at regionals, you were on fire. A winning combination.”
When I glanced at Girard, pink dotted his cheeks. Oh, we were a winning combination all right. Fucking hell.
“So we’ll need your commitment,” Coach said. “Are you all in?”
I waited for Girard to nod first because I didn’t want him to suffer because of me. And when he finally did—fucker took his time—I was flooded with immense relief. Maybe this year would be a good one after all. And possibly Girard and I could become…friendlier.
As I followed Girard out the door, Coach asked me to stay behind.
“Listen,” he said in a cautious tone once Girard was out of earshot. “I know your dad is not always there for you—”
“Please don’t.” I shook my head. “I can’t…”
“You have a ton of potential, Maclain.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I just want you to use it.”
“I understand. Thanks for believing in me.” My voice cracked on the words, and I got the heck out of there before the stinging behind my eyes turned into actual tears.
Thankfully, the lot was empty save a couple of cars, and once I got to mine, I slid behind the wheel and gripped it until my knuckles turned white.
I sat there for a long minute, working the conversation over in my head.
When I saw Kellan walking to his car, I felt a flare of frustration and rolled down my window. “Thanks a lot, Kiddie Crawford.”
He winced as he approached me. “What did Coach say?”
“They want Girard and me to room together on the road and work on the fundraiser with you.”
“Shit, that’s what they decided?” He threw a glance back at the clubhouse. “All I said was maybe if you guys got to know each other better—”
“I have enough friends, thank you very much,” I scoffed, then waved him away as I rolled up my window and got the hell out of there.
God, I was such a dick. Even I didn’t like myself most of the time.
6
Girard
I was sitting in my accounting class and thinking about our upcoming game this afternoon and who would be on the mound. Not Maclain, which was almost a relief after how he’d acted last week when he heard we were being paired together. He seemed equally ticked and accepting of the plan, which was confusing. I was stunned by the idea as well, but I’d complied pretty quickly because I wanted to play ball and Coach had asked nicely, all things considered.
Was Maclain really that opposed to spending more time with me, and why the hell was he fighting it so hard?
I glanced out the window while my professor droned on. It was a sunny day, if a bit chilly, the perfect weather for playing ball. Jones would be our opener today. He was a transfer from Warren U and was pretty good. The pitchers had a healthy dose of competitiveness with each other, even though around Coach they pretended they were all about team spirit. Maclain was still deemed our best, as well as our closer, Lopez, and they were respected for it, even if Maclain didn’t deserve it sometimes.
I could almost picture him at some fancy job after college, where he ordered people around. Okay, I needed to thrust that visual from my mind. The idea of him in a tailored suit that fit him superbly, like the one he’d worn to the banquet, was giving me a chub, and that was exactly the thing I didn’t get about my attraction to Maclain. It was almost instinctual. Even the way he smelled did something to me.
Since our first team meeting last month, I’d also thought about him and that damned stuffed animal more times than I was willing to admit.
So why didn’t other guys ever cause the same reaction? I’d always been with girls, and while I definitely thought plenty of men were handsome, I couldn’t explain what it was about Maclain that always drew me in. He was so prickly, but then I’d see moments of vulnerability, like when he searched for his father in the stands. Christ, his family life must’ve been pretty sucky. I sometimes felt sort of guilty that I had a good thing going with my own.
Maybe I was only searching for something nice to say about him. But come to think of it, there had been plenty of situations over the past couple of years when he’d been cool to be around in a group setting and even quite funny. He had nicknames for practically everyone—Sinclair was Sin City and Fischer was Fish Tank. But he never had one for me. Unless you counted jackass and dick.