“Honestly, I don’t need it. I have no interest in it. I just want the win.”
She stares at me some more, blinking, and her eyes narrow. I can feel her assessing me, and I really don’t want to have to get into specifics with her, but I will if I have to.
“Why does this feel like a trap?” she asks quietly.
“It’s not. I swear it. Do this competition with me. One week. I’ll even pay for your hotel and transportation, and when we win, you can have the prize money. All of it. My team will be better with you on it, Bailey. Together, I know we can win. When it’s over, you never have to speak to me again.”
Her face falls. “I don’t trust you, Riggs.”
And there it is.
The truth in her statement is blaring. She doesn’t mince words, and once again I’m kicking myself for not just being honest with everyone from the jump.
“I know,” I breathe out. “But look. Registration for the competition isn’t due for a few weeks yet. So, let’s just...start over, kind of.”
When she doesn’t tell me to fuck off, I lean farther over the bar top and put out my hand.
“Hi. My name is Riggs Alexander Stanton.”
She pops a brow and grabs my hand, giving it a shake. “Bailey Elizabeth Barnes.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Bailey,” I say with a smile, then tighten my grip slightly. I can’t tell if I imagine the heat that flares in her eyes. “I was hoping you would give me your phone number.”
The corner of her lip twitches, and I watch as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a Sharpie. My heart is pounding in triumph, but when I flip my hand over and give her my palm, she ignores it. Instead, she leans over the bar and brings the Sharpie to my forehead. I jerk back on instinct, but when she purses her lips at me, I narrow my eyes and lean back toward her. Now my heart is pounding for a completely different reason, but I don’t pull away, not even when she puts the Sharpie to my forehead and starts writing. I don’t even know why I let her do it, except maybe as some stupid fucking way to prove myself. To earn a little bit of trust back. Her nearness and the way she smells like cherries excites me, but I’m nervous as shit, too. I close my eyes and hide a chill at the feeling of her soft breath on my face.
What in the actual fuck am I letting this girl do to me?
When she’s finished, she drops back down and holds eye contact with me while she puts her Sharpie back in her pocket. Then her lips turn up in a small smile.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful. “I’ll talk to you later?”
She just shrugs and walks away, so I head back to the guys.
When I get to our group, they all bust up laughing. Shit.
“Huh,” Zay says as he studies me before taking a pull from his beer. “D’you forget the shots?”
The others are acting like freaking hyenas.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Dylan shouts through obnoxious laughter. “Oh my god, this is amazing.” He starts fumbling with his phone. “Hold on, I gotta get a picture. Hey! Someone take his picture.”
I hustle to the bathroom before anyone can snap a photo and step up to the mirror with my eyes on my shoes. When I gather the courage to assess the damage, I can’t help the bark of laughter that erupts when I meet my reflection.
A dick.
Of course.
Bailey Barnes drew a dick on my forehead.
In permanent marker.
But even with a semi-permanent cock inked on my face, I can’t stop the smile from spreading. Because in that dick? In that dick, she wrote her phone number. That, mother fuckers, is progress, and with Bailey Barnes, I’ll take whatever I can get.
* * *
I’ve textedBailey twice this week. She hasn’t responded, but the texts say delivered, which means she’s at least unblocked me. I’m not spending any more time worrying about it than I have to. Communication lines are open, and I could tell by her reaction last weekend that she’s gonna say yes. She can’t turn down that kind of money.
There’s a costume party at one of the sororities tonight and a bunch of us are going. Zombie Baseball Players. Not the most original idea, but like Daddy Dearest says, we’re boosting morale and shit.
Next week begins preseason training, which means I’m finally allowed to throw again, and the guys all have to cool it on their partying. Tonight’s kinda like a last hurrah, and I fucking need it.
Wearing BU Baseball tees (Coach would run our asses off if we wore our real jerseys), we go rolling into the party like royalty. Our faces are covered in green and black paint and some gnarly fake flesh wounds that we got some kids from the art department to apply, and all eyes snap toward us.
It pisses me off that the first thing I do is scan the crowd for a tiny temptress with pink hair and eyes like honey, but I shake myself out of it. She won’t be here. She works most weekends. And I don’t give a damn anyway.
I grab Zay and nod toward the kitchen, and we bypass the line for the keg.
“Gentlemen,” a young guy greets us, likely a freshman pledge from the brother frat. “It’s five bucks a cup, but since you are who you are, you drink for free.”
“Thanks, man,” I flash a smile. We always drink for free.
Zay and I head through the crowd, and Dylan rushes up to us with Talia in tow.
“My guys,” he shouts with a drunk-as-shit grin. “Look what I found!” He holds up a whole damn handle of Captain Morgan. Dunno where he stole it from, but that’s Dylan for ya. “Oh, and Tal is here too. Captain for my Captain?”
I give Talia a nod, then grab the handle of rum, tip my head back, and pour two shots worth right into my mouth. I hear cheers around me, and I take a bow. Boosting fucking morale, just how Pops wants.
Talia sidles up to me. She’s dressed like a slutty nun.