Bat Boy (Easton U Pirates 1)

“Accidentally? Uh-huh.”

“And what about you?” she scoffed, giving me the once-over as well. But even though I could still imagine Donovan’s spicy scent, our spunk had long been washed off with a shower when I got home, after reliving it all in salacious detail.

“I… We… Ugh, he’s just too hot and sweet for his own good.”

“Uh-oh. I mean, I knew you felt something when you dragged me with you to get him a gift. But I think you might have it bad.”

“And after last night, even worse.” I rubbed my hand over my face in frustration.

“Yeah?” Her eyebrow arched.

“Yeah.” I sighed. It was so hard to keep it all inside. “You can’t say any—”

“Please. After you came back inside the club with your gloss smeared onto your cheek, I figured it out. And of course, I would never say anything.” Her eyes softened. “Guess you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a jam. I certainly wouldn’t want Coach to find out.”

“Right?” I groaned. “Oh, the disappointment.”

She chuckled, knowing my dad all too well. “So what are you gonna do?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

Only thing I could do was put an end to it. I waved to her as I went out the door to class, wishing I’d had more sleep, but I’d be sure to go to bed early tonight. We had our last weekend of away games coming up—a far enough distance away that we had to sleep over in Ohio again. It felt bittersweet that the season was coming to an end, and pretty soon we’d be talking about the regionals, which was a whole different ball game.

Dad had already tasked me with looking over the stats for the top seeds in the division, and I’d admit it gave me a little thrill that he’d even asked. Another reason not to ruffle his feathers.

As soon as I spotted Donovan on the bus, the butterflies in my stomach beat their wings in such a frenzy that I immediately lost my breath. He grinned, then looked away, his cheeks so red, I was afraid he was gonna give us away.

So it was good that Dad asked me to sit near him and Coach Adams to talk game strategy and stats. When my cell buzzed with a text at one point, I was afraid to look at it, but I couldn’t resist.

Musical selection today?

I grinned. Something cheesy with a good beat.

Good thing we’re not sitting together. I’m cheesy enough.

An annoying pain in the ass too.

It’s okay, I’ve got my bear to keep me company.

I almost swung my head back to look at him, but forced myself to look out the window instead.

You brought the teddy bear on this trip?

Of course. I needed someone warm to sleep with.

I bit back a laugh. Pretty sure he doesn’t throw off much heat.

Gotta take what you can get.

LOL! You name him yet?

Kacey.

Kacey?

Yep, just like it sounds. Then a wink emoji.

Kacey. K.C. My initials.

OMG!

Fucking Brady Donovan.

I grinned as I clicked off the message, couldn’t help myself.

Between stats, listening to my ear pods, and Donovan’s ridiculous texts, we were already pulling into the stadium.

The team won their first game, and on the lunch break before the second round, we loaded back in the bus and drove to a casual outdoor eatery for burgers and hot dogs. Donovan was sitting across from me at one of the wooden picnic tables, and when I felt his foot brush mine, I dug into my fries, trying like hell not to look at him.

When I heard Hollister call his name three times to get his attention, I did the only thing that came to me spur-of-the-moment. I threw a fry at him.

“What the hell?” he said as it landed on his plate.

“Thanks, Crawford. I’ve been trying to get your attention, jackass,” Hollister said to Donovan, and when he pointed toward another team’s bus that had rolled into the lot, I jumped up to throw my stuff in the trash, then went in search of the coach.

But when I glanced back, Donovan was staring into space again, as distracted as me. Christ, we were quite a pair. Thankfully, it didn’t show in his job on the field. In fact, he seemed to be fired up, and he spread the same energy to the team as they pulled out a second win.

After a spirited fast-food dinner, where I couldn’t even hear myself think over the laughter, teasing, and Girard’s gross jokes—which even Maclain seemed to get a kick out of—we headed to the hotel for the night. I passed out the room keys again, and when my fingers brushed Donovan’s, he shivered.

I couldn’t get to my room fast enough. I jumped in the shower, washed the grime from the field off my skin, and threw on a pair of shorts to sleep in.

When there was a knock on my door about an hour later, I knew it was Donovan before even verifying it through the peephole.