Rounding Third - Michelle Lynn Page 0,23

were like how they were with Crosby. Maybe then I wouldn’t be this unsatisfied in our relationship and ache for Crosby the way I do.

A few minutes later, Crosby parks his truck in front of my apartment complex. Jen’s light is glowing through her curtains, and I glance at the clock. It’s Thursday night at ten o’clock, so she’s probably glamorizing herself up for the bars. A second later, my neighbors walk out of their apartment, sauntering down the cement path in their short skirts and skimpy shirts. Neither is in a relationship, and they’re currently not looking for more than a night. Usually, Jen accompanies them on nights I don’t go.

As they pass, they glance over and wave. Approaching the truck is Gretchen, the taller and slimmer blonde of the two—although you can barely tell the difference between a size two and size four. I slide my hand from Crosby’s. He huffs, bringing it to the steering wheel where he tightens his grip until his knuckles turn white.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“It’s fine,” he murmurs.

He shows no hint of understanding that Gretchen doesn’t know who he is. All she knows is that I have a boyfriend.

I roll down the window. “Hey, Gretchen,” I greet her.

Lily follows her over.

“Are you going out tonight?” Gretchen’s question is directed toward me, but her eyes are devouring Crosby like she’s a hawk and he’s the roadkill splattered across the road.

“I don’t think so,” I answer.

But she doesn’t catch my answer. Her mouth hangs open as her eyes admire Crosby.

“I’m sorry. What? Who’s your friend?” She shakes her head, making her blonde strands wave back and forth.

“Gretchen and Lily, this is Crosby. Crosby, these are my neighbors.” I do my due diligence and introduce them secretly hoping they don’t proposition him to go out with them tonight.

“Hey.” Gretchen’s voice is laced with seduction.

I’d never been one of those girls who could have a guy drooling at my foot with one word and a little twirl of my hair. Gretchen and Lily constantly brag about how they never pay for a drink, whereas I stash a twenty in my pocket.

“What’s up?” Crosby tosses his head, and then his eyes study the dashboard while his fingernail digs into the stitching of the steering wheel.

“Where’s Liam?” Lily interrupts the silence.

Anyone can figure out why she’s asking. An exasperated, long sigh leaves Crosby’s throat.

“I’m not sure,” I answer truthfully. Last I knew, he messaged me at lunch to say he’d be at the lab for a few hours.

“But you guys are still together?” Lily pries.

Is this some interrogation she learned from her criminal justice classes?

“Yeah,” I murmur.

Another sigh rumbles out of Crosby.

“Well, if you and Crosby want to come out, we’ll be at Mind-Numbing.” Gretchen flashes her winning smile to Crosby. “Nice to meet you.” She tilts her head and gives him a soft smile.

“Yeah, you too,” Crosby says.

From the controls on his side, he rolls up the window before they’ve truly stepped away.

“I’d better go up,” I say.

“What’s up with the Barbie twins? Are they your friends?”

“Kind of but not really. They’re my neighbors. Jen hangs out with them more than I do.”

My hand moves to the handle of the truck, but Crosby grabs my other hand, stopping me.

“Not yet,” he asks in the nicest plea.

I relax back in my seat.

“Staying in this truck is not the right decision.” I look into my apartment where Jen slithers by the window in only her bra and underwear. She runs by it fast, as though she doesn’t want to be seen.

“Since when do we make the right decisions?” He picks up his head and looks over at me. “We still on for coffee tomorrow?”

“Yeah. We can talk about the newspaper article. Spencer okay with it?” My hand hovers over the handle, enabling me to make a fast exit.

“Yeah. If I were him, I’d be ashamed to share the same name as me.”

There’s that unconfident Crosby sneaking back in from two years ago. The one who thought he was worthless and didn’t deserve a baseball scholarship to a top university. He believed that after what he’d done, he should forever live in a state of hell.

“Don’t say that.” My hand squeezes his.

If I had my own genie, I’d use all three wishes on Crosby. One of them would be to break apart his pain into little pieces and vacuum them up into space.

“Regardless, he’s good, so I’d rather have my input on the story than have them saying whatever they want.”