Behind the Plate (The Boys of Baseball #2) - J. Sterling Page 0,43

my phone, I sent Danika a text before I could stop myself. I wanted to make sure that she was okay and wasn’t in any trouble because of me. She responded right away with a smiley face and instructions to go worry about the test and not her. Which, of course, only made me do the exact opposite. It was one thing when it was my idea, but when it came to her telling me what to do, my mind didn’t work the same.

It rebelled.

And now, I couldn’t stop thinking about her and Jared. Him being at her house flooded my thoughts. Of course he’d be there, holding her, touching her, kissing her, fucking her. Because she was his. She belonged to him. They had history, a past … and who was I? Just some guy who had come along out of nowhere and meant nothing.

Fuck. This depressed version of me sucked. I hated it and wasn’t used to it.

I forced myself onto my bed, covered my face with my pillow, and tried my best to fall asleep.

I woke up, actually feeling refreshed. My night hadn’t been plagued with dreams or nightmares or anything that I could remember. When I reached for my phone, there was no text from Danika, wishing me good luck or anything. Not that she was even remotely required to do that kind of shit, but like an idiot, I’d assumed she would, and disappointment coursed through me because she hadn’t.

After a cold shower to wake up my senses, I grabbed a protein bar and headed out the door to hopefully pass my first math test.

Here goes nothing, I thought to myself before the test began, but the truth was that this first test was everything. It would set the tone for the rest of the semester. This test would determine if I was going to be struggling for the next couple of months or not. Passing would relieve a little bit of the stress, but failing would only amplify it.

I refused to fail. Danika had been tutoring me well the past month, and I understood way more than I ever had before. I was as ready as I’d ever be.

When I finished the test, I smiled to myself. Walking to the front of the class, I put my booklet in the basket, and the professor dismissed me. Once outside of the door, I pulled out my phone. There was still no text from Danika, but that didn’t stop me from texting her.

CHANCE: Test 1 done.

Her response was quicker than I anticipated.

DANIKA: How do you feel?

CHANCE: Good actually.

DANIKA: Do you have a break now?

CHANCE: I have about an hour before I need to be at the field.

DANIKA: Meet me in the comm?

CHANCE: See you in 5.

Telling Danika I had a free hour was a bit of an exaggeration. I only had about thirty-five minutes to spare, but I didn’t want her to feel rushed. If the girl was going to give me some of her time, I planned on taking it.

I spotted her standing outside of the glass doors, looking down at her phone. When she glanced back up, her entire expression changed, and even though I knew it was because she had seen me, I convinced myself that it wasn’t about me at all. I had to stop myself from practically cuing up music and running to her like we were in a sappy romance movie. Instead, I tried to play it cool, taking a swig of my water bottle and walking slow, but inside, I couldn’t get to her quick enough.

“Hey,” I said before wrapping her in my arms and hugging her.

She felt so good there. She fit.

“Someone’s excited,” she said as she pulled away, her cheeks rosy. “You think you passed?”

“I know I passed,” I answered with confidence before taking another drink.

“Do you think you aced it?” she asked seriously, and I almost spat out the water I’d been drinking.

“No.” I laughed. “I didn’t understand it that well. But I’ll be really surprised if I failed.”

Her face pulled together like she was in pain. “I’ll be devastated.”

“Are you hungry?” I asked because the commissary had all the food and I’d only downed one protein bar so far. I needed more protein before I worked out and hit the field.

“A little, yeah.”

“Let’s go feed you, Little Spitfire. My treat.”

“I’m not even going to argue with you, Hotshot. I mean, the independent girl in me wants to tell you I don’t need you to pay