Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,51
do with the curiosity in Mom’s gaze, the curiosity in Dad’s, or whatever was in Walsh’s gaze. Pity? Confusion? I didn’t even want to know. “My Back to School article for the fall. I’m writing it on baseball.”
“Baseball,” Dad mused. “Strange topic for you to pick, Sophia.”
“I may have influenced her a little bit,” Walsh said. “I’m on the team and thought it could be fun—free publicity and all.”
I pushed my plate away. It held less than half my waffle and only two pieces of bacon. “Thanks for breakfast.”
Walsh stood up after me, although more hesitantly, grabbing his mug of coffee. “Wait, are you sure you’re done? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” Mom assured.
“Definitely not.” Dad had moved closer to Mom as we were talking, and he was now leaning right next to her against the counter. She glanced up at him, seeming to notice their proximity as soon as I did. “I can take care of your plate.”
Another parental gesture that made me a little wigged out. Did Walsh just draw out everybody’s good side? I grabbed him again, not wanting the spell to be broken. “Thanks. We’ll be up in my room.”
“Keep your door open,” Dad warned, as if reading a line from a play.
When we got to the stairs, Walsh smiled down at Shiba, who sat atop the second step. Her tail lobbed lazily against the railing. “You said you had a cat, but didn’t say she was a Persian cat.”
I frowned at her. “She has a bit of a temper.”
Shiba meowed as she leaned against his outstretched hand, protesting my words.
“See?”
“Why are we rushing to your room?” Walsh asked once we reached the landing, concerning himself with steadying his mug. “I mean, I can appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m just not that kind of guy, Sophie. I mean, your parents are home.”
Oh. My. Gosh. I made sure to keep my jaw clamped shut in fear of it falling to the floor, taking a moment to compose myself in front of my closed door before I turned to face him. “Can you give me a second?”
Walsh raised a teasing eyebrow. “Have to make sure your undies are picked up?”
This time, my jaw did drop open. “No, I—just—stay.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I grasped the door handle, opening it just enough that I could slip inside, and then I shut the door in his face. Thankfully, no undies were on the floor, but several pairs of shorts and a few shirts were, and I shoved them all into my hamper. The sheets across my bed were crumpled from how I’d left them this morning, and I hurried to maneuver them into a somewhat made position. There wasn’t anything I could do about the butterflies painted on my walls, faded from the years. They weren’t going anywhere.
I hurried back to the door, pulling in a reset breath so I didn’t seem so winded. Without preamble, I pulled the door open.
Blue-green eyes lifted to mine, innocent and curious, but something about them caused my insides to shift. Like a tidal wave, I found it hard to draw in a breath, and it had nothing to do with me rushing to clean up my room. It was definitely just the sight of him standing in my hallway. That was so beyond weird.
Those eyes immediately went to the giant red and black butterflies painted on the wall, and amusement overpowered his gaze. “Don’t,” I said.
“Don’t what?” Walsh walked into my room, over to my desk to where one purple butterfly was. “They’re cute.”
“They’re horrendously embarrassing.”
A lopsided grin peeked at me over the rim of his mug. “I like them. Makes me think I should paint butterflies on my wall.” He picked up papers that sat on the desk, fanning them out. It took me a second too long to react. “Hey, is this the famous article?”
“Don’t!” My heart and I lurched at the same time, and I lunged forward, practically tearing the papers from his fingers. The papers crinkled together, and I pressed them against my chest. I knew what was on these papers—all the bullet points I’d scribbled on the baseball team. Walsh’s confession was on this paper. “I—it’s not finished. I don’t want you to read it until it’s finished.”
He merely chuckled, moving to sit on my windowsill while my heart was still coming down from its adrenaline rush. I slid the papers underneath a few books, letting out a breath. “Touchy, touchy. Don’t mess with Sophie’s writing, good to know.”
I sat down