Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,77

from the countertop. “We choose certain players who would take the cash, and they throw the game.”

The way he spoke, so casual, so careless, made my eyes widen. We choose certain players. “Throw the game, like—”

“Make a bad hit, miss an easy catch, run too slow, that kind of thing. Works every time to keep us on top.”

For a long moment, I felt the need to pinch myself, because no way was he being so forthcoming. The water bottle was slick in my grasp, the coldness of it the only thing grounding me. “Why are you telling me all this?” I was too shocked to keep myself from asking. “This seems like the kind of thing you’d keep to yourself.”

“Like you said—I’m always honest with you.” Scott winked at me, and my insides flinched in response. “And I know you can keep a secret.”

The door slid open, and a young child with pigtails bounced in, followed by a girl about my age. I stepped back from the counter, almost embarrassed to be seen so close to Scott. “Thanks,” I said quickly, retreating to the doors. “I’ll—uh—bye.”

“See you later, Sophia,” he called after me, that strange humor still clinging to his voice.

Walking back into the awful summer heat after being in there was torture, and if it weren’t Scott working, I might’ve tried to hide in one of the refrigerators or something.

But holy cow. So check getting proof for that off the list. I seriously hadn’t expected him to be so nonchalant about it all. I didn’t expect him to trust me so much with that kind of information. It almost made me feel sick thinking about putting it into the article now. But then again, why did he trust me with that information? He wouldn’t have told me any of that before when we were still together. Why now?

I took a long drink from my water, the coldness coursing down my throat and settling in my stomach. It did little to chase away the dirty emotion, but it did help cool me down. The candy bar, though, I’d save for later.

On impulse, I pulled my cell out of my pocket, scrolling through the contacts until I found the name I was looking for. I drafted a new text.

Miss you.

There. That was normal enough. Not confronting, not overwhelming. Normal. No smiley-faces, no exclamation points. After reading it a thousand times, I pressed send.

Stupidity became my friend the second it went through. When baseball practice got out, that text would be waiting for him. What would he think when he saw it? Would he smile or would he cringe? Ugh, what if he thought it was stupid?

We still hadn’t talked really since our kiss since he’d been so busy. And truth be told, I did miss him. But I wasn’t sure where Saturday night left us.

My phone beeped in my hand, and it was Walsh calling, and I nearly jumped a mile. “Hi!” I said overenthusiastically, cringing. Try again. “H-Hey, Walsh, what’s up?”

“I miss you, too.” Walsh’s voice came immediately and cheerful, almost cut-out by the people talking in the background. People of the male variety. “I’m sorry that I’ve been a little AWOL lately—things have been kind of crazy at the house.”

Oh, so you haven’t been dodging me after our almost-kiss? “That’s okay,” I said faintly, reaching up and brushing a hand over my damp brow. I forced myself to walk in the other direction, toward my house and away from the baseball field. “How’s practice?”

“Hot. Like we’re playing baseball in hell.”

I imagined Walsh in his baseball uniform, sweaty, laughing. Putting his back into swinging at the ball, his muscles tightening. My insides twisted, and my steps faltered. “What are you doing? After practice, I mean.”

“Dad’s made today a dedicated housework day,” he sighed. “But tomorrow though, after practice, we could get slushies. If you want to. I know you can never turn down a good slushy.”

I tried to hide the enthusiasm in my voice with a blasé tone. “That sounds amazing.”

Yep, nailed it.

Walsh could totally hear my desperation, but instead of calling me out for it, he just laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you then,” I confirmed, and then forced myself to hang up before I said something really stupid, like I miss your beautiful face, or I love you. Jeez, definitely not I love you. I’d rather die of heatstroke.

* * *

Knowing that my fake-boyfriend was busy, and that my best friend was busy ,and I was sitting