shadow.
“Dude,” I whisper sharply. “Do you know what the hell you just said?”
He swings again. “You sound like Brett.”
“Um, yeah. And we sound like we’ve got some sense.”
He whirls around, his chest heaving, his face flushed and streaked with sweat. His bat drops to the floor. “And I thought you were on my side.”
“I am, man. I just—” If I really have his back, there shouldn’t be a “but” or “just.” But Brett’s got his reasons, too: he’s a Baptist pastor’s kid in the backwoods of South Carolina, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t have much choice here. That said, I’m not even going to pretend to understand what they’re going through.
The last ball pops from the machine and slams against the cage, snapping me back to the moment. “Yeah,” I finally say, opening the door for him. “I’m on your side, man.”
I tug on my own helmet as we trade places. I’m not sure what I may have just inadvertently agreed to. I’m not sure I want to know.
The first ball flies toward me, and I swing with all my might, sending it soaring. It hits the net at the back of the cage and plops to the floor with a weak thump. Blood pulses in my ears as I stare down the dispenser, waiting for the next pitch.
“How’re things going with Barbecue Girl?” Jay asks from the door.
My fingers tighten around the bat. As soon as the ball shoots out, I smack the hell out of it with a crack that echoes throughout the room. Not bad, but I can do better. I need to do better. My batting average tops every other pitcher’s in the region, and I’m keeping it that way.
I shrug, waiting for the next ball. “They’re goin’. We’re friends. And her name’s Marisa.”
My palms are hot and sweaty against the handle’s grip as I square up for the next pitch. Any second now. CRACK.
Perfection.
“She actually making any difference with that hell of a class?”
“Yeah.” I hit the next ball with a grunt. “Studied with her Friday night and all day at work yesterday. She’s good at what she does.” Really good at what she does. And she makes it fun. Every study partner should be that hilarious. And smart. And gorgeous.
After the final pitch, I yank off my helmet and turn, catching Jay gaping at me. He chuckles, disbelief all over his face. “You really like her.”
Yep. “I guess,” I say breathlessly, running a hand over my hair. “Why do you look so surprised?”
He shakes his head as I come out of the cage. “Because you haven’t made your move yet. Or you have and haven’t told me about it, which is just as weird.”
“We’ve only known each other for a few weeks.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously? Dude, you landed Jamie in your truck in less than an hour.”
And we both know how well that turned out. Jamie left town and forgot I existed. I twirl the bat. “Marisa’s different.”
“How? Does she actually call you on your shit?”
I grin. “Yeah. That.” Besides, she doesn’t strike me as a back-of-the-truck kind of girl. And I’d really prefer to not screw this up.
We drop our helmets and bats off at the front counter and turn to watch Eric and Brett finish up their rounds. “So,” Jay says on an exhale. “What the hell do we do?” He crosses his arms. “How do we fix this lovey-dovey bullshit?”
I lean back against the counter, glancing over my shoulder to make sure the worker’s not around. “You want my honest-to-God opinion? No BS?”
He nods for me to go on.
“I think you need to give the guy some more time. Brett’s one of the best people I know. He gives everything all he’s got. If he decides to open up about this? I think it’d be worth waiting for.”
Jay sighs and nods again. “Fair enough. And I think you need to have some balls when it comes to the genius girl.”
I elbow him. “Screw you. It’s called being respectful. I actually like her. Like, really like her.”
“You’ll be all right,” he says, looking up at me. “You’re good people, Braxton.”
I slap him on the back. “So’re you.”
He gives me a half-grin, the same one he gave me when I told him I didn’t give a shit whether he liked girls, or guys, or both. The same one he gave me when I told him that we are who we are, and that’s all we can be.
He’s an ass sometimes. He’s also