Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,36
my arms around her, bringing her to me for a hug. She rests her head against my chest, and I swear I hear her sniffle, which tears me all to pieces. My hold on her tightens, and when her arms wrap around my waist, I’m convinced that I’ll never stop looking, as long as it’s okay with her.
Resting my chin on top of her head, I say, “Well, I promised to be one hell of a friend. Here you go.”
She laughs, a genuine Marisa-laugh, as she backs away just enough to look up at me. “You’re doing a good job.” With a heavy sigh, she glances over at the pond. “We should go. This is gorgeous, but I’m not a fan of pneumonia. I never should’ve gotten out of the truck.”
“Your parents aren’t freakin’ out right now, are they?”
She shakes her head. “I texted them on the way up here, telling them that I ran into a friend. It took a whole lot of begging for them to agree on my being alone tonight, but—” She bites her lip. “I’m sure they feel much better, knowing I’m with someone now.”
“And are you? Okay with me, I mean?”
“Yeah. I am. Because you’re one hell of a friend.” She backs out of my hold and turns, heading for the truck. As I fall into step behind her, I can’t help but think that her arm isn’t the only thing that was wrong tonight. Maybe she’ll tell me one day. After all, we’ve got plenty of time.
chapter eleven
You know the number one sign that you’re, like, ten feet off the ground for someone? When you text her all day, every day, for two weeks, even though you see her most of those days. Even when you wake up at one in the morning because your phone buzzes with a new message. I never thought that I’d be That Guy. Hell, I’ll just say it: I’m whipped. And it’s even more pathetic than usual because she isn’t my girlfriend. She doesn’t even want to be my girlfriend. But she likes me. And I like her. So that’s as good a start as any.
The sun’s dipping behind the trees as practice winds down. All the other guys hit the parking lot while I walk around the diamond, picking up the bases, and Brett and Eric look for the balls that sailed over the back fence. One more week until those bleachers open up to the public. One more week until we get down to business. One more God-blessed week.
With the bases tucked under my arm, I head back to the dugout, where Coach stands at its opening. I nod to him as he steps to the side, making room for me to drop the bases into the dugout’s storage closet.
“You looked good out there today,” he says. “That arm’s lookin’ sharp. A lot better than the first day of tryouts. Had me a little worried.”
Because that was before I’d found my own personal Chemistry genius. I close the closet’s door and toss him the key. “Thank you, sir. Chem had me riled up, but I’ve got it under control.”
He watches me grab my gear bag. “I got the copy of your report card. I’m proud of you. I wouldn’t want anyone else on the mound next week. Make sure you keep it up.” He looks out to the field, where Eric and Brett are walking our way with the ball bucket. “Eric’s good,” he says, “but you’ve got your head in the game. He’s got a lot of growin’ up to do before he’s a solid starter, you know?”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, and I do know. Eric’s a good buddy, but he’s a pro at being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can’t lead a team when you’re either drunk or locked up in a jail cell every other weekend. There’s a time and place for everything. A starter needs to know which battles are worth fighting.
“You doing all right?” he asks, his voice lower. “You and your momma got everything you need?”
“We do. We’re good.”
“Y’all ever need anything, just ask.” He slaps my back, his hand lingering until I step onto the field. Now, time to grab dinner and head to the shop. I’m in for a long, long night of homework if I want to keep the grades that Coach is so proud of. I sling my gear bag over my shoulder and follow him toward the gate.
“Austin?”
I trip over