Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,38

smiles tightly. “Family dinners. Yay.”

Definitely time for a distraction. I pass the bat to her, watching her face light up like a full moon on a summer night. “Now, it’s a little heavy,” I joke. “Think you can handle it?”

Her eyes widen. “I don’t know,” she says breathlessly. “I may need the help of a big, strong, baseball player. Because we both know that baseball is so superior to softball.”

I shake my head. “That’s not entirely true. Your balls are bigger.”

We stare at each other. Stare. Stare some more. She’s the first one who breaks, bursting out laughing. It’s one of the best sounds I’ve heard in a long time.

“Here,” I say, still laughing. I carefully place my hands on her hips, helping her square up over the plate. “In case, you know, you’re too out of practice.”

She bites back a smile. “Yeah. Because I’ve totally forgotten how to square up for a pitch.”

“Two years is a long time.” Resting my hands on her shoulders, I remind her, “And relax these. You’re too stiff.”

She hangs her head. “You’re killin’ me, Smalls.”

I walked right into that one. She relaxes her shoulders. Slowly, my hands move down her arms until they rest on top of hers. They’re so warm, fit so perfectly in mine that it almost hurts to let them go. But I do, because, you know, friends.

“There,” I say on an exhale. “Ready?”

Her lips curve up. “Let me have it, Floral Prince.”

My mouth drops open. “All right. No mercy, Marlowe.”

I grab the ball and jog out to the mound. I gotta say, she’s the prettiest batter I’ve ever been up against. Taking a deep breath, I wind up and let my fastball fly.

That girl smacks the hell out of the ball.

Holy… I turn, watching it sail all the way back to the fence. When I whirl back around, she grins, pointing the bat at me.

“And that’s how it’s done,” she calls to me, setting the bat in the dirt. She wipes her hands on her jeans.

All I can do is gape. Some of the guys on our team could take a lesson from her. It’s not like I thought she would be bad, but damn. I pull off my cap as I walk toward her. As soon as I tug it onto her head, she laughs.

“Are you going to have any of these left?”

“I have an endless supply.” I nudge the brim of the cap, so I can see her eyes. “And you’ve earned that one.”

She quirks her lips into this little half-smirk that makes me pure weak in the knees. Takes a step closer. Another. And another. I swallow hard. My hands ache to touch her, to pull her to me and kiss the daylights out of her.

But friends, though.

“You know,” she says, “I’ve heard that the fastest way to a guy’s heart is through a killer swing.”

Self-control no longer exists. I place my hands on her hips, bringing her even closer. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. She gazes up at me like I’m the only thing that exists in the world at this moment. Which is fitting because, right now, she’s all that matters. Her, and her eyes, and those lips—all of which are absolutely, positively perfect.

“You heard right,” I finally say, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “But you’ve already done a damn good job at getting to my heart.”

“That was really cheesy,” she says through a grin.

“That’s a step up from dorky.” Closing my eyes, I lean down—

She jumps back with a yelp, and my eyes pop open. The field lights have clicked on, which I’m guessing scared the crap out of her, because she’s suddenly looking like she did the night I nearly ran over her at Joyner’s.

She takes a deep breath and then another as she offers me a small, apologetic smile. “Friends,” she whispers.

Ouch. Again.

I force a smile. “Friends don’t kiss.”

She shakes her head. “Friends don’t kiss.”

After what she told me, what she showed me, I understand why she needs time. I get why she’d rather be safe than sorry. That said, it doesn’t make this much easier.

I pick up the bat and hand it to her. “I’ll grab the ball, Hammerin’ Hank. You square up.”

Her shoulders relax. “Keep comparing me to Hank Aaron, and I’ll hit balls all night.”

Next sign the girl’s a true fan: she gets your Atlanta Braves references. If I’m going to have a girl friend instead of a girlfriend, I’ll take this one, please. “I’ve