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My phone buzzes again. This time I check it, heart racing.
It’s Jameson. Pic of Mookie on my pillow. Again.
I don’t reply.
I feel like I’m stuck in a pickle. Not the kind you eat—the baseball kind, where you’re trapped between bases and the defense is running you down. That’s me, caught between moving on and looking back, stuck in the middle, chased by feelings I can’t outrun.
CHAPTER 14
ON DECK
JAXON
An offensive player due up after the current batter.
After leaving Inez, I hit the batting cages and try to take my anger out on the ball.
Doesn’t work.
I’m in a fucking mood, as you can imagine. I’m irritable as fuck and almost intolerable, even to myself. And though it’s not unheard of for baseball players to show up at college parties, I usually stay away from them during the season—especially when I’m in a mood, because it never ends well. I’ve gotten in a few fights, but we’re not gonna talk about that right now.
So why am I at a party? I have no clue, but it’s a fucking terrible idea.
I blame Jameson, because he convinces me we should go with Kingston and Ollie. Unity, he says, is what we need this year if we’re gonna make it to the postseason.
I agree because, one, that mood I told you about has me wanting a drink, and two, he’s right. We need unity this year. So here I fucking am, trying to be with the team when my mind is on everything but baseball. My thoughts keep circling back tothat article, to Camdyn’s face during that game, to the way Inez looked at me like I’d led her on—which, let’s be honest, I kind of did.
Once we’re at the party, most guys go off in search of girls. I hang with Jameson in the corner next to the keg, though I’m not drinking from it. There’s about two ounces of whiskey in my red cup—that’s my limit. I’m not twenty-one, you know that by now. So for the sake of my playing time, let’s go ahead and keep this a secret between us.
I don’t expect to see Camdyn there with Brynn and Callie and half their team. I smile when I see her, even though I try not to. Something in my chest loosens, like my body knows she’s near before my brain catches up.
“Yo,” King elbows me. “I didn’t know Camdyn had some hood in her.”
I glance where King points and see Camdyn dancing with her teammates, twerking against their centerfielder. Believe me, Camdyn can shake her ass.
Everyone around Camdyn is watching, and I admit, it’s hot as fuck the way her ass cheeks bounce in those tight leggings, detailing every line of muscle in her legs. The black fabric clings to her curves like it was painted on, and my mouth goes dry watching her move. I’m definitely hard thinking about how good it’s gonna feel when she’s bouncing that big ass on my dick later.
“Hey,” Inez says, appearing next to me like she materialized out of thin air. I swear to God, this girl is everywhere lately. She’s still wearing that ridiculous fit from earlier—paint-splattered jeans, wrinkled white tee, paired with some artsy cardigan that looks like it came from her grandma’s closet. The whole ensemble makes her look like a confused college kid stuck between a paintbrush and a book, or both.
Around us, girls are wearing crop tops and tight dresses, but Inez is out here looking like she stumbled out of an art therapysession. Her thick-rimmed glasses keep sliding down her nose, and that oversized cardigan hangs off one shoulder like she’s trying too hard to look carelessly creative. She couldn’t look more out of place at this party if she tried. And she definitely couldn’t look more different from Camdyn, who commands attention in anything. Even leggings and a T-shirt.
Inez looks at me curiously, twisting a strand of her dark hair around her finger. “Why’d you break up?”
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. I don’t want to answer; she’s still trying to insert herself into my life like she belongs there. The truth is messy and complicated and not something I want to get into with Inez. I sigh to avoid the question, my eyes still on Camdyn, watching some random dude try to dance with her while she pretends not to notice me staring. The party’s getting more crowded, bodies pressing in, and I can feel the sweat starting to bead on my neck under my hoodie.
Inez hasn’t asked anything about my dating life before we started talking. Now, her curiosity has me wondering how much she already knows and hasn’t let on.
“We just did.” My eyes drift back to Camdyn and the guy next to her, who’s now got his phone out—definitely asking for her number. Fuck.
“Oh.” Inez’s voice is small, almost lost in the bass-heavy music.
I glance at Inez and finish my drink. I might break my one drink rule. Fuck it, I need something else if I’m gonna watch this shit show unfold. “Why?” I can't keep my mind off Camdyn. I have to get her away from that dude before she decides to leave with him.
Some drunk girl stumbles between us, spilling beer on Inez’s sweater. She doesn’t even seem to notice, too focused on studying my face like she’s trying to decode something. “I noticed you pay a lot of attention to her when she’s in a room.”
I don’t stare at her (okay, maybe I do), but I’m always aware of her presence—and the guys watching her every move like they actually have a chance. But I don’t stare.
I blow off her assessment even though it’s probably pretty fucking accurate. “I don't.” I do stare at Camdyn a little more than I should, but I hadn’t realized it until Inez pointed it out.