Page 1 of Fake Dates and Home Plates (Way Off Base #1)
Chapter One
Henley
Gravel crunches below my shoes, one step after another.
My need to run until my lungs and limbs burn has never been for pleasure. It’s the only survival tool that allows me to drown out the rest of the world.
I don’t shy away from crowds or parties; I thrive in them. The beat of the music playing through a loud club until I can’t hear what the person next to me is saying electrifies me. I’ll go shot-for-shot just for the buzz of competition.
Skirting the limits of inappropriate behavior gives me a thrill.
It’s not that I’m out to break the law or end up on a reality show. No, I just enjoy a good time.I’ve always been that way. Maybe it’s obnoxious or annoying, but people seem to like it that way.
But even in the middle of chaos, I’m performing.
Running is the only time I feel safe being alone. It recharges the internal batteries I need to be that girl .
The life of the party. The fun one.
Many people would say running is hard or boring, and I get what they mean. The first time my dad suggested I take a run with him, back in middle school, I thought he was crazy. I loved team sports like volleyball and basketball, so why would I do something all alone? And who runs for fun?
Halfway through the first mile, something clicked.
My heart rate rose a little, and my breath started to fade into pants, but my soul lit up.
Eventually, it became the only thing that truly felt like me.
The crunching of my footsteps even out as I finish the hiking path and step back onto the concrete.
My apartment is about a mile away, so I make the decision to head in that direction and finish with a solid five-mile run total today.
It’s lighter than my usual routes, but I have plans this evening that I have to start getting ready for.
I’ve only competed in one half-marathon, and I loved it.
My goal is to complete a full marathon next summer after I graduate.
Until then, I’ll be training as captain of the women’s cross country team at Shoreline University.
Our races are just under the four-mile mark, though we usually run with the men’s team, whose race is almost double ours.
Which means my more extensive marathon training takes a backseat once our season starts, so I don’t overexert my body. I’ll only have a few short months to prepare after graduation.
Another song from my favorite running playlist blares through my open-ear headphones as I round the last block of my run. They were a present from my mom. She said they would be safer to run outdoors with.
“It’ll help you hear any predators or perverts,” she insisted.
They work well. I can actually hear my footsteps and the people around me, and I do feel safer.
I speed up into a full sprint, wanting to feel the burn in my legs and lungs intensify, before slowing down to a walk as I come to a stop outside the apartment I share with one of my teammates.
Raising my arms until my hands rest on the back of my head, I stretch my neck until I’m facing the sky. I inhale and exhale before smiling into the sunshine.
I feel powerful and proud of myself every time I finish a race, but it’s different when I’m on my own. There’s no crowd, no coach, no medal at the end of this finish line.
It’s just me. Just my body doing what I ask of it.
If only I didn’t have to ruin the post-run high by getting ready for an event I do not want to attend.
As much as I love a good time, being arm candy for my boyfriend isn’t my idea of a party. But I already promised to be Dakota’s date, and I can’t exactly cancel on him.
We hooked up at a party last spring, and it was fine. I happened to see him at a party the next weekend, and when he mentioned our hookup and suggested a repeat, I told him I rated the experience a five out of ten—decent with room for improvement. He thought I was kidding.
I wasn’t.
He’s the catcher for our school’s baseball team, and one thing about athletes…we tend to be competitive.
So when he challenged me to a game of flip cup for a date, I took a chance.
Since then, we’ve evolved from situationship to an exclusive relationship. Somehow, we’ve even been dubbed the “Shoreline Sweethearts” by the campus gossip account. It’s dumb, but I can’t control how other people spend their time.
We’re both pretty busy with our schedules, but we’ve tried to mesh into each other’s lives.
At least until his responsibilities in the fraternity picked up this semester. The last couple of date nights we’ve planned, he’s had to bail on because of his pledges and rush commitments.
As much as I don’t really want to attend the formal event his fraternity is hosting tonight, it’ll be good to see my boyfriend for longer than just a quick video call.
Taking the stairs to the second floor, I’m ready to strip down and shower as I walk into our apartment. The moment I open the door, I almost collide with a piece of furniture.
Lily and I have lived together since freshman year. It makes carpooling to practice easy; not to mention, she’s a fantastic cook.
She’s also an interior design major whose side hustle is repurposing things she finds at local flea markets and estate sales for extra cash. I’m always impressed by her abilities, but occasionally, it’d be nice to not have our small apartment smelling like paint.
“Lily, do you think there’s a better place for…whatever this is?” I shout as I look over the wooden eyesore.
She pops out of her room with a smile. “It’s a credenza.”
“I almost broke a rib coming through the door.”
“Sorry, I’ll move it before Dakota gets here. Did you figure out what you want to wear?” she asks as she moves into the kitchen and grabs some of last night’s leftovers from the fridge.
“I was thinking I’d just wear that black dress I bought for last year’s team banquet,” I say as I watch her.
Lily learned how to cook from her mother, and the enchiladas she made last night were delicious. My stomach growls just at the sight of them.
She doesn’t even ask before she makes me a plate and throws both in the microwave.
Even though I’m certain I smell disgusting, I decide I can shower after I eat. I grab our forks and two bottles of water before taking them to our small table.
When she sets a plate in front of me, I dig in.
“Which pink shoes?” Lily asks between bites.
I love pink shoes. Sparkly ones. Glittery. High tops. Almost every pair I own has at least a little pink on them. It helps that most of my wardrobe is black or monotone in color. Pink shoes go with everything.
Except for our uniforms. I miss the days when I could choose my own shoes for running, rather than the ones provided by the school. Whoever thought purple and orange should go together and covered a whole campus in the combination should be fired.
I smile at my roommate. “I like to let them choose who's going out for the night.”
It’s not a secret Lily isn’t Dakota’s biggest fan. She doesn’t like many male athletes, though. Something happened freshman year that has her avoiding them as much as she can. From the small bits and pieces she’s shared with me, I don’t blame her.
“Well, I’ve got a hot night with my vibrator and a one-handed read. Return at your own risk.”
Snorting, I clear our plates from the tables and wash our dishes.“Heard. I’ll probably stay with Dakota tonight. We haven’t seen much of each other lately.”
I can see her eyes roll all the way to the sky, but she doesn’t add anything else. I’m grateful for it.
“I need to shower before the sweat and odor sink all the way through my skin. I’m never going to get laid if I smell like a locker room.”
Lily laughs before getting up to move the furniture piece blocking the entryway.
Leaving her to it, I use my phone to play music as I take a shower, the water as hot as I can get it. The lyrics are sad, but I love them. The song is almost as old as I am, yet I know all the words thanks to my Mom’s love of pop punk and emo music.
As the instrumentals fill the bathroom, I shampoo my hair twice, trying to get all the sweat out of the strands.
I take my time, shaving my legs and letting the water run over my back, trying to find some energy to be excited about tonight.