Page 12 of Fake Dates and Home Plates (Way Off Base #1)

Chapter Twelve

Henley

By Tuesday afternoon, the sun is punishing as we near the end of practice.

Since it’s the week of the Conference Invitational, our first meet of the season, it’s a pretty relaxed training week.

Except today.

Hill intervals are making me wish I had the ability to take my legs off and roll back down without them.

Coach blows her whistle. “Last set! Focus on form, not speed!”

Easy for her to say from the shade. I’d hate her a little more if I didn’t know she’s been in this same position.

She’s also got an Olympic gold medal to back it up.

I shift my ponytail tighter and take off again, lungs already burning. My shoes feel heavy, and each step intensifies the pounding in my head.

Yet, that pounding does nothing to drown out my thoughts. All I can think about is the meet—and Theo.

Which is a problem. I’m pretty certain fake relationships aren’t something you’re supposed to think about.

“Henley, drive your knees!” Coach yells from down the hill.

I push harder, forcing myself up the incline. Arms pumping, I try to focus on my form.

I’ve never been the kind of person who lets a guy take up this much brain space, but it doesn’t help that the race is being hosted at Hudson View. Every time my mind clears for even half a second, his face shows up.

Telling myself I need to push hard because the rest of the week will be much easier, I put all my effort into finishing strong.

I snap back to the present with my lungs on fire. When I hit the bottom, I slow to a jog before walking it off with my hands on the back of my head, inhaling and exhaling.

Lily comes up beside me, just as winded. She wipes her forehead and gives me a look. “You okay?”

I nod. “Just hot. I hate that hill.”

“Also, you’re distracted,” she says.

I straighten, giving her a sidelong glare. “I’m fine.”

She grins. “Don’t act like you aren’t thinking about your super-hot boyfriend .”

The way she says boyfriend, like a teenager teasing a friend about their crush, annoys me. Because I do have a crush on my fake boyfriend.

I haven’t seen him since game night, but he’s texted me every day to tell me good morning, and every night, I get a text asking about my day and wishing me sweet dreams.

Every time I see a text notification, I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

It’s stupid and I hate it.

That’s what I’m pretending, anyway.

We take our time walking to the water cooler set up where the trainers are waiting. Hill days almost always result in someone needing some sort of assistance, whether it’s taping or icing an ankle or something a little more.

I smile at them all before grabbing a cup of water.

Only for that smile to fall when I hear Maddie’s voice behind me.

“Incoming,” Lily whispers. “Do you want me to step on her foot accidentally?”

Shaking my head, I turn and offer a small smile to my teammate. Things have been a little awkward since my breakup with Dakota and that picture of him and Maddie post-hookup made the rounds.

“Hey, Henley,” she says as she reaches for a cup of water.

“Maddie,” I say without emotion.

I hate that she slept with Dakota—not because I’m jealous, because I absolutely do not care where he sticks his dick these days.

No, it bothers me because I’ve always treated my teammates like family.

If you know a guy who really fucked over your family, why would you jump at the chance to fuck him?

Then again, even with one season under her belt, she’s not as bonded to us upperclassmen like we are to each other, so maybe she doesn’t get it. Maybe to her, Dakota is just a hot guy with dumb hair and fake charm instead of the walking cautionary tale wrapped in red flags I know him to be.

Still, it stings. I might not be heartbroken over the guy, but knowing my teammate would hook up with him feels like a crack in something I thought was solid.

And that’s the part I’m struggling with.

As her captain, though, it’s my job to drop those feelings at the door and lead my team. So when she asks me about my classes, I assume she's reaching for an olive branch, and I answer genuinely. I even follow it up with a question about her courses too.

Lily watches with raised eyebrows, but I ignore her. Later, when we’re packing up our stuff to head home, she asks me about it.

“Maybe moving past it is what she needs from me, and I don’t have any reason not to give it to her. She could date him or fuck him or whatever she wants. There’s no way everyone on the team, let alone the school, doesn’t know what he did.”

I shrug before continuing, “And sometimes, a girl just wants to get laid, whether it’s purely for the orgasm or because someone made her feel sexy. As long as they both consented, I don’t have any objection. I just hope for her sake they used protection.”

My results came back negative from the school clinic, but we were always careful.

“You’re pretty fucking amazing, Henley Harkin,” Lily says as we get into her car.

I roll my eyes like her statement didn’t give me warm fuzzies. “It’s not a big deal. Now, let’s get home so I can go see my parents.”

Dinner at my parents' house is always entertaining.

Since freshman year, they’ve insisted I come home for dinner the week of my first meet. According to them, it’s so they can ‘make sure I’m taken care of,’ which really just means forcing me to eat two full plates of food.

I won't complain, since the food is always delicious.

Although I despise driving myself anywhere, I use the short car ride to zone out and listen to music. Lily and the rest of my teammates are used to my passenger princess ways and don’t seem to mind, but the drive to my parents is usually a solo one, so I have no other choice.

Pulling into the driveway, I take the same spot I have since they bought me this car for my sixteenth birthday.

Our house is small but beautiful. I lived here my entire life until I started as a freshman at Shoreline. The drive might be only an hour, but that’s still not an ideal commute for early classes.

The smell hits me as soon as I step inside. Garlic, basil, and a number of other rich, mouth-watering scents overwhelm my system. Chicken parmesan is one of my dad’s specialties, and he makes the noodles himself from scratch.

Dad’s in his usual spot, apron tied around his waist like he’s auditioning for a Food Network show.

“Perfect timing,” he announces, not even looking up. “Go wash your hands and help me set the table, kiddo. Your mom was on a call but should be down any minute now.”

I do as I’m told. When I return to the kitchen, my parents are acting like teenagers, making out with their hands all over each other. I’d pretend to be grossed out, but they’ve been like this for as long as I remember.

“Get a room,” I tell them as I grab the plates from the cabinet.

“We have one. It’s called the entire house we paid for with our own money, which gives us the right to do whatever we want in it,” my dad says while wiggling his eyebrows.

“And the hot tub. And the garage. And there was that one time—” Mom continues for him.

Now I gag with genuine disgust, interrupting whatever part of my childhood home she was going to ruin for me next. I turn my back, letting them finish whatever moment they are having, and set the dining table as I was asked.

Mom and Dad bring over the dishes full of food and set them in the middle of the table. We dive into the meal without formality, filling our plates with chicken, pasta, and bread.

“So, how has training been going?” Mom asks between bites.

“Good. Coach Stone tries to kill us at least once a week, but that’s typical.

” We’re only a month into the season, so it’ll only be more challenging from here.

We’ll use the meet to gauge how everyone is starting, and the coaching staff will lay out training plans for each of us so we can improve our records throughout the season.

“Are you ready for this weekend?” Dad asks next.

Nodding, I shovel another bite into my mouth before I respond. “Yeah, it’s just an invitational. Not too much pressure, and I’m excited to race again.”

I am. I’m ready to focus on setting a good pace and waiting for the right time to kick into my speed, passing the runners who were once ahead of me. I love the feeling of battling it out until I’ve passed the finish line.

There aren’t a ton of fans when it comes to running. It’s not like a marathon, where people stand against the barricade all over the course, though we do normally have designated cheering sections for the few spectators that do come.

Most of the time, it’s quiet, other than the sounds of feet hitting the terrain below us and the breathing of the other runners. I only wish I could run with headphones, but it’s not permitted.

“I’m sure you’ll do great, sweetheart,” my dad tells me, and the confidence in his voice is reassuring.

He’s the reason I even learned to love running in the first place, and I love that we’ve had something special to share. Even now, I think part of me still runs to make him proud.

They ask about my classes and teammates, but I speak to at least one of them every day, so there aren't many updates to share.

“How’s Theo?” Mom asks with a grin.

I shrug, trying to remain casual. “Good.”

As far as they know, Theo and I are really dating, but I can’t bring myself to lie straight to their faces. Instead, I stay tight-lipped as they do their best to grill me for answers to no avail.

When my mom brings out dessert, my mouth waters at the sight of her homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. She’s added a scoop of ice cream to the top of each of our plates, and I think I'll devour the entire thing in under a minute.

As we all start to clean up, I hear the two of them whispering.

With a raise of my brow, I ask them, “What are you two conspiring about?”

While Dad tries his best to look nonchalant, the smile on my mom’s face is downright devious. “Nothing,” they both say.

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. That’s all it takes. Not because she can’t keep a secret, but because she wants to gloat about it.

“I didn’t greet you at the door because I had to make a call,” she says, voice dripping with smug satisfaction, but I already knew that piece of information, so I wait for her to continue. “We ordered one of those packages that explodes into glitter confetti everywhere.”

I’m sure they see the confusion on my face. “Why would you want that?”

They laugh. “Not for us. It’s being delivered to Dakota tonight. Oh, and the glitter is shaped like dicks.” Mom has pure joy in her voice.

I don’t even know what to say. Part of me wants to tell them how he’s been using different apps for new phone numbers that I continue to block. The other part wants to see if it’s too late for us to hide nearby and watch him open it.

I don’t do either. Instead, I lean back against the counter, let out a slow breath, and shake my head.

“You two are too much,” I say.

But I’m smiling.

Because they’re my too much.

And honestly? It’s kind of nice having parents willing to fight your battles when you’re too tired to keep throwing punches.

Even if they’re fighting them with tiny, glittery dicks.