Page 17 of Fake Dates and Home Plates (Way Off Base #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Theo

Walking into the building with Henley’s hand in mine, I glance over at her, already grinning. “You ready to get a little dangerous tonight?”

Dressed in a black skirt and crop top paired with a denim jacket and pink high-tops, she looks as incredible as always. Still though, the morning she woke up in one of my shirts will be my favorite look she’s ever worn.

She snorts. “You’ve changed, Theo Barlowe. First, you commit a crime, and now, you’re trying to rope me into your life of delinquency.”

I bump her hip gently with mine. “You didn’t seem too upset about that particular felony.”

She arches a brow. “That’s because I didn’t do it. I was just an accessory after the fact.”

I lean closer. “Didn’t seem too put off with my criminal ways when you were trying to grind against me afterwards.”

Henley’s mouth drops open in shock before she throws her head back, laughing. “Not put off by you in the slightest.”

I’m not sure what Henley expected for our first real date, but I doubt she could have guessed what I have planned.

“I figured dinner was too boring, and I wanted to see if you had any throwing skills,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant when really, I’m watching her take it all in. The wooden walls, the thunk of axes hitting targets, the faint smell of beer in the air.

Maybe I should have taken her to a restaurant for an expensive dinner, but when I glance back at her and see the gleam in her eyes, I know I made the right call.

One minute, we’re signing a waiver and placing an order for a couple of sodas and a basket of chicken wings. The next, Henley’s holding a literal weapon and smiling so big, it looks like she’s about to enjoy taking someone out.

She smirks. “You’re about to regret this, Baseball Boy.”

Thirty minutes later, I don’t regret a thing.

Henley’s been trash-talking me even though she’s losing, having missed most of her throws. “Alright, I hope you didn’t get too comfortable in the lead. I’m about to knock you right off the board.”

She doesn’t. In fact, that might have been her worst attempt all night.

“You know you’re allowed to hit inside the wood, right?” I tease, tossing an axe that lands with a satisfying thud just left of the bullseye.

That earns me a middle finger.

She huffs, grabbing another axe off the rack. “Keep talking. I’m warming up.”

I won’t lie, seeing her determination as she squares her stance before pulling the axe back and attempting another throw that lands on the floor is hot as hell.

I watch as her shoulders sink in frustration before she quickly grabs another one and tries again, skipping my turn.

This time, her shoulders straighten, and she takes her time before letting it fly.

It hits dead center, and Henley spins around with both hands raised victoriously in the air. “Bullseye!” She does a little dance that has me laughing loudly. When she hears it, she stops and smiles at me. “Best date ever.”

After an hour, we’ve had our fill of weapon throwing and are sitting in a corner, enjoying some wings and fries.

“These are so good,” Henley says between bites.

“I figured if you were gonna throw sharp things, I should feed you afterward.” Grabbing another handful of fries, I ask her, “So what’s your plan after graduation?”

She finishes chewing before taking a sip of her water. “Run until I can’t anymore. And when that happens, I’d like to coach or maybe start a foundation for young runners.”

Henley appears calm when discussing the future, something I can’t relate to at all.

“What about you? Minors or majors?” she asks nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to her voice that gives her away. Baseball isn’t her favorite topic, and who knows what bullshit Dakota has told her. “I know a little about how it works but not the finer details.”

“If my parents had it their way, I’d give up this hobby already and focus on something more realistic,” I tell her. “But I’ll be happy with whatever team will take me. Most players begin their careers in the minor leagues. Guess I’ll find out next summer.”

The draft is in July. If the season goes the way I hope, with the Knights making it through the playoffs and into the College World Series, our season would end in June.

I’m aware of my talent, but skipping straight to a major league team is rare.

Besides, I’ll be grateful to learn anything I can before I get to the next level.

We sit in silence for a moment while the weight of that statement settles between us.

Whatever happens between us, we could end up on opposite sides of the country from each other.

I guess I’ve always known that it’s a possibility that if and when I do have a partner or family, I’d spend half the year or more away from them.

That’s not a concern I need to prioritize right now, though. Not when the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is sitting across from me with wing sauce on her cheek.

Henley doesn’t flinch when I reach out with a paper napkin to wipe it off. Instead, she leans in to my touch further with a silly grin on her face.

“So your parents suck?” she asks as she takes another drink of her water.

I asked her if she wanted a beer or soda, but she declined because she tries to stay as healthy as possible during the season.

“That’s the gist, yeah,” I tell her with a shrug. “I’m just lucky they don’t force a relationship neither of us wants to have anyway.”

Maybe I should be more upset about that, but I really don’t care.

They provided for me financially. I got a portion of my trust fund when I started college, which I used to buy the house I’ve lived in for almost three years.

I have a business manager who assists in managing my finances.

She suggested buying the house and then told me I could rent it out once I move, meaning I could have some additional income.

Not that I need it, but it could be years before I’m making enough from playing baseball to be financially comfortable.

My parents at least set me up with the basics. They might be absent and emotionally uninvolved, but they don’t want the embarrassment of me living below their means either.

“What about your parents?” I turn the question around on her.

Henley lights up. “They’re the best. Super supportive of everything I do—sometimes a little too supportive, as you might have noticed.”

I definitely did notice. Her parents are fantastic and clearly adore their kid.

She sighs. “They tried for more kids after me, but it didn’t really work out. So now, all their energy is reserved for me. I might be a little selfish, because I don’t hate having them all to myself either. Although they like to adopt my friends too.”

I noticed that too. I overheard Henley’s mom ask Lily the same questions she asked her own daughter—ensuring she was eating and sleeping properly, asking for updates on her dating life, checking in on her grades.

“Plus, they’re ready to support me indefinitely, wanting me to chase my dreams of going to the Olympics,” she says as she wipes her face with a napkin. “Speaking of my parents, they really want you to come for dinner sometime soon.” She grimaces.

“And that’s bad?” I ask as I take a drink of my soda.

She shakes her head. “Not bad. I guess it just seems kind of fast. They only met Dakota a couple of times, but I never brought him to our house.”

“You don’t have to compare what we have to him, you know?” I try to say without injecting any negative tone.

I’m not mad she has a history; I just don’t think the guy deserves to be her roadmap of relationship standards.

“I’m not, or at least not intentionally. I know this is different,” Henley says with a shy smile.

“It is different,” I reassure her. “I can’t erase that relationship, but I sure as shit can show you exactly how you deserve to be treated.”

She nods. “I think I might like that.”

I stand from the table to discard all our trash, and Henley helps me.

“I really don’t want to end this date yet. Want to come back to my house and watch a movie or something?” I ask her.

“Absolutely,” she says as I grab her hand and lead her out of the building.

If someone asked me to describe the movie currently playing in my living room, I wouldn’t be able to tell them a single detail.

I could, however, tell you all about how Henley’s hair smells like coconut but her skin smells like vanilla.

I could go into great detail about how the curve of her body and our small height difference mean we fit together perfectly.

Her head rests against my shoulder while my hand sits on top of her thigh.

The volume on the TV is low, the glow of the screen spilling soft light over her face.

My eyes have spent more time on her than the movie.

“What?” she whispers, catching me staring.

I shake my head slowly. “Nothing. You’re just really fucking beautiful.”

Even though there isn’t much light in here, I can see the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks.

“Theo?” she asks, her voice so quiet, I almost miss it.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.” This time, she’s not so quiet, making her demand with confidence.

I lean in just enough for her to meet me halfway. The kiss starts slow, careful, like we’re testing each other. We’ve kissed before, but there’s no one around to see us this time, and we aren’t hyped up from playing charades with my friends.

Everything tonight is just for us.

Her lips move against mine before she pulls my bottom lip between her teeth, and I groan at the sting. I’m trying to keep calm, taking my time to trace every bit of her mouth with my own.

Then, her fingers curl into my shirt as she leans back, pulling me on top of her.

I forget about calm, moving between her legs with my hips pinning her down.

My tongue trails a path down her jaw and neck as I memorize every sound she’s making while I grind against her.

I’ve never been so close to blowing my load in my pants before, especially when her hips start to move with me.