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CANNON

CAMDYN

A player with a strong throwing arm.

I know, I know. You’re excited about how last night ended, and the texting.

Well, don’t get too excited, because guess who hasn’t said anything to me all day?

Yeah: that bitchy little baseball player I can’t move on from.

I hate how excited I got when he texted me—because I freaking knew better. I shouldn’t let myself be so invested in whether Jaxon is communicating with me, but here I am.

I knew when he texted, it didn’t mean anything other than he wanted to stay friends.

Or does he want the situationship back? Believe me, I can read into it and make myself crazy dissecting every word, convincing myself he wants to marry me and have my babies—like Callie’s hockey player she’s never met but stalks on Instagram.

My point is, I can fill my head with lies, but I’ve been there. I’m not doing it again.

Especially not when he doesn't text me all day or even acknowledge me when we pass each other at the Local Point dining hall. We did the classic I-don’t-know-you glance in public. You know the one. If you don’t, let me explain, because it’s the reason dating is confusing as hell these days.

First, texting has made it so easy to talk to people, and I love that for my introverted ass.

But if you’re just starting to talk to a guy, listen up: texting lets you hide behind your phone.

Suddenly, you can say anything because you’re behind a screen.

It’s easier to word-vomit, but there’s a downside.

If you’re like me and struggle to say what you mean in person, it’s brutal.

I can spout off nonsense all day that means nothing.

Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m saying.

Tell a guy my feelings in person? Nope. Can’t do it. Actual anxiety. And hives. I get hives when I’m nervous—like I’m a puffer fish. I sense danger (talking about feelings) and my skin goes haywire. But seriously—I got off topic with my hives.

Jaxon and I were never like that. I could talk to him for hours in person and never get bored or struggle with what to say. We’d sit in his dorm room—him gaming, me getting addicted to drama-filled shows like Dance Moms . We never needed to fill the quiet.

Until the situationship shit over the summer, and it complicated everything.

Have you ever been in a situationship? It’s messy and confusing.

You’re not dating, but you’re also not single.

If that makes sense. Or maybe you are single?

Maybe that’s the point? I don’t know the rules.

The situationship is when it got complicated, because suddenly I didn’t know what to say to him anymore.

I didn’t know what I could or couldn’t say.

Sure, we were friends, but I had to draw a line and watch what I was saying.

If I had a long day, I didn’t dare tell him I missed him. I couldn’t hug him in public, couldn’t hold his hand, nothing.

If I saw him in public with his friends, I couldn’t just run up and talk like I used to. Nobody knew we were still hooking up—past tense since Inez—and he wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want his coaches knowing, either.

So I walked by Jaxon this morning and acted like we were nothing more than friends. I smiled, he half-smiled, watched me make my breakfast smoothie, but other than that, we didn’t talk.

He left for practice and I did the same.

Three hours later, I’m leaving the batting cages and guess who’s standing outside?

Yeah, that bitchy little baseball player.

Why does he have to look so good all the time?

Have I mentioned how cute Jaxon is? He’s sexy, yeah, but he’s got this cute, innocent vibe—even though he’s far from innocent.

My heart pounds as I approach him, half expecting he’s going to tell me he and Inez are quitting school to get married and have her baby.

(Callie would never live that one down.)

Jaxon’s leaned against the bike rack, clearly waiting for someone. He’s in gray sweatpants and a purple Husky Baseball hoodie with the hood up over his baseball hat. He looks nervous, tugging at his sleeves as I approach.

I draw in a calming breath and try to be normal, not affected by him. “Hey,” I say when I’m about a foot away, hating that being near him still makes my stomach twist with nerves.

“Hey.” He squints into the sun reflecting off the metal racks and smirks. “Where ya going?”

I stare at his face. His eyes are friendly, like he’s happy to see me. “Shower.” I adjust my bag on my shoulder and shift my weight. “How about you?”

His jaw clenches, those blue eyes meeting mine. I can feel the tension rolling off him. He’s nervous, for reasons I don’t know—and I’m afraid to ask why. What if he’s here to tell me he knocked up Inez and he’s dropping out to raise their kid?

“Ima go feed Kellan’s dog for him.” He tips his head toward the parking lot. “He’s out of town this week.”

“Oh.” Okay, bullet dodged. She’s not pregnant.

That I know of.

Silence lingers, then he lifts a shoulder. “Ya wanna come with me?”

Great, he wants to talk alone before telling me he’s running off to marry her.

I fight back a smile, though, because he’s here, in front of me, asking me to go somewhere with him. Not her. Maybe they’re not together anymore?

Maybe I don’t care?

Fuck. I do care. “Uh.” I try to breathe easy. “I should shower.”

Jaxon notices the smile I can’t hide. He’s fully aware he’s got a two-strike count on my willpower, all because he’s standing here looking cute. “He’s got a shower. It’s a steam shower, too,” he adds, trying to close.

“I don’t know what a steam shower is, but it sounds nice.”

He steps closer. He smells like dryer sheets and the wind coming off Lake Washington.

I know, wind doesn’t have a scent, but trust me—it totally does.

Fresh air, grass, rain… everything outside, and that’s exactly how Jaxon smells.

Anyway. He’s close enough I could touch him, and I want to, but I resist.

“Do you remember prom?”

My stomach drops. A memory surfaces: me and him in a hotel shower, steam everywhere, my dress on the floor, his tie in my hands, me begging him never to stop loving me.

My breath catches, because he did stop loving me. “I have some memories of that night.”

“Well, the offer’s there.” He smirks, but there’s desire in his eyes as they drop to my lips, then back up. “I’ll even feed ya dinner.” He gives me a gentle shove, like he’s not taking no for an answer.

“I’m in.” I say it without question and head toward the bus stop.

I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not asking about her. If I don’t ask, I won’t know, and I can’t be sad, right?

Right.

Jaxon and I take the Route 49 bus from the U-District. We’re college kids. No, we don’t have cars on campus—we take the bus everywhere. Parking’s a nightmare, and with a U-PASS, why bother? Seattle parking prices are criminal anyway.

If you’ve ever been in Seattle at night, you know the city buses are full of homeless people, drugs, and all kinds of crazy shit. Jaxon practically shields me from the sketchy passengers as we make our way down Broadway through Capitol Hill.

The 49 takes us through the U-District, past the sketchy Jack in the Box, through Capitol Hill (don’t stop here at night unless you want to see some shit), and then downtown where Kellan lives near Pioneer Square.

Jaxon tenses when a man in hot pants, flip-flops, a poncho, and a sombrero sits beside us. He reeks of urine, cigarettes, and weed. He’s got an oddly shaped black garbage bag he can’t shove under the seat.

He starts talking to Jaxon about going to see his mother for the first time in years and bringing her a gift.

“Oh,” is all Jaxon says.

After a story about his dad going hunting and never coming back, I start worrying about the contents of that black bag. I’ve seen the Netflix documentaries about serial killers—trust no one.

And then—like I feared—he peels back the top of his garbage bag to reveal a severed deer head.

Yes, you read that right. A severed deer head.

Jaxon stares at the man, like he can’t believe this is really happening. “Wow, that’s nice of you.” His eyes flick to mine and I fight back laughter.

The man nods, covers the head again, and pushes it under his seat. “Yeah, I think she’ll love it.”

I want to ask so many questions, but I don’t. I really don’t want to know if he’s got more dead animals, or worse, some part of his missing dad in that bag.

Deer head guy gets off around Pike/Pine, and Jaxon sighs. “We should have taken an Uber.”

I laugh. “Nah, this is more fun.”

“Mhm.”

That’s not even the weirdest part of our bus ride.

Next up, a guy sits beside me as we pass the First Hill Streetcar stop, and Jaxon immediately wraps his arm around me. This dude reeks of urine and cigarettes, hasn’t showered in who knows how long, and is wearing all black. I’m honestly afraid to look.

The bus starts moving again. He tips his head toward me like we’re old friends. “Hey, man. Ya wanna buy some boat?”

My brain says do not engage. But I want to be polite—just in case he’s the stabbing type. “Oh, uh, no thank you, sir.” I glance at Jaxon.

He gives me that look—the shut the fuck up one. He even mouths, “No.”

I should’ve stopped, but, well, I’m curious. You want to know too, don’t you?

“What even is boat?”

Jaxon elbows me. “Stop talking to him.”

The man turns toward me, and the smell gets worse. I bury my nose in Jaxon’s shoulder and regret asking.