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Inez tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear and adjusts the frame of her glasses once more. “Did those same distractions follow you into this season?”

If you’re talking about that annoying little baseball player, yes. He’s still haunting me. Like a really attractive ghost who won’t stop living rent-free in my head.

“No,” I tell her, lying through my teeth. “I’ve learned through the help of our coaching staff here to block it out and leave my personal life off the field.”

Ha. What bullshit. I haven’t learned a damn thing.

I don’t think she believes I’m lying, but by the curiosity in her eyes, she wonders if I’m leaving something out.

She draws in a breath, as if this next question is one she’s been avoiding as well.

That’s when I know where it’s heading. My heart’s doing this weird tap-dance routine that definitely isn’t in rhythm.

“What’s your relationship with Jaxon Ryan? Did your performance last year have anything to do with him?”

Do you notice the way my heart stops and the flood of adrenaline rushing through me? Because I sure do. It feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water down my back while simultaneously setting my face on fire.

I’m so tempted to get up and walk out. I really want to now. “I’d prefer not to talk about my relationship with him.” Or lack thereof. Or whatever the hell we are now.

“What are your goals this year?”

I pause again and think about everything I’ve worked on during the off-season.

Mentally and physically. Like how to breathe without hyperventilating when someone mentions Jaxon’s name.

“There’s not a single day since I walked off that field in Oklahoma that I haven’t had a ball in my hand, working on some aspect of the game.

I think going into this season was all about mindset and trusting the process.

Believing that my hard work got me here and will continue to earn me a spot in the circle, and it’s up to me to build on that. ”

Inez nods once more, her hand moving over the paper as she dictates my words into her version of what I’m saying.

I know how this works, and though most of what I say is quoted, there are times when it’s taken out of context.

My anxiety is screaming at me to grab her notebook and check what she’s writing, but I manage to resist. Barely.

I think Inez is going to get up and I'll be interviewed by the next person, but she doesn’t move. She stares at me with a confused expression and leans into the table as she turns off the recorder. “Can I ask you something off the record?”

My heart beats faster. Shit. She’s going to ask about Jaxon. I lift my eyes to Brynn, who is not paying any attention to me, and then back to Inez. Thanks for the backup, Baddie Brynn.

“Sure.” Why did I say sure? What is wrong with me?

Inez leans in closer and tucks another non-existent loose strand of hair behind her ears. “Sooo, um, I know you don't want to talk about your relationship with him, but Brynn said you used to date Jax?”

It feels as though a damn bullet hits my chest when she says Jaxon’s name on a more personal level. Jax. As if she knows him so well. My lungs forget how breathing works for a solid five seconds. I’m pretty sure my soul left my body, looked around, and decided “nope, not dealing with this today.”

I do not want to answer anything about my relationship with him, but I can't get past the words “used to.” Past tense.

And I guess, yes, we are past tense, but the term makes it sound like we have no relationship now.

And to be honest, I don't know what we are either.

Complicated? A mess? A dumpster fire of feelings? All of the above?

“Um, yeah.” I sigh, the awkwardness getting stronger.

I’m fighting the overwhelming urge to run out of this building and burst into tears.

Or maybe crawl under the table and pretend I’m invisible.

Worked when I was five at the dentist, could be a valid option now.

“We did in high school.” My words shake with my answer and anyone who knows me would see how uncomfortable I am right now, but this girl doesn’t know me at all.

I leave out that we dated up until the World Series last year.

Because why make this conversation more painful than it already is?

“Oh, okay.” Her eyes light up as though she thinks I’m his best friend and will give her details about him. “Can I ask you about him?”

What the hell? She wants to keep chatting.

I look at Brynn once more, but she’s occupied with one of the other guys interviewing our team.

Judging by her pink cheeks and weird, overly happy smile, she’s not going to help me out.

She’s probably asking for that dude’s Snap or thinking about mailing her sliding shorts to him as a surprise.

A good part of me wants to tell Inez no.

I don’t want to talk about Jaxon or our relationship.

Another part is curious what she’s going to ask me.

It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion.

You know you should look away, or do something to stop it, but you can’t.

Nervously, I play with the ends of my hair.

“I guess so.” My voice comes out sounding like I’m being strangled by my own anxiety.

Relief washes over her as she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Okay, good.” She scoots closer to the table, as if that’s even possible because her tits are so smashed to it now I’m surprised she’s not in pain. Her notebook is tucked close to her chest as she holds her phone in her other hand.

I’m not gonna lie. There’s a part of me that wants to take her phone and read every single text message between her and Jax, but then I’ll probably start crying. Or throw up. Or both. Probably both.

“So, like, we’ve been kinda seeing each other and talking.”

I’ll admit, I have some strong intrusive thoughts right about now. They’re screaming: Take her phone and break it. Block his number. Delete his contact info. Erase him from her memory. Call Astro and have her cast a spell. Maybe move to Antarctica with those penguins I researched earlier.

My throat tightens and I can feel my heartbeat in it. Painfully so. Like my heart decided to relocate to my esophagus. “Oh, yeah.” I clear my throat and attempt to act nonchalant. “I... heard that.” I’m not nonchalant. Not even close.

There’s apprehension in her eyes. Or maybe it’s nervousness. I’m not sure. But then she breathes out slowly before asking, “You don't mind?”

Yes, I fucking mind. Stop talking to him! Actually, stop talking to me about talking to him! My internal screaming is reaching frequencies only dogs can hear.

“Nah,” I lie. I’m rather impressed with how well the lie comes out. Smooth and not catty at all. Someone give me an Oscar because I deserve it. “It’s fine. He can talk to anyone he wants to.”

She continues on like we’re friends. “Oh, okay, so we’re talking but like now he’s dry. And he hasn’t texted me much.” Her brow pinches together and a faint blush spreads over her cheeks. “And if I text him, he takes so long to reply, or doesn't at all.”

There’s a lump in my throat I can’t seem to clear, even though I keep trying. Like I swallowed a golf ball and it’s stuck there. “Since when?”

“Like Tuesday? Well, he replied once or twice, but it wasn’t the same.

I texted him a few times yesterday, and then today, and he hasn’t replied.

” Her brows pull together and it’s the first hint of sadness I’ve noticed on her.

She likes him. Maybe even a lot, and while I do feel bad for her, I don’t have anything to offer her.

Except maybe a one-way ticket to Antarctica.

“Is he ghosting me?” She leans forward, as if she’s completely enthralled in understanding the situation with them.

“Should I stop trying to text him? I just, well, I really like him.” She pauses and sighs, her shoulders slumping forward.

“I…” She’s struggling to find the words, her lips flat with disappointment—in him, herself, me, I have no idea—but I do feel a tug at my heart that she’s confused too.

“I never thought a guy like him would like me.”

I hear everything she’s saying, but I’m more focused on the time frame she gave me. My brain is doing math faster than it ever has in calculus.

Tuesday.

The day he texted me after the hockey game. The next day we had sex in his uncle’s condo and he hasn’t replied to her since then? My stomach does this weird flip that’s half excitement, half guilt, and maybe a dash of nausea for good measure.

Trying to keep the excitement from my tone, I look down at the table between us. “What did he say that was dry?” Real smooth, Cam. Why don’t you ask to read their entire conversation history while you’re at it?

To my surprise, she immediately unlocks her phone and shoves it in my face. “Well, like this.”

My heart jumps into my throat when I see the picture she has for his contact at the top of their message feed.

It’s one of him I’ve never seen, in a game, catching.

His arm is pulled back and you can see all the muscles and veins and it’s hot as fuck.

It doesn’t even bother me that she has this picture of him.

I think what sucks is that I haven’t seen it yet.

He never sent it to me, and we used to send selfies every day. She has a piece of him that I don't. The thought makes my chest ache in a way that’s becoming way too familiar lately.

All I can say is I feel very uncomfy right now and I might be having a panic attack. Like, full-on, someone-please-hand-me-a-paper-bag-to-breathe-into panic attack.

“So? Do you think he’s being dry and ghosting me?”

“I... uh....” I don’t know what to say. My brain has officially left the building. It’s probably in Antarctica with those penguins by now.