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Of course he did. Probably did a full exam while I was in the shower. “You name it. I don’t care.” I drop onto my bed, phone in hand, and the little fur demon immediately crawls over, screaming like I’m his long-lost brother. I refuse to pet him. I will not be manipulated by four pounds of fluff.

“What about Mookie? After Mookie Betts.”

I’m barely listening, too busy refreshing my messages. Nothing from Camdyn since our texts about her game yesterday. My good morning text just sits there, looking more pathetic by the minute.

Maybe her plane’s delayed? She’d have texted, right? Unless she’s avoiding me. My stomach does that thing again, like I’m facing a 3-2 count with two outs and the bases loaded.

“I don’t care what it’s called,” I mutter. “I care about it leaving my pillow alone.”

Jameson turns his hat backward, the universal sign he’s about to get stupid-serious. “He’s your son. You should care.”

“It’s a fucking cat, bro.” I watch as said cat makes another pilgrimage to my pillow. “He’s not my son.”

“Mhm.” He rolls his eyes. “Now you’re hurting his feelings.”

“Yeah.” I glance down at the kitten, who’s wedged himself against my side like he’s trying to merge with my ribcage. “He looks fucking heartbroken.” My mind’s already calculating how much fur is sticking to my shirt. “Gimme the lint roller.”

He hides it behind his back, smirking. “Nope.”

“Then get rid of this thing.”

“Were you not loved as a child?”

I flop back on my bed, arms over my face. “Suck my dick.”

Jameson kicks my legs as he heads for the door. “I'm going to PetSmart. Watch my boy.”

My boy. What a dumbass.

After he leaves, I roll onto my side and stare at Mookie. He’s passed out cold, looking like he’s never had a single worry in his tiny cat brain. Must be nice. I’m spiraling about potential fleas in my sheets, and why hasn’t Camdyn texted back?

In a moment of weakness, I snap a pic of Mookie sprawled on my pillow and send it to Cam. No caption. That’s cute, right? The kind of thing girls smile at?

Only, she doesn’t text back.

An hour crawls by, and my mind’s running wild. What if something happened to her plane? What if she’s ghosting me? What if she met some smooth-talking Texas cowboy who doesn’t have a roommate that adopts stadium cats?

You wouldn’t blame her on that last one.

Mookie stretches, one paw touching my arm like he’s telling me to chill out. Maybe it’s the stress about Camdyn, or maybe I’m delirious from cat fur, but I reach over and scratch behind his ears. Just once.

Doesn’t mean shit. I still want my goddamn pillow back.

A knock at the door nearly gives me a heart attack. I’m trying to figure out how to ditch Mookie for the game when it comes. Probably Jameson, arms full of enough pet supplies for a zoo.

But when I open it, awkwardly cradling a cat who won’t shut up because his nap got cut short, it’s Camdyn.

My stomach flips, but this time in a good way.

She’s in a Husky softball shirt and leggings, looking like she rolled out of bed but still perfect.

Her eyes fall to Mookie, nose scrunching in that way that makes me forget how to speak.

“You got a cat?”

“Uh, kinda.” I glance at Mookie, who’s staring at me like I hung the moon. “It’s Mookie.” I wave her in while the cat tries to decide between being held or reclaiming my pillow.

She follows me inside, watching as I set the furball free. “Where’d you find it?”

“In the dugout. Jameson stole it.” I turn my hat backward, laughing as I grab my bag. “He says we’re parents now. He’s making a parental agreement for me to sign.”

She laughs, picking up a baseball from my bed and snapping it between her hands—the unconscious pitcher’s habit that somehow makes her even hotter. “He made me sign an agreement to ‘help’ him with our anatomy project.”

I roll my eyes, shoving my spare hat in my bag. “Of course he did. We have a roommate agreement he edits every week.”

“Oh, shit.” She backs against my bed, hip pressed to the edge as she tosses the ball my way. “I shoulda called first. You got a game, huh?”

“Yep.” I catch it one-handed, trying to play it cool while my heart’s doing backflips. “You coming?”

The pause lasts forever. “Actually, yeah. I am. Haven’t seen a night game in forever.”

“Wait.” I try to keep my voice steady. “You’re actually coming?”

She hasn’t watched me play all season. The idea of her in the stands makes my palms sweat like a rookie.

“Oh, well, I…” She fidgets with her shirt hem, leaning on my cabinet. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

Our eyes lock. “I want you to.”

Her smile messes me up. I peel off my shirt, reaching for my game day one, way too aware of how her breathing changes. Her eyes trace my abs, cheeks flushing pink. “How long do you have?”

I raise an eyebrow, fighting a grin. Knowing where her mind’s going has me half-hard already. “Five minutes?”

The air’s electric. I wait, holding back. Usually, I’d make the first move, but something says she needs to be the one this time. My eyes drift to her lips—soft, pink, begging to be kissed.

“Jameson might be back, like, any minute,” I warn, immediately wishing I hadn’t brought up my roommate. But if I don’t, this tension might kill me.

“Oh.” She looks nervous. “Actually?”

“I mean, maybe. He went to PetSmart.”

Another pause, then a grin that makes my heart stop. “Lock the door?”

I bite back a laugh as her hands find my chest. Camdyn always surprises me. I think she gets off on this forbidden thing. Hell, so do I. No labels, no pressure. Well, there’s pressure, but right now? When it’s pure chemistry and we can’t keep our hands to ourselves? This is what I live for.

“You know…” I press my lips to hers, tasting mint and coffee. “He has a key.”

“Oh, yeah.” Her cheeks flush darker, and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Ya better make this quick, huh?”

Mookie chooses this exact moment to start screaming from under my bed, protesting being ignored. But with Camdyn’s hands on me and that look in her eye, he’s just gonna have to deal. Some things are worth risking a roommate walking in.

“Mhm.” I slide my hands up her waist, under her shirt and bra, cupping her breasts. Her nipples harden under my palms. I don’t bother with her shirt at first. I want inside her—need her so bad. The shirt goes eventually, though. I need her skin against mine.

I press my mouth to hers. I can’t wait anymore. I need this, and I don’t want it from anyone else. The pull between us is too strong, has been building for way too long. When our lips finally meet, it’s like striking a match—contact ignites something primal and urgent.

My fingers thread through her hair, cradling the back of her head as I pull her closer.

When my tongue traces the seam of her lips, she parts them with a soft sigh that unravels what little control I have left.

The kiss deepens, the world narrowing to just her melting against me, the sweet slide of her tongue, the barely-contained need.

I tilt her head back, changing the angle to taste her more. Her fingers curl into my shirt, her heartbeat racing against my chest, matching mine.

When she pulls back for breath, I move my mouth to her neck, drag my tongue up to her ear. “I missed you, girl,” I moan, bending her over my bed and pulling down her leggings.

She looks over her shoulder, widening her stance. “I might make you prove that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

She nods, but her words cut off when I slide inside her. She’s wet, tight, exactly what I need before tonight’s game. When I’m all the way in, her head falls to the mattress and her fists grip the blanket.

“Oh my God,” she pants, a needy whisper. “You need to make this quick.”

I pull out slowly, then push back in, harder. “What about you?”

“I wanna see you come fast,” she breathes. “Show me how bad you missed me.”

Well, okay. I’m definitely down for that.

And I do show her.

I push deeper, my hand on her hip sliding to her pussy. I keep my fingers there a second, feeling myself moving in and out, then slide them to her clit. I know exactly how to get Camdyn off and while she said it was about me, I’m tempted to make her come too.

Only, getting her off doesn’t work because I’m already there in two minutes. I try to hold off, pulling out, pushing back in, shuddering with every move. I don’t last much longer.

Maybe two minutes, and that’s when Jameson opens the door to our dorm.

I don’t know what he sees—maybe my bare ass as I yank up my shorts, maybe Camdyn’s chest as she scrambles to cover herself. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make him drop everything, slap his palms over his eyes, and burst out laughing like he’s just seen the best comedy show of his life.

“Holy shit, guys.” He’s practically crying, stumbling back against the door. “Really?”

I pull up my shorts, laughing too. “Ya could’ve knocked.”

“Dude, I live here.” He blindly sets down his PetSmart haul, and when he finally peeks, he spots Mookie on my pillow. “I think he likes tits.”

That’s when I notice Camdyn still hasn’t gotten her shirt on. She’s turned away from Jameson, but this perverted kitten is straight-up staring at her chest like he’s never seen anything so fascinating.

Relatable, bro. Relatable.

Cam grabs my hoodie, laughing despite herself. “What the hell, dude?” One hand covers Mookie’s eyes, and he bolts for Jameson, who thankfully turns his back.

The hoodie swallows her, cheeks blazing—embarrassment or something else, who knows. She grabs her phone and heads for the door without looking up.

I follow while Jameson coos over Mookie, who’s exploring his new bed like it’s the most fascinating thing in the universe. At least someone’s getting what they want.

At the door, she hesitates. Those green eyes lock on mine, full of secrets I wish I could read. “I'll, uh, see ya at the game.” She nods to Jameson. “Good luck.”

He returns the gesture with a smile. “Thanks.”

Pause here. Do you see it?

The emotion in her eyes?

The strain in mine?

Things could be different, but I don’t know how to make that happen. Neither does she.

“I’ll walk you out.” I glance back at Jameson. “He better know how to use that damn litter box.”

Jameson doesn’t look up, completely absorbed in dangling a string for Mookie. “Mhm.” His cat-dad transformation would be hilarious if my heart wasn’t flipping out.

The second we’re in the hallway, I pull her in, arms wrapping around her like they belong there.

Her shampoo hits me—vanilla and something else that’s just her.

This girl. She’s everything familiar and everything I try to forget, but can’t.

“Sorry about that.” I hold her longer than I should, way past when a normal hug would end. I can’t let go. Won’t.

“It’s okay. It was funny.” Her voice vibrates against my chest.

“If you say so.” My laugh shakes us both. Above us, the fluorescent lights flicker, painting weird shadows on the carpet. “I’ll text you a link to some good seats for tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll take Callie,” she mumbles into my shoulder, fitting there like she never left.

I need to go. But my arms won’t listen to my brain. Words build in my throat. I want more, want what we had, but swallow them back. Instead, I kiss her, drowning my desperate thoughts. I don’t care that we’re in the hallway, don’t care about doors opening, or the bass from someone’s room.

What matters is making her understand physically what I can’t say out loud. I don’t know if she feels it too. What I do know is this thing with Camdyn isn’t something I can cut out, even if I wanted to.

My tongue slides against hers and the kiss turns from desperate to deep. Romantic, even. Maybe it’s my way of showing her she’s more than convenient. Always has been.

Slowly, I break the kiss, move to her ear, feeling her shiver. “Ya believe me?” I pull back, memorizing every detail—light freckles across her nose, the way her eyes catch the harsh hallway light.

She smiles, lips still swollen. “Believe you?”

My breath hitches, but I say it anyway. “That I missed you.”

“Oh.” Her laugh is soft, intimate. “Mmm, I’d definitely say you missed me.”

I wink and fix my hoodie on her. Seeing her in my clothes does something to my chest I’m not ready to unpack. “Good.”

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising against mine. “Good luck.”

I smile through the ache. “See you soon.”

We separate, but I can’t help stealing one last look. That’s when it hits me—the harder I try to resist her, the weaker I get. The realization sits heavy in my gut.

Could we have more? Is that even possible after everything I’ve done? The questions echo, unanswered.

That last look turns into me watching her walk away, throat tight.

I hate seeing her leave, even knowing she’s coming to the game.

That girl isn’t mine anymore. Not in the way that counts, and it kills me.

Some days I think about walking away and letting her move on.

Maybe it’d be better. But I can’t. Neither can she.

We’re stuck in this limbo of wanting and waiting.

Back in the room, Jameson’s sprawled on his bed, Mookie on his chest. He lifts his head, grinning. “Damn, bro, Cam’s got nice tits.”

So that’s what he saw. I can’t even be mad—it’s my fault for not locking the door. Still, my jaw clenches.

I collapse on my bed, covering my face. The game’s in three hours, and I need to get my head right. But all I can think about is her strawberry lip gloss and how perfect she feels in my arms.

I grab my phone and send her the ticket link. “Camdyn’s taking Callie to the game,” I say, aiming for casual.

Jameson glances at me. “Don’t care.” His tone’s unreadable.

I can’t tell if he’s excited or worried. Honestly, he brought home a contraband cat without asking, so his opinion isn’t high on my list. My mind’s already at the game, wondering if she’ll wear my hoodie, wondering if maybe we’re not as finished as we pretend.

Every time I see her, something in me snaps.

There’s this path I keep running, straight back to her, even though I know how it ends.

It’s like the base path in baseball—these invisible lines drawn in the dirt, rules I’m supposed to follow.

I can’t just run off into the grass and pretend the game doesn’t matter.

I can’t take a shortcut or dodge what I feel for her.

When I’m with her, it’s all instinct. I round first, then second, chasing something I already lost, hoping maybe this time I’ll reach home safe.

But the truth is, I’m trapped between the bases, caught in the open, because I can’t step outside these lines.

I can’t avoid her and I can’t let her go, and I don’t know how to stop running.