Page 27

DUGOUT

CAMDYN

The fenced areas down the first and third baselines in which each team is designated to remain when not playing in the game.

O kay, well, I went to say hi to him and left with cum dripping down my legs and wearing his hoodie. Nice.

Oh, sorry. My bad. Maybe you didn’t want to hear about the cum, or didn’t need to, but deal with it—because I am. It’s messy and uncomfortable, and I want to change my clothes. The things they don’t tell you about college hookups and the awkward walk back to your dorm.

Did I mention awkward?

Yeah, that too, because I’m walking funny and I know people are watching—or maybe it just feels that way.

The late afternoon sun hits the brick buildings, making everything golden and pretty, which feels like a slap in the face compared to how I’m feeling right now: messy, confused, and kind of floating.

And then I said I was going to his game?

Jesus. What was I thinking?

Wait, holy shit. I’m actually going to his game?

The elevator doors catch my reflection in the brushed metal. I glance down at what I’m wearing. The purple hoodie with “HUSKY BASEBALL” stretched across the chest in white letters practically swallows me whole. Should I change out of his hoodie?

Wait. What if he gets mad I’m wearing it in public? Maybe he won’t care?

I look down at it again, inhaling the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with leather and grass, that distinct baseball smell that clings to players.

I don’t want to change, though. It’s soft and warm and... his.

Oh my God, I’m overthinking this to an Olympic degree. I at least need to change my leggings and underwear because, well, they’re wet.

Thankfully, my dorm isn’t far from Jaxon’s.

As soon as I open the door, Callie’s eyes find mine.

She glances at the disaster zone that is my bed—practice gear scattered everywhere, cleats tossed haphazardly, my game-day visor hanging off the bedpost, one batting glove on the floor, the other on my bed.

I’d thrown it all there before racing to Jaxon’s dorm an hour ago.

Probably looked like I’d been kidnapped by the softball gods.

Callie eyes me suspiciously, tucking her feet underneath as she sits cross-legged on her bed. “Girl, where have you been?”

“I just got back.” Clearly a lie, but whatever.

“I need to change clothes.” Because I have cum dripping down my legs.

Not that I’m telling her that. I could—she wouldn’t judge me—but there’s a part of me that wants to keep it private.

Being with Jaxon now is exciting and forbidden and, yeah, I hate to admit it, but it’s fucking thrilling to be the one nobody knows about.

The secret hookup with the star catcher? I’m not telling her.

“Oh.” She gives me a serious look. “I had to walk to class with Sage, and she made me walk all the way around the building so she could see King, and he wasn’t even there. Just some other guys doing long toss on the field.”

I plop down on my bed, the familiar squeak of the old dorm mattress filling the silence. “Wait. Sage likes King now?”

“Yes. It’s so annoying. I don’t see why. He’s so... cocky and rude. Always walking around like he owns the place because he throws ninety-five.”

“Tell me about it.” I eye my pile of clothes, wondering if any are clean. My practice uniform still smells like dirt and sweat. “She’s the girl with all the rocks in her dorm, right?”

“Yeah. She’s probably in there right now casting a spell on him.”

I smile. Probably true.

Callie stands and yanks me into a hug. “I missed you.”

I laugh. “I missed you, too.”

It feels weird hugging her after being with Jaxon. She’s so much smaller than him. His arms had wrapped around me twice over.

She pulls back and twirls my blonde curls around her finger. “Sooo... how was Texas?”

“Good.” I sit again, trying to ignore how the evidence of my afternoon activities is making sitting extremely uncomfortable. “My rise was working, but my change-up was shit. Gonna throw some tomorrow, see if I can fix it. Need to get that downward break back instead of this side-to-side garbage.”

“Oh no.” She pats my shoulder and grins. “You’ll get it, babes. You always do. Remember last season when your screwball wouldn’t do that thing you wanted it to?”

Callie knows barely anything about softball or baseball, but we love her anyway. “Yeah, I do.”

And then her eyes drop to Jaxon’s hoodie. Her eyes widen. “That’s where you went. To see him.”

Well, fuck. Guess I gave myself away. I reach for my phone, desperate to change the subject. “Wanna go to the baseball game?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I got tickets.”

Her eyes brighten. “Sure!”

At least she’s easily distracted. Unlike my brain, which keeps replaying Jaxon’s fingers on my spine, his breath hitching when I?—

No. Focus. Baseball game first. Feelings later.

If only it were that simple.

As soon as we’re at the field, Callie’s already hit up the concession stand and is eating, while I’m busy freaking out over the view of Jaxon and Jameson warming up in the bullpen. I get the tiniest glimpse of him, but it’s enough to keep my attention way longer than I’ll admit.

Feet up on the railing, I’m surrounded by a sea of purple and gold in plastic seats, everyone hovering over hot dogs and nachos.

My Husky baseball hat’s low to block out the sunset.

There’s warmth in the air that wasn’t here last week.

Days are getting longer, sun’s warmer, and I feel completely at home in this stadium.

Smells like a summer night before the lights burst on and bathe the field in that magic glow.

Popcorn, hot dogs, and the crushed remains of peanuts and sunflower seeds underfoot.

The announcer’s rambling about the lineup and Jameson’s stats. Callie’s not paying attention—she’s too busy with her food.

My mind drifts. Suddenly I’m back behind the equipment shed, senior year, where Jaxon pulled me aside after practice.

He’d grabbed my hand as I walked past, dragging me into the shadows where the sun couldn’t reach.

My heart hammering like I’d just sprinted the bases, and the way he looked at me—sunburnt cheeks and those piercing blue eyes.

The memory’s so fresh I can feel the rough wood against my back, taste the mint of his gum.

My lips tingle; I catch myself touching them, remembering his hand cupping my face, his baseball hat knocking against my forehead until he laughed and spun it around backward.

The shed smelled like leather, dirt, fresh-cut grass, the metallic tang of bats, and the rubbery funk of new balls.

I remember him lifting me onto the riding lawnmower—taking my shirt off, the effort to keep quiet knowing what we were doing would get us both in trouble—but we were seventeen, and nothing else mattered.

His fingers were calloused from gripping bats all season, rough but gentle.

When he leaned in, I caught his soap—clean, boy-smell, sweat, and something woodsy I could never name.

The first brush of his lips was hesitant, testing, like he thought I’d pull away.

But I grabbed his jersey, pulled him closer, and everything changed.

The kiss deepened, tasted like spearmint gum and blue Gatorade, and suddenly the shed didn’t smell like leather and dirt anymore.

It smelled like him, like us, like a moment I never wanted to end.

The crowd cheers for something—I have no clue what—and I snap back, cheeks burning.

Even as I try to focus on the field, all I can think about is how Jaxon looked at me in the hallway right before he kissed me, like I was the only person in the world.

Like everything else—baseball, school, the universe—was just background noise.

I pull my hat lower, grateful for the shield, hoping no one notices my grin. The lights flicker on, one by one, that magic moment when the field shifts from day to night. One kiss, and everything changes.

Now look at me. Not dating him, still fucking him, and wearing his hoodie to his game.

“Is this the first game you’ve seen this season?” Callie asks, rummaging through her bag for her phone. She drops her Sour Patch Kids and I watch as a few escape under the seat. RIP, little sour friends.

“Yeah.” I nod, eyes glued to the bullpen where Jaxon’s warming up Jameson. His movements are so damn fluid, the same routine I’ve watched a thousand times. “I haven’t seen him play since last year.”

“Oh. Did he know you were coming?”

“Uh.” Shit. I try to play it cool, even though my heart’s doing that weird flutter thing. “Yeah?” It comes out as a question. Smooth, Cam. Real smooth.

“Wait.” She stops digging in her bag and gives me a side-eye. The sun catches her dark hair, hints of red glowing. “You guys have been hanging out more. What’s going on?”

My throat tightens. “I don't know. I never know.” With Jaxon, it’s like trying to read a pitching sequence blind. You think you know what’s coming, but you’re usually wrong.

For the first time, I notice the sold-out crowd, the stadium packed, music blasting, everyone dancing. We never get this many at our games. The energy’s different. Electric, like the air before a storm.

Scanning the shirtless guys by home plate with purple letters on their chests (supposed to spell ‘HUSKIES’ but looks more like ‘HUSKEFS’), I spot Brynn—and unfortunately, Inez.

I hate that Brynn keeps dragging her everywhere.

I get they’re roommates, but come on. Thankfully they’re far enough away, in the student section, so I don’t have to talk to her.

I’d rather not, after the awkwardness of the interview.

“Why is she at a baseball game?” I mumble, staring at my hands like they have the answers to why my ex-boyfriend’s maybe-something is here.

“Who?”

“Her.” I point, not very subtly.

Callie looks up and frowns. “Are they talking again?”