Page 31

PLATE APPEARANCE

CAMDYN

A stat that records every time an offensive player finishes their at-bat, no matter what the outcome.

I t takes hours before another text comes through from Jaxon, and Callie ditches me. I end up meeting him outside the athletic hall, where the brick building towers against the night, its windows glowing like eyes in the darkness.

Nervously, I wait as the players file out. Jameson and Kingston both high-five me in passing. We don’t say anything, but it’s nice to be acknowledged.

Jaxon comes out with two other guys I don’t know. They part ways in the parking lot and Jaxon smiles when he sees me. He’s clearly showered and celebrated with his team—his hair’s still damp, curling at the ends, and he’s got that post-victory energy radiating off him.

He tosses a ball to me, and I catch it, the leather warm and slightly scuffed. “What’s this?”

“Home run ball.” He winks, and my stomach does that stupid flip again. Ugh. Why is he so cute? “It’s the grand slam one.”

“Oh, that’s cool they gave it to you.” They rarely hand out game balls for home runs. I turn it over in my hand, remembering another ball from years ago. The memory makes my chest tight. “I can’t believe you hit a grand slam!”

His face is flushed with excitement, his eyes bright and alive in a way that makes it hard to look directly at him because I’ll fall in love with him. Oh, yeah. Too late. “Pretty tough, huh?”

“So tough.” I laugh, and he smiles—a real one, not those careful ones he’s been giving lately.

The parking lot lights catch his features, turning him golden, and for a moment I see what everyone else sees: the star athlete, the campus hero.

But they don’t know him like I do. They don’t understand the raw talent burning inside him, even though tonight they all got a glimpse. There’s so much more to him.

I hold out the ball to him. “When did you change your walk-up song?”

“Mmm.” There’s a smirk playing on his lips, his cheeks still flushed as he pushes the ball back toward me. “Last week?”

I nod, my smile growing wider. “It’s the same as mine.”

He pulls me in by my hips, his hands warm through my leggings. “I know.”

“Don’t you want this home run ball?”

“I want you to have it.”

I want to ask why. The question burns in my throat. We’re not dating, so what does this mean? Why are we standing so close I can smell his body wash, his hands on my hips like they belong there?

His phone vibrates against my leg—just once. A text. My heart stutters, thinking of Inez. Maybe she’s telling him good job, maybe asking to meet up. Whatever it is, he doesn’t move to check it. Instead, his hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Nope,” he says quickly. “The only one I want to talk to is right here.”

Okay, he’s on another level tonight. Goddamn.

I grin like a fool falling for him all over again. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Come back to my dorm with me,” he says, and though it’s structured like a question, it’s not. It’s a statement, heavy with promise.

I hesitate, not wanting to appear too eager. “Mmm, I was just there.”

“I know.” His lips brush the shell of my ear, his words sending goosebumps down my body. “I need more.”

Uh, hold up. He said that, right?

Silly me could read into that line, could let myself believe it means something more than what it is. But I won’t let myself. I can’t. I won’t.

But fuck, do I want to. He’s saying all the right things today, and I want to believe him. Part of me does. The other is holding on strong. I’m not going to tell you the percentage, though, because you’d probably be disappointed in me.

No, lock in, girl. Get those feelings in check.

We walk across campus in the dark, the paths lit by old-fashioned lampposts, pools of yellow light every few feet.

The late spring air is cool enough that I should be cold, but I’m not.

Not with the way Jaxon keeps bumping against me as we walk, our shoulders brushing, like he can’t help but touch me.

The campus is weirdly quiet for a Friday night after a big win. Maybe everyone’s still out celebrating somewhere else. Or maybe it feels quiet because all I can hear is my own damn heartbeat.

“You still got that ball?” he asks, his voice low.

I hold it up, letting it catch the lamplight. “Thinking about stealing it back?”

“Nah.” He bumps our shoulders together. “Just making sure you’re keeping it safe.”

“Please. Like I’d lose your grand slam ball.” I try to sound casual, but we both know I’ll probably sleep with this thing on my nightstand. Just like I did with that high school home run ball. Which I still have. “I could sell it on eBay, though.”

He laughs. “Wait a few years. You’ll get more for it when I’m in the majors.”

“True.”

We cut across the grass, taking the shortcut behind the library. The sprinklers must have just shut off because the grass is damp, soaking through the toes of my tennis shoes.

His dorm comes into view—one of those tall brick buildings that look like they’ve been here since the stone age. The security guard barely glances at us as we scan in. She’s used to seeing me here by now.

The elevator ride is torture. Four floors of standing close enough to feel the heat coming off his body, close enough to smell his soap and that particular Jaxon scent that always makes me want to bury my face in his neck.

The same scent that’s been driving me crazy all game, wrapped up in his hoodie.

I swear he stands closer than necessary, his arm brushing mine with every breath.

Jameson isn’t here, but Jaxon still closes the door carefully behind us, probably because of the cat taking up residence here now.

“Where’s that damn cat?”

“On your pillow.” Where else would a cat be? They’re like heat-seeking missiles for the exact spot you don’t want them. Plus, I’m pretty sure cats can smell when someone doesn’t want them somewhere, and that just makes them want it more.

Jaxon frowns. “Ya little shit. Move.” He picks Mookie up and sets him on the floor.

I thought he was an all-black cat when I saw him earlier, but now I notice he’s got tabby spots of gold and yellow on his sides, and his little nose is the cutest shade of pink.

Like someone took a paintbrush and dotted his face with color.

His eyes are this intense blue that seems to judge your entire existence. “How is he getting up there?”

Jaxon and I look around the dorm, now scattered with cat toys—a testament to how quickly this tiny demon has taken over their lives.

We watch as Mookie slingshots himself off the floor, to the blankets, and claws his way up the bed.

The little athlete. Who knew cats could parkour?

Then again, they named him Mookie after Mookie Betts, so maybe he’s living up to his name.

“He’s persistent,” I say, watching as Mookie settles right back into his spot, giving Jaxon a look that clearly says, “try moving me again, I dare you.”

“Like someone else I know,” Jaxon mutters, and the weight of those words hangs between us.

I set the baseball carefully on his desk, right next to his laptop.

When I turn around, he’s right there, so close I have to tip my head back to look at him.

My heart starts that familiar dance it does whenever he’s near, like it knows something my brain hasn’t figured out yet.

Behind him, Mookie watches us with those judgmental blue eyes, like he’s waiting to see what happens next. Same, buddy. Same.

“Hi,” I whisper. Real smooth, Cam. The word comes out breathier than I intended.

His hands find my hips again, but this time there’s nothing casual about it. Nothing ambiguous in the way his fingers press into my skin through the fabric of my leggings. “Hi.” His voice is lower, rougher.

The air between us feels electric, charged with everything we’re not saying.

Everything we should say but probably won’t.

Because that’s what we do—we dance around the important, heavy shit.

The tension is so thick even Mookie seems to feel it, his tail twitching as he watches us from his throne of pillows.

But right now, with his game-winning ball on his desk, his cat claiming squatter’s rights on his bed, and his hands on my hips like they belong there.

.. running is the last thing on my mind.

Even if I know I probably should. Even if I know tomorrow might bring more confusion, more watching him talk to Inez while pretending it doesn’t kill me inside.

Because here’s the truth about Jaxon: he’s like baseball itself. Complicated, unpredictable, and impossible to quit, no matter how many times you strike out.

I should say something clever, but I’ve got nothing when he looks at me like this. His fingers slip under the hem of his hoodie I’m still wearing, skating across my skin, and I forget how words and logic work.

“Cam,” he breathes against my mouth, and it’s not fair how he can make my name sound like that. Like a prayer. Like a promise. It makes me forget my rules, and I don’t appreciate that.

We end up in his bed like we always do. His sheets smell like him, and when he leans over me, one hand braced beside my head, everything else fades away. The game, the text, Inez—none of it exists here.

His eyes meet mine in the dim light from his window, and there’s something there I’m afraid to name.

When he kisses me, it’s soft at first—almost careful, like he’s asking permission.

Like we haven’t done this a hundred times before.

His lips brush mine once, twice, and then I’m reaching up, threading my fingers through his still-damp hair, pulling him closer.

He makes this sound in the back of his throat, something between a groan and my name, and then there’s nothing careful about it anymore. He kisses me like he played tonight—all in, no holding back. Like he’s trying to tell me something his words can’t.

That he loves me? That he wants to get back together?

Hey, a girl can dream.