Page 33

BULLPEN

CAMDYN

A designated area for pitchers to warm-up before entering the game.

M y first thought when I wake up? Holy shit. I spent the night with him.

My second?

I could get used to this.

I stare at the ceiling, watching shadows dance across the popcorn texture, while my third thought crashes in like an unwanted guest.

The text from Inez last night.

Jaxon’s pressed against the wall, one arm thrown over his head, breathing deep and steady. God, he’s beautiful when he sleeps. The morning light catches his jawline, and I have to physically stop myself from touching it.

His phone sits on the nightstand, screen down. Taunting me.

Should I look? I know his passcode—six digits. My birthday and his. Wait. What if it’s not the same? We broke up. He probably changed it.

Now I’m curious. Should I try it just to see?

No, don’t. That’s not cool. That’s straight-up psycho behavior. But... I could just peek at the screen to check the time, right? It’s not an invasion of privacy if I touch the screen for the time and just happen to see the messages?

The internal debate rages while I watch his chest rise and fall. I’m just checking the time. People do that. It’s normal. Nothing suspicious.

I shift toward the nightstand, where his phone is wedged between his bed and Jameson’s.

Shhh. I’m going to hell.

With trembling fingers, I stretch—so careful—and tap the screen to.

.. check the time. Obviously. That’s when his notifications pop up.

Two texts from King, one from his dad, and one from Inez.

Her message came through at 11:34 p.m., and when I scroll up—a tiny bit—I see another from her at 9:29 p.m., right when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He ignored her twice. Ha. Because he was with me, bitch.

Relieved, I look up, suddenly feeling like someone’s staring at me.

Remember what I said about watching Jameson play and Callie hooking up with him? Guess who’s staring at me.

Told ya, bitch. Predictable.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper, clutching the blanket higher against my chest.

Her eyes are so wide I can barely see the blue, just her pupils. “What are you doing here?”

Between the two beds, Mookie lets out the loudest meow I’ve ever heard from something so tiny and stares up like we’re supposed to solve all his problems immediately.

We both ease out of bed, grabbing clothes and phones, when Mookie—the little shit—decides this is the perfect moment for an adventure. He bolts for the door as I crack it open.

“No, no, no,” I whisper-yell, diving after him. The black furball shoots down the hallway like he’s training for the feline Olympics.

“Holy cow, he’s fast,” Callie laughs.

“No shit.”

Callie and I chase him, barefoot and half-dressed, trying not to wake up the whole floor. He zigzags between our legs, clearly loving this new game.

“Corner him!” Callie hisses, hiking up her borrowed shorts as she runs.

Finally, I scoop him up, his little heart pounding against my palm. Back in the room, I shove his cute ass inside and hold a finger up to him like, Shut the fuck up.

Outside the building, Callie doubles over laughing, clutching her side, and I can’t help but join her. We probably look insane—hair wild, half dressed, giggling like maniacs escaping the scene.

The early morning air hits my face, crisp with that signature Seattle chill, even though it's nearly May. Pink cherry blossoms drift around us like confetti, dotting Callie’s messy dark hair.

Behind her, Thompson Hall looms red brick against the pearl-gray sky, its ivy-covered walls holding a century of stories like ours.

I glance down at my outfit as the cool pavement hits my bare feet. I’m in Jaxon’s hoodie, no fucking pants, and Callie’s in Jameson’s shorts that barely fit.

Our walk-of-shame looks are next level.

My mind drifts to last night—the way Jax’s fingers traced circles on my arm while we watched that dumb zombie movie, how his breath slowed and deepened as he fell asleep.

Oh my lord. Stop thinking about him for one damn second.

Callie halts and eyes me suspiciously. “When did they get a freaking cat?”

“Uh, yesterday?” I tie my hair in a messy bun. “I came over to see it and... yeah.” I motion to my lack of pants.

“Yeah.” She giggles, falling in step beside me as we cross the courtyard.

Our bare feet dodge the dewy grass, sticking to the concrete path winding through the cherry trees.

The sweet, floral scent mingles with coffee wafting from the campus café, where early risers are already lining up for their fix.

“What happened to Sawyer?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t know. He hasn’t texted in days.”

“So you hooked up with Jameson?”

“Nooo. It’s not like that.”

“Mmmmk. I know you, though. You see Jameson pitch and every time you fall for him again.”

“I’m not falling for him.”

“Then what happened last night?”

Callie giggles into her hands. “I don’t even know. I kinda ended up there. One minute we were flirting, next thing I know, I’m in his bed.” She stops and stares at me. “Wait. What about you and Jax?”

My stomach does a little flip at his name. I remember his sleepy smile and the way he held me tighter when I tried to leave around midnight, murmuring “Stay,” against my hair.

“Nothing. It was nice. I came over to see the kitty.”

“And showed him your kitty?”

I shove her away. “Stop. No. We didn’t even do anything. Just watched Netflix and I fell asleep in his bed.”

She catches herself from falling on a bench. “Mhm. Sure.”

“You have no room to talk. You were in Jameson’s bed naked.”

“I was not.” She tugs at the hem of his shirt. “I had his shirt on. And apparently his shorts.”

“Where are your shoes?”

“Oh, crap.”

“Callie, I’m not going back to get them.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just text Jameson later.”

I wink at her and strut ahead. “I bet you will.” There’s a problem with my strutting. I’m, well, you know. And Callie notices.

“Girl, where’re your panties? I can see your booty cheeks.”

“Um.” My cheeks heat and I yank the hoodie lower. She forgot her shoes, as did I, but I’m sure my panties and bra are still on their floor. “I dunno.”

A group of runners passes, shoes crunching the cherry blossom covered path. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my heart stutters—is it Jax? I resist checking. I’m not going to be that girl who can’t wait an hour to text back.

“Did you actually have sex while Jax and I were sleeping five feet away?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “In my defense, I didn’t know you were there.”

“How could you not know? Their beds are pretty close.”

She snorts. “I was busy .”

“Clearly.”

She throws an arm out, stopping me. “Stop walking so fast. My legs aren’t that long.” The morning sun finally breaks through the clouds, casting long shadows from the cherry trees across the brick buildings.

I slow my pace. “How do you play basketball if you don’t have long legs?”

“I’m a point guard. Don’t need them.”

“Mhm.”

As we approach our dorm, I catch my reflection in the glass doors—hair a mess, wearing Jax’s hoodie, last night’s mascara barely hanging on.

But there’s something else, too. A glow maybe?

Or maybe it’s just the way the morning light hits the glass.

Either way, I can’t help but wonder if Jax is awake yet, if he’s thinking about me, if he’s going to text.

And for once, I’m not sure which answer scares me more—that he will, or that he won’t.

Back in our dorm, I take a quick shower.

It’s Saturday—no class, but two quizzes to study for.

I head to the gym for a workout and a run first. I have a bi-weekend since we got back from Texas, but I still need conditioning and some arm care after the last few games.

I’m sitting at a little over three hundred pitches for the week and desperately need some relief.

The NCAA only allows so many hours for sports-related activities. All that really means is we hit the weight room, run, take batting practice, and pitch on our own to get in the work—no team coaches.

After my workout, I grab lunch and study in the dining hall. And check my phone a billion times to see if Jaxon’s texted.

Nothing yet. Why am I so obsessed with him texting me?

Probably because if he’s texting me, he’s not texting her. I can’t stop wondering if he replied to her messages. What if he’s not texting me because he’s meeting up with her? What if they’re having coffee?

Oh my God, stopppppp.

Sitting at the table, I watch rain slide down the windows, little rivers merging and splitting apart.

It's just after 12. He has to be up by now, so why hasn’t he texted to ask why I left so early?

Did he not care? Did he not have a good time?

We literally slept together all night. Like, actually slept.

He said he missed me yesterday.

But clearly not that much if he's not texting me today. Maybe when he said he missed me, he meant sexually, not me specifically?

Ugh. I cover my face and drop my phone next to my book. My brain is exhausting. Literally draining me to the point my head feels like it’s going to pop and my heart is tight and constricted.

As I’m leaving the dining hall, I run into Jaxon. Actually. I come around the corner, he’s doing the same, and we nearly collide. He’s with Jameson and Kingston, so I keep my head down and do my best I-don’t-know-you-in-public glance.

Remember the rules.

Don’t act like you know each other in public. Very important.

Another rule: In public, we’re friends. Nothing more.

He surprises me and puts his hand out as I'm walking by. He doesn’t touch me, but blocks my path by leaning into the wall as his friends head into the dining hall. “Where ya heading?”

“I... uh…” I’m completely caught off guard.

We haven’t had any public interactions in months.

This is against the rules. Trying to breathe, I glance at his hand on the wall, veins visible beneath his rolled-up sleeve, then quickly look at his face—because if I stare at his arms, I’ll get distracted. “What?”