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He’s serious. “I don’t know then.” My shoulders slump. I’m describing her and I don’t want to be. I’m annoyed she even exists in my world.

“All right, so he’s talking to her?” Jameson draws in a breath. “Doesn’t mean they’re serious.”

“True.” I nod, and though I don’t want to start hounding Jaxon’s friends, curiosity gets the better of me. “He hasn’t said anything to you about her?”

“No.” He muffles a laugh as the professor eyes him.

“Jameson?” the professor calls out. “Are you going to take this class seriously?”

Jameson nods. “I think so?”

We both try not to laugh as the professor turns away. Jameson leans in. “First I’m hearing about him talking to anyone but you.”

I’m not surprised. Jaxon guards his feelings and what’s going on in his life from everyone.

He’s secretive, and if he cares about something, he doesn’t talk about it.

Even baseball. Anything where he has to say, “I feel…” he just won’t.

It’s like trying to get emotional intelligence from a brick wall.

“He hasn’t mentioned her?” Who am I kidding? Jaxon is the biggest gatekeeper alive. He ain’t telling nobody shit unless they ask, and even then, you’re only gonna get the bare minimum. But the fact he hasn’t mentioned her makes my stomach do a weird flip. Maybe it’s not serious.

“Nah, he hasn’t. Oh, shit.” Jameson smacks my shoulder, hard enough that two girls in front of us look back. “That’s who he was playing Fortnite with.”

My heart drops. “What?” I whisper, putting my finger to my lips.

He lowers his voice, leaning closer. “I hopped on after practice the other night and he was in doubles. I thought it was Kingston. Must’ve been Ink.”

“Inez,” I correct, trying to steady the nerves raging inside me. My hands shake. I set down my coffee before I spill it.

“Yeah, whatever.” He doesn’t look up from his phone now. “I don’t care.”

And honestly, Jameson probably doesn’t. But I do. I care so much it physically hurts.

Doubles? Never mind the fact he was gaming with her, even though it makes me want to throw up—I don’t even know what that means. I ask anyway. “What’s doubles?”

He’s still looking at his phone. “It’s where you spawn in the same world and try to stay alive together.”

Well, fuck me. That’s even worse than I thought. My heart stays in my stomach and it feels like my other organs are attacking it. They probably are. Ganging up, screaming, “Bitch, stop loving Jaxon Evan Ryan!”

My heart doesn’t listen. All it hears is one devastating word.

Together.

They did something together. Jaxon bonded with her, and what did I get all summer?

Late-night hookup texts and broken promises of a future.

Maybe that was my fault because I allowed it.

I allowed the situationship. Fuck, I suggested it.

Sex but no commitment. I thought if I didn’t pressure him, if I was the “cool girl” who didn’t need labels, he’d eventually choose me.

He didn’t.

Fucking shit. What if they’re having sex? I don’t know why I hadn’t thought about that until now.

If I thought them talking or playing stupid video games was bad, imagining Jaxon’s hands on her body is even worse. God, I think I’m gonna be sick.

“Oh, damn.” Jameson elbows me. “I got an idea.”

I blink slowly, wishing all this would go away. The thoughts, the love I have for Jaxon—I want to snap my fingers and be anywhere but here, obsessing over him. Anywhere I wouldn’t have to watch him fall for someone else in real time.

“I don’t know if I wanna hear it.”

“You do.” He waves his hand in my face and leans in closer. “Pretend to date me to make him jealous. They do it all the time in movies.”

“What? No way. Callie would kill me.” Plus, I’ve seen enough rom-coms to know how that ends. Not well.

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “She’d be in on it. Besides, she’s snapping some dude on the soccer team.”

Judging by how dejected he sounds, this bothers him. Welcome to the club, buddy. We meet Thursdays to cry about unrequited love and eat our feelings.

I think about his plan for half a second.

“I don’t know.” I’m not the type to make Jaxon jealous.

I don’t have any interest in dating or even talking to other guys.

I know that’s sad for a twenty-year-old in college who should be out there, but that’s never been me.

I have exactly fifteen contacts in my phone who aren’t family, and I don’t have Snapchat or any of those other apps for talking to guys.

Social media just makes you feel like you have options.

All my friends say, “Oh, I’m snapping this new guy,” and turns out they’ve been snapping ten other girls at the same time.

I pay attention to the ones who love me and know me in real life—the ones I don’t need to text to have a relationship with.

My dad told me one thing when I asked for social media and he said no: Social media makes you think there are fish in the sea, but ain’t none of them worth catching. He was speaking facts y’all.

“You’re right. We can’t pretend date.” Jameson smiles. “You’d fall for me.”

“Bro, no I wouldn’t. You’re too short for me.”

He gives me the what the fuck expression he does so well. Jameson kinda has a resting bitch face for a guy, and he plays it well. “Bitch, I’m five-eleven. Why you short-shaming me?”

“I have a six-foot height requirement. And you’re a pitcher. I can’t date a pitcher.” The real reason? Every time I’d see him wind up for a pitch, I’d think of Jaxon because he’s a catcher.

Everything already reminds me of him—I don’t need more triggers.

“Why not? You’re a pitcher.”

“Yeah and we’d always be competing about who’s better.”

He blinks, twice. “Um, I am. No question.”

I tap my pencil to my chin, a smile tugging at my lips. “It’s a proven fact softball is harder than baseball.”

“A chick must’ve done that theory.” Jameson chuckles.

“Nuh uh. It’s a fact. Softball has less reaction time.” And it’s harder on your heart, apparently. At least mine feels pretty beaten up right now.

Jameson sighs, suddenly serious. “Hey, if it means anything, I think he’s fucking up by not choosing you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” My cheeks warm, and I’m not sure if it’s from anxiety or just thinking about Jaxon with her. The worst part? I can’t even hate Inez. It’s not her fault. “What about you and Callie? Chocolates on Valentine’s Day?”

His cheeks turn pink and his expression softens. “My mom told me to.”

“Oh.”

He half shrugs. “I was going to, though. She didn’t look like she wanted them.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him I ate the chocolates, so I leave that out. “Soooo?”

“We’re talking again. Kinda.”

“You’ve been kinda talking for a while.” Just like Jaxon and I were “kinda” something. Until we weren’t.

“I know. Half the time I don’t know if she actually likes me or she’s bored.”

“I don’t know either.” But I get it now, that uncertainty. That constant question of ‘are we something or nothing?’ It’s exhausting.

He elbows me again. “Yo, do you know what skibidi Ohio rizz means?”

“What?” I stare at him like he’s speaking another language. “No. When did you hear that?”

“From this kid named Sage. He’s ten. Jaxon and I have been working with these little league kids and he said that to me when I told him what I did for Callie. He said, ‘yo bruh, you got that skibidi Ohio rizz. It’s garbage’.”

I fight back laughter. “Uh, I think it’s a diss.” Leave it to Gen Alpha to invent new ways to destroy our self-esteem.

“Well, yeah. I gathered that much when he said garbage.” He blows out a quick breath. “Man. Kids are ruthless.”

“You guys are helping with little league?” My heart does that stupid flutter again. Jaxon’s always been good with kids.

Jameson nods and stretches his legs, kicking the seat in front of us. “Sorry,” he mumbles when the girl looks back. “Anyway, we have to get community service hours before the season starts.”

“Oh, yeah.” I knew that. I remember Jaxon volunteering last year and helping run a tournament for the kids over the summer. He looked so happy that day, high-fiving little players and showing them proper form. I wonder if Inez has seen that side of him yet. “That’s fun.”

“It’s fine, but dang those little dudes are harsh as fuck.”

Just as we’re about to settle in, Professor Nguyen walks up to the podium and taps the mic.

“Before we start, a reminder: your first lab report is due next Wednesday. You’ll need to pick one organ system, describe its structure and function, and illustrate it—by hand.

No AI-generated diagrams, no copying straight from the textbook.

” She scans the room over her glasses, locking eyes with a couple of football guys in the back who absolutely look like they were planning on doing exactly that.

“If you’re struggling with the drawing part, office hours are all week.

And yes, I can tell when you trace from Wikipedia.

You wouldn’t believe how many identical livers I’ve seen.

” She grins, deadpan. “Make yours stand out.”

Jameson snorts. “Damn, I was gonna trace it.”

I chuckle, because yes, he’s serious.

As our lecture begins, Jameson falls asleep, and I think back to the summer when Jaxon and I started the situationship. Maybe if I hadn’t started sleeping with him again and let go when we broke up, this wouldn’t hurt so much.

Maybe a clean break would have been easier.

Truth is, I held on hoping he’d change his mind. Hoping I’d wake up one morning and he’d realize what we had was worth fighting for. That I was worth choosing.

I don’t know if our story is finished. Fuck, I don’t even know what chapter we’re on anymore. All I know is watching him write a new story with someone else feels like reading the worst ending possible.

Someday I’ll love again and maybe fall harder than I did for the one with blue eyes and the sexiest side eye I’ve ever seen.

Another truth?

Jaxon’s forcing me to find myself. To figure out who I am without him. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

In baseball and softball, sometimes the pitcher decides to walk someone on purpose. Instead of letting them swing and seeing what happens, they just toss four balls and send them to first base.

No drama, no risk—it’s just, “Here, take the base, we don’t want to deal with you at the plate.”

Honestly, that’s kind of how Jaxon broke up with me.

It’s like he didn’t want to see how things would play out between us.

No real fight, no messy arguments—just this quiet, almost polite way of saying, “Let’s not even try.

” And now I’m standing on first, missing him, wondering what would’ve happened if he’d just let us swing.

Maybe we would’ve struck out, maybe we would’ve hit a home run, but at least I’d have known the ending.

Instead, it’s like I got walked. I’m here—safe, I guess—but not satisfied. And I can’t help but look back at the plate.

Somewhere between the bases of when we began and when we ended, I’m learning not everything is in my control. Sometimes you have to let go and see what happens next.

As my coaches say, you have to trust the pitch you’re about to throw.

Even if it breaks your heart in the process.

By the time Professor Nguyen dismisses us, Jameson jerks awake so fast he nearly knocks his notebook to the floor. He blinks twice, squinting at the clock like maybe he can time travel back to the start of class.

As we gather our stuff, I glance up and catch Professor Nguyen looking right at us.

Or, more specifically, at Jameson. She raises her eyebrows—just a smidge—and gives him a look that says, I saw you drooling on your arm, Mr. Ninety-Nine-Mile-Per-Hour Fastball.

Jameson tries to play it cool, but the tips of his ears go pink.

We head out into the hallway, backpacks slung over one shoulder. I dig out my phone, already scrolling through the notes app.

Jameson slides up next to me, grinning. “Hey, uh… so, did you maybe take notes for me? Since, y’know—” He gestures vaguely to his face, still creased from sleep. “I was doing my best impression of a corpse for, like, ninety percent of class.”

I snort. “You mean your best impression of someone who thinks Crocs are appropriate for all occasions?”

“Hey, Crocs are versatile. Unlike my anatomy knowledge, apparently. So… you got me?”

I flash my phone screen. “I got you. Even wrote ‘Jameson slept through this part’ in the margins so you know what to study.”

He laughs, relief obvious. We fall into step as we head out into the drizzle, the last stragglers from class passing us by. Behind us, I can feel Professor Nguyen’s eyes still on Jameson, probably mentally prepping his next pop quiz.

He glances back, then leans in close. “Remind me to buy you coffee next time,” he says. “Or at least bribe you with one of those muffins you love.”

“I’ll do anything for carbs.”

Jameson raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”

I shove him away, laughing. I have to admit, it’s nice to have a distraction.