Page 6

“You have to chew before you swallow,” she advises helpfully.

Pressing a palm to my watering eyes, I take a sip of the water bottle Kayla hands me. Motherfucking Marcos plays baseball. I’ve been looking for him all week on campus, and here he is. When I turn back to Max, he’s watching me with a mildly concerned look on his face.

“Wrong pipe?” he asks.

“Yeah, hot dogs belong in your stomach, not your lungs,” I joke. “So, your best friend plays catcher? Which…which person is that?”

Max’s mouth pinches at the corners like he wants to laugh, but is too polite to do so. He clears his throat.

“He’s the one behind the batters. He signals what he wants the pitcher to throw. Marcos pretty much runs the entire game.”

I whip my head around toward the diamond so fast my neck cricks.

There is indeed a guy squatting behind the current batter, legs spread wide and glove held up in front of his face.

His other hand is dangling between his legs, and as I watch, he makes a signal at the pitcher that looks like an inverted peace sign.

I can’t really see his face behind the cage on the helmet he’s wearing, but by the dark skin of his arms and that hand, I can tell it’s him. God, has a hand ever been so sexy?

There you are.

Forgetting that there are people around, I smile, unwilling to take my eyes off of him so as not to miss it when he lifts his helmet off. I want to see his face. I want to see him under the brightness of the sun, and not a badly lit party.

“Do you know Marcos?” Max asks, bringing my attention back over to him. He’s watching me with a quizzical tilt to his eyebrows, golden eyes on mine. His fingers still fiddle nervously with the hem of his shirt.

“Well, no,” I answer slowly, glancing back over to make sure Marcos is still hunched behind the plate. “Just in passing.”

“In passing” in this case meaning a covert dick sucking behind a shed .

I’ve never been more thankful than I am right now that I don’t have Micky’s propensity to blush.

Max doesn’t seem to hear anything strange in my voice, and simply nods at my answer.

When I angle myself in my seat to face Marcos, I can see Kayla watching me out of the corner of my eye.

That same low hum from the night of the party buzzes over my skin as I watch Marcos. Kayla was right about the pants—they are tight. Especially when the man wearing them spends most of his time squatting with his knees opened wide. The pants are indecently tight, really. Thank you, baseball gods.

I don’t even bother trying to watch the actual game.

I watch Marcos. I watch his long, brown fingers as he signals things to the pitcher.

I watch the way the dust curls up in little plumes around him when he adjusts his stance.

I definitely watch when he stands up to shake out his legs, lifting off his mask and stepping back to speak with a man standing near him.

The hum gets worse as I stare at his face, an incessant pulse in time with my heartbeat. I want to go over and stand near enough to see his eyes. To hear the rolled vowels of his accent, and see the dirt clinging to the sweat on his skin. Honestly, I’d sort of like to lick it off.

Heat that has nothing to do with the sun burns low in my abdomen. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this level of attraction. Hell, I didn’t even know feeling like this just by looking at someone was possible. I barely know the guy. I shouldn’t want him this badly.

But I do. I turn to Max.

“Do you meet up with them after the game?”

“Oh.” He pauses, looking embarrassed, hand creeping up to rub at the back of his neck. “Luke doesn’t know I’m here, but yeah, sometimes I’ll go talk to Marcos afterward. It’s…I don’t make it to a lot of games, you know? With our schedule.”

“Mind if I tag along, today? Say hi to Marcos.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah,” Max agrees, looking surprised.

Fair, given that until an hour ago, he hadn’t even known that I knew who Marcos was.

I need to tone this shit down. Maybe do some breathing exercises so I’m cool and collected when I see Marcos after the game.

I need to be smooth Nate, not idiot-in-lust Nate.

The game takes forever, and by the time it’s over, I am no nearer calm and collected than I was when I first saw Marcos out on the field.

Kayla stands and stretches her arms above her head, yawning.

Max stands as well, fiddling once more with the hem of his shirt and watching the SCU baseball players almost avidly.

Pulling Kayla into my side with an arm over her shoulders, I give her a squeeze.

“I can get a ride back, Kay. Unless you’re sticking around to see Brandon?”

She fights another yawn. “I don’t know. I think I might just go back home. Are you sure you could get a ride, though? I don’t want to abandon you.”

“Oh, I’ll be all right. I can walk, too. It’s not too far.”

She eyes me, head tilted to the side a little quizzically. “Why do you need to say hi to this Marcos guy, anyway? Can’t you just text him or something?”

God, I fucking wish I could text him.

“I just want to congratulate him on…the baseball.” I wave my hand casually at the field. She laughs.

“Okay, weirdo.” Wrapping her arms around my middle, Kayla gives me a good hard squeeze. “Have fun, and text me when you get home so I know you didn’t get murdered.”

Slipping away down the row of seats, she says goodbye to Max and joins the throngs of people heading out. I grin at Max, who looks almost nervous.

“You ready to go find Luke and Marcos?” I ask, and his cheeks color a bit at the mention of his friends.

“Yeah. Come on, I usually meet Marcos down here.”

I follow behind him, wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on the legs of my pants.

I probably shouldn’t be doing this. Marcos gave no indication of wanting to see me again, but here I am forcing him into it anyway.

There’s no way I can play this off as a happy accident—not when I’m attaching myself to his roommate and literally trailing him to the locker rooms as we speak.

He’s going to think I’m some sort of creepy stalker.

“I just wait out here,” Max says, stopping in the hallway, and gesturing vaguely toward the locker room door. He leans back against the cement wall, sighing and rubbing a hand across his eyes.

“You probably should have skipped the game tonight and just gone to bed,” I joke. He looks exhausted .

“Yeah, probably. I don’t get many opportunities to come, though. Marcos makes it to more of my stuff than I do his,” he admits guiltily.

“And Luke?”

“Oh.” Max clears his throat, eyes skittering away from mine. “He’s my…well, I just met him.”

“Cool,” I say with a smile, thinking that maybe Luke is Max’s Marcos. It seems that crushes on baseball players are a dime a dozen around here.

Leaning back against the wall across from Max, I settle in to wait with him.

Some of the guys stop and chat with me on their way by—ones I’ve had classes with, or met up with at parties.

I wish they wouldn’t. The likelihood of Marcos slipping out and walking past without seeing me is a hell of a lot higher when Tad’s big-ass body is blocking my view of the door.

“Yeah, I’ll text you and maybe we can meet up?” I say, desperately trying to get him to move on. He grins and slaps me on the shoulder.

“Sure, man. See you around.”

Max opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it closed as the door opens and a man walks out with a bag slung over his shoulder. It’s not Marcos, but something about the look on Max’s face makes me think this is Luke.

“Max!” the guy exclaims, smiling so wide it takes up half his face. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump, and leans forward to kiss Max’s cheek. I turn away, trying to hide my grin. Max’s cheeks are red, and he’s got one hand clamped over the back of his neck.

“Hey, Luke. Hi.”

“Hello, you,” Luke responds. Max looks pleased enough to melt into the floor .

I don’t bother interrupting them to introduce myself, but do my best to become deaf and invisible against the opposite wall. Walking a few paces down the hall, I run my hands through my hair a couple times and smooth the front of my shirt.

Come on, Marcos, where are you?