“I knew you’d have me in your room someday, Pole Girl.”
Cara looks up from her phone, the lines between her brow pinched. “Dream on, buddy.”
I laugh. God, she’s so frustratingly cute. “Come on, admit it. You were a little excited to see me.”
“Mmm, no. Not really.” She’s almost believable, but the slight blushing gives her away.
“I brought a peace offering. You love me.”
She looks down at her drink, and a faint smile touches her lips. Yeah, she likes my gesture. She then stretches across her bed and places the cup on her desk.
“I do appreciate the thought, but you may want to seek professional help for your constant hot and cold swings.” Her petite nose scrunches as she drops her voice. “There may be something seriously wrong with your mental state.”
As Cara glares at me, I sense Shannon’s scowl. I’m messing up by teasing Cara in front of my sister. Not that I ever would, but Shannon never wanted me to hit on her friends. They, of course, took every opportunity they could to hit on me. The fact I had a serious girlfriend all of senior year didn’t matter. I think that knowledge served to entice them. But Shannon can scowl at me all she wants. Cara’s mine. Mine?
I shake that thought away and man up. “Sorry I wasn’t in a good mood yesterday.”
“Apparently.” Cara pushes off her bed and heads to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
When she exits, I turn into Shannon’s fist and flinch more out of surprise than actual pain. Regardless, I rub my stomach where her punch landed. “What’s that for?”
“Can you please not hit on my roommate?”
“I’m not.” I toss my hands up as if I’m innocent, but she’s not buying my act.
“Sure, you’re not. You’ve even given her a nickname. A horrible one, but one all the same.”
I groan. I knew she’d read more in to that than what’s there. “You’re wrong. I’m not interested.”
“Although, she doesn’t seem to be putting up with your string of bullshit. I like her even more.”
“I’m not flirting with her.” Much. “I don’t like her that way. I’m just having fun.”
“Oh, sure.”
“I’m serious. I don’t. She’s way too infuriating to keep around. Besides, you know I don’t date.” A pang of uneasiness punches my stomach as the words leave my mouth, but no way am I admitting any feelings around my sister. It’s bad enough she’s picking up on the vibe.
“Which is why I don’t want you sniffing around her.”
I flash her my smile and lie. “No problem.”
“I’m serious. If I can’t date anyone from the baseball team, you can’t date my roommates.”
I study her. Her face is set in determination as if begging for a challenge. Since I don’t plan on actually dating, I agree. “Fine.”
“You know what your problem is, big brother?”
“If I answer, will you drop the subject?”
She pins me with a look and then continues. “You’ve had it too easy. You’re blind to what’s going on.”
“Whatever. I think the smoke inhalation must’ve affected your brain cells.”
“Keep denying it all you want, but after Jasmine—”
“Don’t.” My warning interrupts, but I don’t finish the thought. Cara walks back in, officially shutting down the conversation. If she senses the tension between my sister and me, she doesn’t say. But she doesn’t come any closer either. Our gazes hold for a beat, and then Shannon’s cell buzzes.
“Ooh, this is Cindy. I’ll be right back.”
Shannon breezes past Cara whose legs remain rooted in place. Her oval-shaped eyes fixate on me as if daring me to make a move. A burst of energy pulsates through me. To hell with what Shannon says; I can’t seem to stay away from this girl. With no one here to stop me, I stalk to where Cara stands. By the way her eyes widen and darken, she’s feeling this vibe too.
For each forward step I take, Cara matches my stride, stepping back. We do this dance until her back is flush against the wall, and our bodies barely touch. I rest my palms against the blue paint, caging her in. Her quick, short breaths mimic mine, and I can’t resist any longer. I lean closer and breathe in her scent. She smells so damn good, all clean and minty. I want nothing more than to rip her booty shorts off and take her right here. Right now.
I’ve been around enough girls to recognize the expensive perfume. If she comes from money, she sure doesn’t let on—my gaze roams over her too large T-shirt—or dress like it. What are you trying to hide, Pole Girl?
“You can deny me all you want, but I’m going to break you.” My warning comes out raspy but strong.
“You can try, but it will never work.” The crack in her voice draws a smile from me. I drop my gaze to her slightly parted lips that practically beg for me to take them. I don’t. It’s too soon.
“Don’t be so sure. Admit it. You’d rather have me here than your boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
My body has a strange reaction from the strength of her denial. “No? Then I was right. You do want me inside your room.”
“Not on your life.”
I position my lips next to her ear, her breast pressing into my chest. I’d bet the championship she can feel my own hardness pressed against her. “You drive me crazy.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“You make me feel like I’m swinging strikes around you. But deep down, you want me. I know it. You know it. I see it in every shudder whenever I’m near.”
And on cue, a slight wave works through her as her nipples poke into my chest.
Fuck me if she doesn’t feel incredible.
“You’re wrong.” There’s a slight lift to her chin—a direct challenge that’d be believable if it wasn’t for the desire flickering behind her stare. The feel of her nipples brushing against the hardness of my chest, her sweet scent filling the air, it all consumes me. All I can think about is wanting her. Every piece of her.
“Damn, you drive me crazy.” Before I can stop myself, my mouth claims hers without hesitation or warning. I’m running on pure adrenaline fueled from the desire percolating between us. I run my tongue across those lips that have been unconsciously teasing me since the day we met and say a silent prayer she’ll open up. I want to taste her so badly and explore that sassy mouth of hers. When her lips part, I do just that. I slip my tongue in and drown in everything Cara.
She tastes of blueberry tea and everything I knew she would: sweet, delicious, and mine. My hands weave through her hair as I slant my mouth over hers. She groans, her body practically melting against me.
I need to get away from her before following through with what I really want to do. Pulling my lips away, I’m met with a lustful, confused gaze that I’m one hundred percent sure matches mine. One corner of my lip raises to a smirk.
“Yeah, you like me here. It’s just a matter of time until you’ll be begging for me to come inside,” I say before stepping through the door.
She exhales sharply as my double entendre hangs in the air. I’ll bide my time for now. As for my performance… Well, I either hit it out of the park or struck out swinging.
Chapter Eighteen
CARA
Rumors are the bane of civilization. My fire article dropped a couple of hours ago, and I’ve already heard two conspiracy theories while walking over to the biochemistry lab. Alan was right. People do move on to the next shiny object. It’s just, that shiny object is something that can create more harm than necessary.
Ugh, why did I have to overhear that conversation? Then I wouldn’t have written the stupid article and placed myself in this situation. I step to the laboratory door and pause.
Who knew a metal door can be what separates me from facing reality? I stand there and weigh my options: to ditch or not to ditch. I sigh. The former isn’t reality, and the latter means facing Braxton sooner than I want. But it’s more than the article coming
out; it’s seeing him for the first time since we kissed. No matter how incredible the kiss was, it can’t happen again. I need to maintain my distance from him. We can’t start anything. Not when I’m harboring this guilt from writing the articles. I don’t look for that to change anytime soon.
“Are you going in?” a guy from class asks.
“Yeah, I was trying to remember if I had everything first,” I lie. My phone buzzes, saving me from this awkward moment. He bypasses me while I decline the unknown number. It’s a local number, but I’ve adopted the mind-set if it’s important they’ll leave a message.
I decide to suck it up and face reality. I push through the door to find Braxton sitting at our desk. He greets me with a warm smile, and I take that as him not knowing about the article. My shoulders relax. This won’t be so bad after all.
“You were gone when I went over to Shannon’s apartment Sunday.” There’s a slight accusation to his tone, but I play dumb.
“I went to visit my brother and his girlfriend.”
“Trying to hide from me, huh?”
Yes. “Arrogant much? I have no reason to hide.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, but pretty soon, you’re going to run out of hiding places.” His look is so intent I almost forget what I’m supposed to be worried about.
“Are you the big bad wolf and will hunt me down?” Jesus, my flirting skills suck when I’m under duress, but the wicked grin expanding across his face makes any cheesy-ass line worth it. This is not maintaining my distance from him.
“To the ends of the earth, Pole Girl. You’re not escaping me that easily.” He leans in closer. “And we’re definitely kissing again.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Pretty confident about yourself, aren’t you?”
“You know it. This weekend’s pretty much a bust. My dad’s coming to visit one of the days, but there’s a party the following weekend.”
My heart skips a beat. Is he trying to ask me out? My phone pings a reminder of the missed voicemail. He pauses and looks down at my phone.
“You better get that in case it’s important.”
No, I want to know if you’re asking me out. When he doesn’t answer my internal plea, I reluctantly pull up the voicemail. The recording plays, and when the speaker introduces himself, my gasp is unstoppable. My heart pounds against my chest for all the wrong reasons. I swallow hard, trying to mask my reaction. But this is bad. Very, very bad.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, trying to play it off as nothing. I can’t tell him the reason behind the call. No way. When the dean wants to speak to you, there’s never a good enough explanation. I hit end and plaster on a fake smile. “I’m fine. It’s just family business. Nothing serious.”
Tryce picks that moment to enter. He flashes me an all-knowing grin, and I have no clue why. He turns to Braxton, and his smile fades. “I’m glad your sister’s fine since one of your teammates tried to burn the dorm down.”
Oh, shit.
“What do mean?”
“You haven’t heard? You should read today’s Rumor Has It piece. The reporter nailed the article about the fire. They may have overheard the arsonist’s plan.”
Braxton flinches and whips his phone out. I don’t even have to ask what he’s doing because I know. He’s searching for the damn article.
“They haven’t determined the cause yet, have they?” I ask.
“Not yet, but they’re linking today’s article with the suspicious substance they found on the floor it broke out in.”
How the hell does he know this? Surely, there isn’t any truth to that.
“Son of a bitch. Is this reporter mocking the situation, or did she know this was going to happen?” Braxton’s eyes narrow as he reads. “My sister could’ve died. There were students that suffered smoke inhalation. One’s still in the hospital in serious condition. If that had been my sister…” He slams his fist against the hard tabletop.
I place my hand on his arm. “She’s okay.”
“You don’t understand. She has a medical condition. Before school started, she had an episode. If she—” He shakes his head in bewilderment. “Never mind. You’re right. She’s safe.”
I lick my lips as the guilt digs in deeper. I’m in so much shit here.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” The chair teeters as he stands, and I’m alarmed by his abruptness.
“Where are you going?”
“To get answers.”
I watch his backside as he leaves, and I know he’s off to see Alan. I need to stress to Alan I don’t want to continue writing these articles. I’m two for two with causing controversies or pain for Braxton. I knew these articles were a bad idea. I close my eyes. The dean’s message was clear. He wants to know where I heard these rumors. One thing holds true. There’s truth behind this particular article and not assumptions like Braxton’s. But all hell will break out if he ever finds out I wrote these. Which solidifies the fact I need to stay away.
Chapter Nineteen
BRAXTON
I struck out with Cara.
Sort of. It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m nowhere closer to being with her than before. Part of the reason for not seeing her is my own fault. This week has been busy trying to pin down this Mel G. character. Her information is locked down tighter than the government’s servers. Even if they find no foul play, I’d like to know if this article was written before or after the fire.
The other reason is, I’ve been waiting for Dad’s visit. The last thing I need is one of the guys making a comment about a girl. If Dad suspects anything remotely serious, he’ll never stop riding me. It isn’t as if he wants me to be celibate, but no distractions mean no long-term commitments. Hell, casual dating would be frowned upon.
But the constant banter, that unique repartee Cara and I have together, hasn’t slowed. Not one bit. She’s still the most annoyingly seductive lab partner I’ve ever had, and I can’t deny this attraction between us any longer.
Martin steps to the plate as practice resumes and pulls my thoughts back to the field. Martin has one job—hit into double-plays. Position-specific drills are, hands down, one of my favorite parts of practice. I love honing my skill and perfecting my footwork, but today, I’m not feeling it. I miss my first baseman, Rick. And it’s not that Dalton’s doing a bad job. He’s on the same level as Rick, maybe a little better. But I can’t shake this nagging sensation hosting a party in my gut.
There’s a lot of pressure to perform this year. With the help of my bat, we should go far in the championship games. I want the title. We came close last year, losing in the second round of the College World Series. This year, we’re expected to make it to the semi-finals, possibly the championship. Our team is solid. It could carry through to next year as long as the core members don’t get drafted. Like me.
The ball pops off Martin’s bat and heads straight to our shortstop, Garret. I rush to second base and plant my left foot on the backside. I move my right foot toward the ball and catch Garret’s throw. There’s one. In one smooth motion, I throw the ball toward first while positioning my feet. The runner—an overreaching freshman—slides into second base. Hard. I jump over him to avoid the collision.
“It’s only practice. First rule: don’t wipe out your teammate.” I keep focus on the play the entire time I ream this kid a new asshole. The runner sprints down the first base line, but Dalton catches my offside throw and somehow spins around and applies the sweep. There’s two.
A rather sloppy performance on my end, but the outcome remains the same.
“Nice catch, Dalton,” Noah yells and then looks toward me. He doesn’t say anything, but I can read his mind perfectly. He isn’t thinking about niceties. At least the blame doesn’t fall entirely on me, but the other bobbles, well…I won’t go there.
The coach claps his hands and blows his whistle, giving me the excuse to ignore Noah’s concerned look. Everyone scrambles back into position, and we continue a
few more drills before moving to full team drills. I take in the scene around me: the overzealous freshman stepping off first base and Garret flashing me an everything-is-cool sign. It’s baseball. It’s who I am. Despite the constant tug-of-war of indecisions playing in my head, it feels good to be on the baseball field. My feet planted on the grass is right where I belong.
This is our year. No matter what happens in the impending draft, they can’t take this year away. Every sensible bone in my body tells me to opt-out of the draft, but in baseball, that isn’t an option. Which is a shame because it’s the best scenario even though it would disappoint so many people, including my dad. And I can’t handle letting him down.
I continue with the practice, but I’m not giving it one hundred percent. It’s not intentional on my part. Okay, so maybe it is to some degree, but I can’t wrap my head around the fact this may be my last year with everyone. That I may not get the degree I want. I let out a curse, grabbing my bat and glove, and then head toward the locker rooms. But I don’t get far when my dad steps out from the shadows and cuts me off. I knit my brows, wondering why he kept out of sight.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know you’re slacking.” Worry lines crease his forehead. His gaze roams over me as if he has X-ray vision and can diagnose an injury. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Your shoulder giving you trouble? Elbow?”
“No, Dad, I’m fine. Just having an off day.”
His jaw sets into a hard line. “Don’t lose focus, son. This is a critical season. The last thing you want to do is derail your chances.”
“I know. Trust me. There’s nothing to worry about.” I force a smile. He’s only looking out for my interests, but sometimes I wish he’d let me be.
SWINGING STRIKE: Cessna U Wildcats Book One Page 13
