by Ginger Scott
“We moved here for family too, sorta. I came to play ball with my cousin. He’s here, somewhere.” I glance over my shoulder only to find that everyone in the back yard has disappeared. We’re completely alone out here.
“I’d introduce you, but . . .” I hold out open palms when I look back to her and she giggles. The sound she makes pushes my half smile up high into my cheeks, and I quickly realize I’m grinning like a fool. I don’t stop it, though. I let the ache remain on my foolish face because I think maybe I’ve just met my soulmate in pinstripes.
“We must have missed the memo,” she says, looking beyond me and into the house.
It was after eleven when Zack and I left the house, so I’m guessing the countdown is probably on for the new year.
“You wanna go in?” I ask her, moving my gaze back to her eyes. This time, she dares me, studying my face closely like she’s waiting to call my bluff. I don’t have one. I’ll literally go wherever she tells me to. I’m hoping—
“I don’t like crowds. You cool ringing in the new year out here with some girl from Staten Island?”
Foolish grin makes its second appearance on my face, so I lick my lips to tame it just a little.
“Not at all,” I say, leaning forward with my feet on the ground and elbows on my knees. “Though, you’re an Allensville girl now, aren’t you?”
She breathes out a laugh and stands, stretching her arms to the sky. It lifts her jersey and sweatshirt just enough that I get a glimpse of her cream-colored skin and the silver stud in her belly button. I never thought that would be my thing, but it’s totally my thing. Maybe it’s only my thing on beautiful blondes from Staten Island.
“Let me get used to being an Indiana girl for a while, then we can move on to the local titles, yeah?” She sounds so tough when she talks, and the contrast with her angelic face would be almost comical if it weren’t so goddamned mesmerizing.
I stand so I can match her height, and maybe get a better read on whether it’s okay to kiss a girl you just met at a party you didn’t really want to go to. I kinda think maybe it is, but only because she didn’t really want to be here either. And because she’s wearing a Jeter jersey. And because I’m pretty sure her eyes have put a spell on me.
With a foot of space between us, I measure how close we come in height while she glances around me to the house filled with people who have started counting down from ten. I was right to guess we’re only two or three inches apart. She licks the corner of her lips and smiles, her cheeks suddenly red, and not from the heat of the fire.
“Happy New Year, Hollis from Indiana,” I say, my lips in a closed-lip smile to stem off the hungry vibrations urging my body to lunge at her and taste her tongue with mine.
“Happy New Year, Cannon from Indiana,” she says back, biting her lower lip but only briefly. She’s trying to keep up the act that she’s tougher than I am. Maybe she is.
I step toward her, my movement slow and cautious while I read her body language. She doesn’t move away, and her hands aren’t nervously fidgeting at her sides. They’re tucked in the pocket of her hoodie, the front of the jersey lifted so she can slip them inside the warmth underneath. She’s so calm I’d almost think she’s sleeping with her eyes open, but I know she’s not. She’s staring at me with a dare—a welcoming dare.
I take another small step, lifting my hand to her chin and touching the pad of my thumb to the soft skin just below her pouting lip. I brush away her hair and bring my other hand up to cup her face.
“Happy New Year,” I whisper one last time, mostly to test the waters and see if she flinches. She merely breathes the words back and closes the remaining inches between our mouths until we’re locked in an electrifying kiss that feels like fucking home. I lift her chin, coaxing her mouth open just enough for me to slip my tongue inside to taste her sweet mouth. Her lips move with me, and her hands come up to grab at the front of my own hoodie, tugging on the strings as she slips away slowly with a giggle.
My face is numb in the wake of our kiss. It was ten seconds of my life, but quickly rockets up on my top-five moments list.
“Thanks for the New Year’s kiss, Cannon. I have to get home, but . . . maybe we can hang out sometime?” She lets go of the strings, her finger drawing a line down the center of my chest as she backs away.
“Most definitely,” I say, a bit stupefied that I’ve been so quickly whipped by a girl I barely know. Maybe it’s the haze of New Year’s Eve, or maybe I really have been overworking myself and I’m exhausted. Whatever it is, I’m grinning like an idiot again and it doesn’t go away for the rest of the night.
***
I’ve never had a coach want to hold a meeting with his potential players on January second, but that’s what makes coming here an even better decision. Coach Taylor has a reputation for being stern, and he sent us all texts on New Year’s Day telling us he wanted to get started with workouts before tryouts come up. There was a subtle overtone that the serious players would be here, so Zack and I got here before anyone else just to prove we’re a cut above dedicated.
It’s cold as hell outside, so Coach invited us all in to the small clubhouse behind the dugout. This might be a great program I’m walking into, but the facility is shit. Back home, we had brand new everything. My school was barely eight years old, which in terms of a high school lifespan is infant-like. This place was built in fifty-seven. This clubhouse has a plate on the door that says DEDICATED IN 1965. I’m not sure we aren’t breathing in lead and asbestos.
“Gentlemen,” Coach says, clearing his throat and getting our attention. There’s another cough from the back, but I can’t quite see who it’s from. From the way it sounded, it came off a little bit snarky, like someone making fun of the new coach’s style. Coach seems to have picked up on the same nuance I did because he’s staring back there with a scowl on his face.
Bad idea, dude, whoever you are.
“First, thank you all for coming in today. The bad news is this isn’t just a meeting. We’ll be running two miles, too. I’d like to see you all come in under ten minutes by the time season starts.”
The collective groan is comical. Me and Zack, though . . . we keep our mouths shut. Some of the guys showed up in slip-ons, and I have a sneaking suspicion Coach is not going to care. They’ll be running in those or barefoot. Zack and I always dress. In fact, we have our gear and cleats in the car just in case.
Coach spends the next few minutes going over basics, like I had to do at my old school. I’ve already taken care of the things on the list like my physical and the waiver forms. I zone out through most of his talk, but perk up when he mentions competing for roster spots. Zack doesn’t flinch, probably because he’s been the starting catcher since freshman year. He’s solid. I am too. Hell, from what Zack told me, I will probably be the ace this year; but still, it’s never good to assume. There’s always someone working hard out there. I just have to work harder.
“I’ll be pairing you guys for head-to-heads and training. Competition fosters greatness, and I don’t believe positions are guaranteed. They are earned. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” we all say. Funny how we know we’re supposed to.
“Okay, so listen for your names to be called. This will be your group until we move into official tryouts in a month and I have our final roster. I’m keeping fifteen, and other than pitchers, some of you might not get to play. If you’re okay with that, stick around. If not, well . . . thanks for coming in today.”
Nobody leaves, but I can tell a few of the guys sitting in front of Zack and me want to. I glance sideways at Zack and he just lifts his brows.
“This guy isn’t fucking around,” he says.
I breathe out a laugh and shake my head.
“Jennings,” Coach says.
Zack and I both answer.
“Oh, right. I meant Cannon first. Pitcher only, right?” Coach peers at me, his finger pushing up the brim of his hat just enough to bring his eyes out of th
e shadow. They’re crystal blue and a bit like lasers, wrinkled at the corners from squinting in the sun for years, I imagine.
“Yes, sir,” I respond.
He nods and makes a note on his clipboard.
“Jennings, Zack,” he says, reading my cousin’s name as it’s probably written. “You’ll be working with Hollis.”
Hollis? I casually glance around the room, not seeing the girl of my dreams. Maybe I didn’t hear it right.
The first thing I notice on Zack is the way his forehead creases, a dent between his brows like it’s been hit with a marble. His mouth is parked in an O shape, so I slide my right foot into his to jostle him from this sudden state.
“Hollis . . . uhm, okay. Sure . . . ” He heard the same name I did. He also did not say yes, sir, and given the way Coach narrowed his eyes on him, it was not the right move.
Coach holds his clipboard against his chest, folding his arms over it and leaning his head to the side. I think if he could give Zack a detention for that answer, he would.
“Is there a problem with that?” Coach’s brows are lifted in expectation. I tap my foot against Zack again, willing him to respond.
“No, sir. No,” he sputters out.
“Good,” Coach says. “You might learn a thing or two from her.”
From her. Oh . . . fuck.
“You mind working out with a girl, Jennings?” Her voice is as rich with her Staten Island roots as it was when I kissed her two nights ago. Puzzle pieces fly together, her accent . . . Coach’s accent. His eyes and her eyes. New to town—her dad moved for work.
I turn just enough to catch her pulling her catcher’s helmet and mask from her head, her blonde hair tied up in a knot at the base of her neck.
“Gear’s a little tight, but it should do,” she says, handing it to her dad.
Fuck me, that’s her dad.
“Thanks for taking it for a ride,” he says, nodding to his daughter.
Fuck me, that’s his daughter.
“Sure, but next time . . . remember it’s ladies and gentlemen when you’re talking to us, ’kay?” she says, reaching forward and punching his arm playfully. Guess I know where the laugh came from when he started his speech. Pretty sure he’s not going to punish her for it, either, on account of her being right and all. Oh, and being his freaking spawn.
“Hey, Cannon from Indiana,” she says, the same mischievous bend to her lips that made me feel absolutely drunk on her mouth forty-eight hours ago.
I don’t dare respond with the same flirtatious tone I used last time, instead opting to nod as she backs away with a wink. I think I just got played.
“Your partner is leaving without you, son,” Coach says to Zack. My cousin is still a bit stiff from the shock of having to fight for his position . . . against his new coach’s daughter. Talk about delicate.
“Oh, yeah . . . thank you. I’ll catch up,” Zack says, his words all jumbled and hesitant. His confidence literally just crawled away and sank through the cracks of the clubhouse’s concrete floor.
Not wanting the same fate, I grab my bag from under the bench so I can escape without taking more blows to my ego. I’m nearly out, too, when Coach stops me by hollering my name. I turn with my back flat on the door, my mouth suddenly dry with the unknown of what’s next.
“I see you know my daughter.”
There’s a pregnant pause that’s thick enough to choke our football team’s offensive line. I keep expecting him to say more, to ask a question or shoot me some warning to stay away from her, which of course I will absolutely obey. He doesn’t. Just that one statement, along with his laser stare from his weathered death eyes.
“A little. We just met,” I say, finally, my delayed response clearly exposing my nerves.
“Hmm,” he says with a nod.
I pull my lips in tight, mostly to keep from saying anything else.
“Go on,” he says, after another painful pause.
Yes, sir. I only think it this time.
I round the clubhouse and look out on the track, where Hollis is literally about to lap someone. Zack hasn’t even finished tying his laces. My cousin is in trouble, but not as much as I am. If I want to make it to Vandy, or anywhere like Vandy, I need to be at the top of my game. One midnight kiss, though, and my season is cursed. So help me if that vixen ends up calling my pitches.
PREORDER NOW!
Cannon and Hollis’s story continues in Varsity Rulebreaker,
releasing Oct. 8, 2020.
Now available for preorder here:
https://amzn.to/3bgh7pN
Acknowledgments
I fell in love with Tory D’Angelo somewhere around the first 30 pages of Varsity Heartbreaker. To keep this smart-ass boy at bay while I finished writing his best friend’s story (well, both best friends, since June is also his best friend) was no easy task. He was persuasive and insistent in my head, talking to me when I was trying to sleep at night with his cute little “oh, and I’m gonna be funny, right? And unpredictably thoughtful? And you’ll write me hot, right? Like, abs and all that shit but also perfect hair, and…I like nice clothes. Give me good style.”
Tory got his way. And I hope you guys did too. I hope you enjoyed his angsty ride through his senior year, his ups and downs, and the way love and life played out. I was just the chick at the keyboard for this one. That story is all him. And of course, Cannon is already talking.
As always, full credit goes to my team that holds me up. This starts with my rock, my sweet Autumn. Bless you for having the same F’d up sleeping schedule I do, my friend. And thank you for every single thing you do for me. It’s far beyond the PA and publicist job title. It’s really more of a confidence whisperer/life coach/guide. My betas, Jen, Shelley, TeriLyn—I love you and am so glad you tolerate the pieced-together way I send you things. One day you’ll get the whole thing at once (probably not, but it felt good to put that in writing). Brenda Letendre and Tina Scott, your edits help me find my best foot and put it forward. Lost without you.
If you enjoyed this book, I would be SO VERY GRATEFUL if you could leave a review. The book market is a lot like swimming through mud sometimes, and getting the word out in this increasingly noisy world is becoming so hard. I am incredibly thankful to my readers and supporters for every boost they give. It’s those viral shares, the recommendations to friends, that help get my stories seen, and I don’t for one minute take any of that for granted. I get to do this because you give me your time and your passion—you tell others to give my books a try. My stories are for you and you alone. Well, maybe a little for me, too, but without you all, there’s really no heart. You are the heart—my heart. Thank you for letting it beat so wildly!
Also By Ginger Scott
The Varsity Series
Varsity Heartbreaker
Varsity Tiebreaker
Varsity Rulebreaker (October 2020)
The Waiting Series
Waiting on the Sidelines
Going Long
The Hail Mary
Like Us Duet
A Boy Like You
A Girl Like Me
The Falling Series
This Is Falling
You And Everything After
The Girl I Was Before
In Your Dreams
The Harper Boys
Wild Reckless
Wicked Restless
Standalone Reads
Cowboy Villain Damsel Duel
Drummer Girl
BRED
Cry Baby
The Hard Count
Memphis
Hold My Breath
Blindness
How We Deal With Gravity
About the Author
Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice and Rita Award-nominated author from Peoria, Arizona. She is the author of several young and new adult romances, including bestsellers Cry Baby, The Hard Count, A Boy Like You, This Is Falling and Wild Reckless.
A sucker for a good romance, Ginge
r's other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son swing for the fences or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).
FIND GINGER ONLINE: www.littlemisswrite.com
