You’re the One I Don’t Want

by Carrie Aarons

  In the car, we’d talked about the paint colors for the dining room, whether or not James was going to put wainscoting on the hallway stairs, and if we could afford a new sectional and still be on budget for our clients.

  And by the time I looked up, I thought we’d be outside of my dorm, where they’d dropped me dozens of times.

  Instead, I found myself at a fan appreciation day for the Austin farm team that Boone had been drafted to.

  I could kill these two right now, I swear.

  “Oh, honey, you’re like a darn child, I swear,” Ramona twanged and smiled.

  I was trying to be invisible, sink into the ground or blend into the bleachers or something. I should have just stayed in the car, feigning a headache or something so that they would hurry this up. But they caught me off guard, suggesting we go in to see the rookie, Boone Graham. As if I’d had a choice, James had already parked the truck and was halfway across the parking lot before I blew out a frustrated breath.

  We were behind the fence of a practice baseball field, the chain link reaching high into the sky. I think this facility was supposed to appear like a little league field, except that it was so state-of-the-art, they weren’t fooling anybody. Perfectly manicured grass, the cement bowl of a stadium behind us, with red and gray seats for fans to watch from. There were professional food vendors up on the top tier, and even a wall in the outfield modeled after the Green Monster. Yes, I might be a fashion-loving home decor nut, but I know a little bit about baseball.

  When Boone and I had been together, it hadn’t been baseball season. I’d never gotten to wear his jersey and sit in the stands, cheering when he hit a home run. Being here, in the state that we were in, is weird. But also intimate. I could feel him in every part of this sport. The slow, deliberate nature of it. The quiet process of strategy. The way that it was both relaxed and completely on edge all at the same time.

  “Look, he’s coming over! BOONE! SIGN MY HAT!” James took his ball cap off his head and swung it above him like a crazy person.

  People were looking now, pointing out that James Hart was here, and he wanted to meet the rookie. Honestly, James and Ramona were probably bigger draws here than any of the players.

  Boone begins slowly moseying over with some of his teammates to say hi to the celebrities who’d come to see him practice, and I want to melt into the dirt beneath my feet.

  Ramona leans over and whispers, “Oh, Anna, look how cute he is. I swear if I was twenty years younger …”

  You’re not kidding, sister, I thought.

  And cute would not be the word I would use. It was the pants, those goddamn baseball pants. Tight, white and plastered to his carved thigh muscles, I bet the view from the back looks even better. His forearms are covered in mud, his shirt in dust, and sweat trickles from his temples.

  Boone looks like some kind of porno fantasy, and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from panting.

  Why did the guy I was supposed to hate have to be so freaking hot?

  He hasn’t seen me yet, and I half-hide behind Ramona as they come up to the chain-link fence.

  “What’re you doing?” She swats at me, annoyed as I try to cling to her back.

  “Hey, man, thanks for coming out.”

  I hear the gruffness of Boone’s voice as he walks around the fence, and from my half hidden view, with all of my hair thrust over my face as if that’ll keep him from recognizing me, I see him extend a hand to James.

  “We’re just happier than pigs in shit to welcome you back to Texas. You’re going to be a hell of a player for our boys in the big leagues someday.” James is like the mascot of the cowboy boots and big hair parade.

  “Oh, well, that’s sure nice of you to say. I just hope I can live up to all the expectations.”

  Ramona steps toward him, shaking his hand and revealing me. “Oh, don’t listen to him. You’ll do just fine, darlin’.”

  But Boone is staring at me. He’s not exactly annoyed, although there is some flintiness to his eyes. No, I think he’s more amused at me trying to hide behind Ramona’s leg like a five-year-old.

  “Annabelle … didn’t think you liked baseball all that much.” He smiles sarcastically at me.

  My stomach drops, because he’s revealed that we know each other. And when a cute boy shows any kind of interest in me in front of Ramona, she starts planning showers and weddings.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you two know each other.” She smacks her hands together and gives me a you’ve-got-some-explaining-to-do look.

  Before I can talk, Boone cuts me off. “We went to high school together.”

  James’ mouth drops open. “Bells, you didn’t want to mention that? Jeez, I’ve only been talking about the guy for weeks!”

  He always calls me this nickname, even though I’ve told him I hate it. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

  Boone narrows his eyes, and Ramona has this look on her face that I know is just downright bad.

  “Say, we have to go to this meeting and don’t have time to drop Annabelle off at her dorm. Boone, do you think you could do us a favor? If it’s not too much trouble? It’ll give you two some time to catch up.”

  Oh, no she didn’t. “No, really, that’s okay. I can call a cab.”

  “Now, Boone, you wouldn’t make this girl take a cab, would you?” James seems to be backing his wife’s idea, and even winks at me.

  I am so enraged that I swear, my head is about to pop off and start whistling like a scalding hot teakettle.

  Boone must be stuck between a rock and a hard place, having these influencers in Texas tell him to take me home. I can tell he doesn’t want to, even shoots me a dirty look like this was my idea, but that if he doesn’t, these two local celebrities might tell people he refused.

  “Sure, fine. I’ll be back to take you home,” Boone grumbles and walks off, his entire mood shifting.

  “Great, we’ll call you tomorrow!” Ramona singsongs and hugs me, hauling James off before I can rip them both a new one.

  Then it hits me.

  I’m going to have to sit in Boone’s car, alone, for half an hour.

  What the hell have my bosses gotten me into?

  Twelve

  Annabelle

  “I swear, I didn’t come here of my own volition.”

  I make a conscious effort to sit up straight as if this will help protect my head and heart from the panic attack threatening to melt them down.

  I’ve been sitting in a stadium seat for the last half an hour, alone, while Boone went to shower in the locker room. I could kill Ramona for leaving me here to live out her diabolical plan. I’ve nearly gotten up and left numerous times, but the stadium is in the middle of nowhere and it’s an awkward time to catch an Uber. Plus, it’s getting late and I’m not stupid enough to stand out in the streets in a part of town I don’t really know.

  I watch those Dateline shows.

  “If I was dumb, which you clearly think I am, I would almost believe that.” Boone stands above me, changed into blue jeans and a maroon T-shirt, his brown hair freshly washed.

  He smells like leather and cinnamon, and I’m surprised to realize that he wears the same cologne he did all those years ago when we’d been together.

  I cross my arms over my chest, my inner-evil twin wanting so badly to come out and play. “And if I was dumb, which clearly I’m not, I would have come here to actually see you. But, like I said, I didn’t. I was dragged here by my bosses. I have absolutely no interest in a sport where grown men stand out in a bug-infested field trying to catch a ball.”

  We stare each other down for what feels like a month until I blink and look away first. His gaze directly on me is unnerving.

  Boone sits down next to me, sighing. “Someone up there in the universe wants us to talk, I suppose.”

  I shuffle my shoes on the concrete stadium row.

  “We don’t even know each other anymore. There is nothing to talk about.” I huff.

  Boone eyes me,
a small smile playing at his lips. “Don’t tell me there is nothing still between us, Annabelle. Even if we don’t want it, there is still a spark. There is animosity, there is … something.”

  I dare to look at him. “You’re right, I don’t want this. We barely knew each other back then, we were just stupid high school kids. You don’t know me now. I don’t know you.”

  I didn’t understand what there was to talk about. Couldn’t he just take me home? I don’t want to be mature and have closure, not with him. Not when he is trying to make me admit that there is something between us. Because obviously there is, it’s like a damn inferno between us. But I couldn’t let him see that he was getting to me, just like he had always gotten to me ever since the day I laid eyes on him when I was sixteen.

  “I do know you,” Boone says quietly.

  I can’t help it, I fully look at him now. The side of his face, speckled with stubble, those long eyelashes looking straight forward.

  “What do you know about me?” I find that I’m breathless.

  Boone takes a deep breath.

  “You’re drama, Annabelle. You think everyone is going to leave you, so you push them to the limits of destruction to see if they’ll blow up at you. And me? I’m not into that. I didn’t need to declare my love for you after two days together, and you couldn’t stand it.”

  That’s really all he thinks of me? The hope that had blossomed in my chest in thinking he might confess how incredible he thinks I am is extinguished so quickly that I might have whiplash. Even though I should harness my inner mature woman, I can’t. My blood is beginning to boil at his assumption about me. But especially at his last statement, that I wanted him to … what? Be my knight in shining armor? Please.

  “No, what I couldn’t stand was that you wouldn’t even acknowledge that I did mean something to you! Boone, you couldn’t tell me that you cared for me. You were always so wrapped up in you, that you barely saw me.”

  The floodgates are going to open. If the universe wanted us to get it all out, here they have it.

  He shakes his head. “That’s not true at all. I saw you. I’ve always seen you. Christ, Anna, it’s impossible not to see you. You’re radiant; the word beautiful was created specifically to describe you.”

  We both fall silent for a moment, our ragged breaths mingling in the air. I can’t tell if he’s going to bury his hands in my hair and kiss me or turn around and run away as fast as he can.

  “But there is much more than attraction that makes up a relationship. Compromise, support, kindness, humor, compassion … you don’t possess those, Anna. Or at least, I never saw that. Admit it, you liked me half as much as you did because I was a popular senior.”

  I make a noise, non-committal, as his words sting my soul. One I didn’t realize was still in there.

  “Maybe. But I also really admired you. I liked you. I felt inferior and invisible when I was with you. So don’t accuse me of not having those things for you. Because you weren’t bringing them to the table either.”

  That sharp jaw tilts; regards me. His eyes, shiny as two round copper pennies, hold sadness.

  “Seems like we both made a mess of each other.”

  I was about to make a bigger one. Because we were both sad. And something was happening inside of me that I had … never felt. A softening, a giving way. My heart cracked open and began to bleed, filling me with the hurt and sorrow I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. Maybe even my entire life.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe I brought drama upon myself. Maybe my life was destined to feature catastrophes akin to a soap opera. Because I was about to give him a scene-stopper.

  I lean forward, the arm of the plastic seat separating us. Boone doesn’t move, just watches me carefully as I move, inch-by-inch, closer to him. The minute my fingers tentatively brush his arm, resting on the metal division between us, I get spooked.

  I move quickly, no time for thought, and lean forward, crushing my lips to his.

  But once I get there, I, again, panic. I wasn’t smooth or teasing or effortlessly sexy like I’d always dreamed I’d be if I ever got the chance to kiss Boone again. Because as much as I said I hated him, of course, I wanted one last chance to prove how irresistible I am.

  I just sit there, my mouth on his, unmoving. It’s awkward and weird, with nauseous, nervous energy pulsing in my stomach. Move, you idiot, my brain tells me.

  Luckily, Boone makes a humming noise that I fell all the way to my toes, and it spurs me to act. I tilt my head, cup his jaw, and begin the mechanics of a kiss. Just like the ones I’d performed time and time again with guys.

  But this is nothing like those other times. Because as I begin to finally kiss my ex, the man whose heart I broke … he begins to kiss me.

  Lord have mercy, Boone Graham has learned a few things since high school.

  I may have started this, but he is going to finish it. Boone grabs my cheeks, not hard but in a forceful enough way that lets me know he is the one in control now. I scrape my teeth against his bottom lip to let him know he’s not the alpha. I am.

  That only spurs him on, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and lapping at mine. It’s dirty and exploring and it makes me want that tongue down in the lowest, deepest parts of me.

  I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have acted irrationally or crazily, just like he said was my nature, basically. I’d proved him right, because here we are, going at each other in a place I claimed not having wanted to step foot in.

  But … I wanted to know. I wanted to kiss his lips again and know that I didn’t need them to feel something. Because I’d always had this hunch that if we met again, that spark would still be there. I had this hunch that the reason I hadn’t been able to feel that spark with anyone else was because I didn’t have closure with Boone. If I could get the spark back from him, keep it for myself, give it to someone else … I could finally let this go.

  I was wrong, though. I couldn’t get that spark back. It was firmly cemented, right here between us, just like the arm of the seat digging into my ribs.

  And I didn’t need that kiss to feel something.

  I needed it to feel everything. I needed Boone to feel alive.

  Thirteen

  Boone

  I’m at batting practice a few days later, and I still can’t get the disgusted expression of Annabelle’s face after she pushed me away out of my head.

  She’d stopped our kiss, looked like she’d eaten bad fish, and demanded I take her home. Just like I’d said, the girl was nothing but drama.

  I was so fucking pissed at myself for touching her. For allowing her to mess with my head like that. I had zero trust in this person, and yet …

  The things she’d said about me only focusing on myself, about not expressing how I felt about her … I hate to admit it, but she was right. I’d bagged the hot sophomore, I’d done almost the same thing I’d accused her of. I’d been more into what it would look like being with Annabelle than I had about actually being with Annabelle.

  Underneath all of that steel, bitchy exterior was a vulnerability. She’d let me in just a fraction before she’d slammed the door shut, but she let me know that she’d been hurt by our breakup as well. Really, she’d felt neglected way before she ever hooked up with Cain … or at least that’s how I read her outburst at the practice facility.

  “Dude, that was a softball, pay attention!”

  Hudson throws me a what-the-fuck hand gesture from behind the batting screen he’s been pitching balls from. We’re mostly here by ourselves, except for the guys milling in and out of the weight room. He, like me, doesn’t take days off. If we don’t have practice or film or media, and I don’t have school, I’m still here working on my swing or doing catching drills.

  “Sorry, man, my head was just somewhere else.” I shake it off, getting back into my stance.

  But Hudson is already walking toward me. “What’s up? Hmm, let me guess. Girl troubles?”

  I’m a little surpr
ised. “How did you know that?”

  “You might be a quiet guy, but your brooding can’t be mistaken. That’s chick sulking, dude.”

  “Chick sulking?” I chuckle.

  “You’ve got that frown that says ‘some woman just fucked me up sideways and I’m not sure how to feel about it.’”

  “I didn’t know that was a thing. But I guess … that’s pretty accurate.” I shrug.

  “What did she do?” Hudson juggles two baseballs around and around in his hands.

  I give him the long and short of it. “Cheated on me in high school, and then kissed me a few days ago.”

  He snorts. “Well, shit, man, sounds like you got a lot of girl troubles.”

  “Tell me about it. She’s the devil. I hate her.”

  “Except you don’t.” He eyes me knowingly.

  Fuck. I do, and I don’t. I hate how she betrayed me, how she gave it up to someone else. That I wasn’t the first … as male and chauvinistic as that sounds. I hate that she’s so smug and confident, but I also love it. I love her ice and that she’s a bit damaged, just like me. We wore our baggage like medals of honor. Annabelle was addicting, and even if I hated her, I also didn’t.

  “Should we get back to it?” I clear my throat.

  Hudson nods, knowing I am done talking about my chick sulking and walks back to the mound. Pitch after pitch comes soaring at me, and I crack each one off of my favorite batting practice bat.

  I have a lucky game bat, my favorite practice one, ones that I’ll settle for as backups, and other brands that I will not even touch. Baseball is nothing if not a game of superstition.

  Hearing that thwack, feeling the reverberations of the hit travel through my hands and down my spine and suffuse in my blood, it’s a rush of adrenaline I’ll never be able to fully explain to those who have never felt it. It’s raw, almost sexual. It gets my engine revving, it’s primal. To know you’ve swung with every ounce of effort in you, to see a ball travel that far … it’s more than satisfying.