The Strike Out

by Quinn, Meghan

  I fucking kiss her.

  Harmony.

  This girl who hasn’t left my mind since I met her.

  My mouth finally tastes hers, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Like a goddamn spring day. Yeah, I said it—a spring day.

  Joy sparks through me as I pull her closer, molding our mouths together, opening for her when her tongue swipes against my bottom lip. My hand climbs up her spine to the back of her head and I hold her in place, my fingers tangling through her thick, dark strands.

  Her palm find my cheeks and she grips me tightly, holding me in place, angling me better. I follow her lead, giving her this moment to explore me. I have plenty of time to explore her.

  So much fucking time, because I know deep in my soul, we were brought together for a reason, and this magnetic kiss is confirming that notion.

  Erotically, her tongue swipes against mine, spurring me on, so I turn her body completely and she straddles my lap. Holding her tight, I lay her down on the blanket and watch as her hair fans out against the soft fabric. I take a moment to stare at her, to take in her beauty, to remind myself just how lucky I am she said yes to a date.

  Slowly, I lower back down and find her mouth again. This time, I’m more demanding. This time, I’m the one who takes charge. The one who dances his tongue across hers. The one who runs his hands up and down her sides. The one who moans in her mouth when her hand crawls under my shirt and hooks her fingers into the waistband of my jeans.

  Fuck, I want her.

  I want all of her.

  I want her beautiful mind.

  I want her witty comments.

  I want her body.

  “God, Holt,” she says when my mouth moves to her jaw and then down her neck. Her body arches against mine while one of her legs hooks around me, holding me in place.

  “You taste amazing,” I say, moving across her collarbone and sucking hard on her velvety skin.

  “Mark me,” she says, keeping me in place.

  Not needing her to repeat herself, I move the fabric of her shirt to the side and kiss her skin, sucking, nibbling, laying claim to this irresistible woman so everyone else knows she’s mine.

  Her hands dig into my shoulders and I move my mouth back up her neck to her lips. She parts her delicious mouth and our tongues meet again.

  I’m getting lost, spiraling into a pleasurable abyss as her tongue tangles with mine and her grip grows tighter and tighter, as if she can’t get close enough. I’ve had a good amount of first kisses in my lifetime, but this one, this electric connection I feel when Harmony is around . . . it’s different. It’s powerful. It’s consuming.

  It’s terrifying.

  It’s exhilarating.

  I slow down my movements, wanting to sink into this position forever. I feel a rain drop on the top of my head. Then another.

  I pull away just enough to see a rainstorm forming quickly.

  “Shit,” I mutter. I lift off her and pull her up by her hand. “We should get to the car.”

  Dazed, she blinks a few times while lightly pressing her fingers to her lips in disbelief.

  More raindrops fall down around us.

  “Hey.” I lift her chin up. “It’s raining, babe.”

  She blinks again and then nods. Almost robotically, she helps collect our things, and we run to the car, where we throw everything into the trunk and find shelter on our respective sides just as it starts to rain harder.

  I turn toward her and ask, “Are you okay?”

  She’s staring ahead, hands in lap, silent. Resigned, she turns to me and says, “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

  Seeing the vulnerability and uncertainty in her eyes, I hold back a snarky comment and take her hand in mine. I bring her knuckles to my lips and press a gentle kiss.

  “Neither have I, babe.”

  * * *

  I flop back on my bed and stare at the white ceiling of my bedroom. I live in the baseball loft with quite a few of my teammates, including Carson and Knox. Everyone was studying when I came home, so I was able to escape their questioning as to where I’d been.

  Thank God, because I don’t think I could talk about what happened tonight with them.

  There’s only one person I know I can talk to. One person who I know has felt like this before.

  From my pocket, I grab my phone and dial up my dad.

  The phone rings twice and then his voice comes on the line. “Holt, how are you, son?”

  “Hey, Dad. I’m doing good. Really good.”

  “You sound good. Got your text about your heart test. Coach Disik is happy?”

  “He is. Very happy.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. You know I worry about you.”

  “I know, Dad. But everything checked out great.”

  After my minor episode last year, my parents have been on me about taking care of myself and making sure I’m eating healthy, working out properly, and communicating how I’m feeling. I don’t blame them. I think I put a bit of fear into everyone last year when I was carted off to the hospital with heart pain.

  “I’m glad. So, what’s been going on other than losing your pants at third once again?”

  I chuckle. Can you tell I’m close with my parents? We text every day. “So, I kind of met someone.”

  “Kind of met someone? You either did or you didn’t. Which is it?”

  “I did.”

  “What’s her name? Or his name? I’m open to everything.”

  “Her name is Harmony.”

  “Harmony—that’s a beautiful name. What’s she like?”

  Shifting on my bed, I close my eyes and picture her in my head. “She’s incredibly smart, Dad. Quick-witted, funny, and, hell . . . drop-dead gorgeous. I met her a few weeks ago and I’ve been working my ass off to convince her to go out with me.”

  “I like her already.” Dad laughs. “Putting my son to work. That’s what I like to hear.”

  “We had our first date tonight and it just solidified everything I suspected. I like this girl, a lot.”

  “Dare I say my son has butterflies?”

  “Yeah, a whole lot of them.”

  “Tell me about the date.”

  Twisting my finger through my hair, I say, “Took her to have a picnic at Lake Michigan. She made it quite clear she didn’t want to be impressed with what was in my wallet.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “We shared Chinese and just talked. We asked each other questions. We dove a little deeper, getting to know each other. It was really nice, and then toward the end of the date, I kissed her. Dad,” I sigh, pulling on the strands now. “It was the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

  “Ah . . . are you saying this might be the girl? You know Green men are known for being able to pick out their soulmate with one kiss.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s why I called you. I think she might be the one, but I feel stupid saying that. I’ve hung out with her twice. How can someone possibly know after two dates?”

  “There’s no magic amount of time when it comes to love, Holt. Sometimes, you just know, and there’s no shame in that. The key is making sure you see past the lust and dive deep into her soul. Get to know her. Get to know what’s important to her. What makes her laugh. What makes her happy. What brings her sadness. I might have been dead set on knowing your mother was the one for me after one date, but I put in the time. I put in the work.” And that is why I am calling my dad about this. My parents’ marriage is the model I base my own future marriage on. All I’ve ever seen is healthy, self-sacrificial love, which has always made me feel secure, but has also made for a safe and loving home. Relationship goals. Put in the effort.

  “I plan on doing the same, because I think she might have the same feelings.”

  “What makes you think that?” Dad asks.

  “After we kissed, she seemed dazed, and when I asked if she was okay, she nodded and said she’d never been kissed like that before.”

  “Was it a go
od never been kissed before, or bad like . . . ‘I didn’t know you had a lizard tongue and you surprised me’?” Dad chuckles at his own joke.

  “Good never been kissed,” I say in feigned aggravation.

  “Just checking. Well, if that’s the case, looks as though you need to start nursing the relationship.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “Do what I said. Pay attention. Make her feel special. Dig deep. Make it so she can see the same connection that you see. And have fun. The more fun, the more you’re building trust.”

  “I can do that.”

  The phone falls silent for a second, and then Dad asks, “So you really like her?”

  “A lot, Dad.” I sigh like a fool. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Ever since I’ve met her, she’s been on my mind. It took me two weeks to get a date with her and now I feel as if I’m floating on cloud nine.”

  Dad laughs. “Oh boy. Cupid struck you in the ass.”

  “And it didn’t even hurt.”

  He laughs some more. “Well, I look forward to hearing how she keeps you on your toes. What’s she majoring in?”

  “Journalism,” I say, as a thought strikes me. “Hey, Dad, want to help me score some brownie points?”

  “I don’t know. You haven’t told me you love me lately.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter. “I love you, Dad.”

  “Ah, I’ll never get tired of hearing those words from your mouth.”

  “Have you had too many sweets today?” I tease.

  “As a matter of fact, I had a piece of cake and pie today, but don’t tell your mother. Anyway, what can I do to help you out?”

  “What kind of pie?”

  “Blueberry.”

  “Damn.” My mouth waters.

  “Got you covered, boy. I’ll send some out to the loft.”

  “The boys will love you for it, but they aren’t the ones I’m trying to impress. It’s Harmony, and she’s been searching for a journalism internship. She can’t find anything that works with her hours at the diner. I didn’t know if you had anything available with the website.” Dad has many businesses, but one of his pet projects is a popular website that’s based around love for the city. It’s a tourism site that has proven to be successful for New Yorkers and visitors by showcasing the many off-the-wall parts of New York City. The unknown places. The true New Yorker’s point of view. If you want an authentic experience, my dad’s website is the place to go.

  “Has she ever been to New York?”

  I wince. “Uh, I don’t think so. She said her parents didn’t really move outside of their small-town circle. But she could edit, I bet. At least something that gives her some experience. And I know you pay your interns, which means she wouldn’t have to work at the diner and she could come watch me play baseball.”

  “Ah, I see what you want. A fan in the stands, huh?”

  I laugh. “You know it’s more than that. It would be great if she could come to my games, but it would be better if she gained experience. I asked her what was something difficult she was dealing with and she said finding an internship. I know you’re always looking for help. Can’t you find something for her?”

  “You know, this is the first time you’ve ever asked me for something like this. I’m impressed. You’re dropping the big ask on a girl. She really must be the one.”

  “I think she is, Dad.”

  He lightly chuckles. “Okay, I’ll email you Fifer’s email. She’s our hiring manager for interns. I’m sure she can find something for your Harmony.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. How about those three words again?”

  Rolling my eyes, even though he can’t see me, I say, “I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too, son.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  HARMONY

  Holt: It’s been a week. I want to see you.

  I stare down at the text and nibble on my bottom lip. Behind me, the grill hisses as the cook slaps fresh patties on the hot surface.

  “What are you looking at?” Priya asks, looking over my shoulder.

  “Nothing.” I pocket my phone and go back to the computer screen to finish typing up my table’s order.

  “That didn’t look like nothing. That looked like a message from Holt.”

  “Can you not be so nosey?” I press enter and then flip my notebook shut and stuff it in the front pocket of my apron.

  “Duty as a best friend to a stubborn friend is to be nosey.” She walks over to the drink station and fills up a glass of water. “I’m headed out on my break. You’ve got table seven. They wanted a water.” She hands me the water and takes off toward the back, untying her apron as she walks away.

  “Sure, no problem,” I say sarcastically as I take the glass of water to table seven. When I spot the booth, I stop and catch the handsome smile of Holt Green, arms draped over the back of the booth seat, staring me down.

  I should have known.

  Holding back my smirk, I take him his drink and set it down in front of him. Pulling my notebook from my apron, I poise my pen and ask, “What can I get you?”

  “Another date would be great.” He flashes his pearly white teeth and I feel my body go weak.

  “I’m sorry, sir, that’s not on the menu.”

  He lays down the sticky, plastic-sheathed menu on the table and points to a small piece of tape with the words, Date with Harmony written on it. “It’s there on my menu.”

  I reach down and take off the piece of tape and stick it in my apron. “Must have been an error.”

  He chuckles and swings his legs off the end of the booth, facing me now. Hands clenched together, he stares up at me. “Truth or dare?”

  I look off to the side, catching a few people looking our way, only to turn back to their food when I make eye contact with them. “Now isn’t the time, Holt.”

  “Truth or dare, Harmony,” he says with more of a stern voice.

  Sighing, I say, “Truth.”

  “Why have you been avoiding me?”

  “I haven’t been—”

  “Don’t lie to me.” His eyes narrow and I know he’s right. I can’t lie to him. Not because he’s a human lie detector, but because he’s been honest and upfront with me since the beginning.

  Shifting on my feet, I say, “Our last date scared me. That kiss was intense.”

  “It was fucking amazing.”

  That it was.

  It was so amazing that when he dropped me off at home, I practically ran out of the car and up to my place to avoid another one. I felt burned, marked, claimed. All I could feel for the rest of the night were his lips, the scruff of his cheeks against my skin, the hot trail of his kisses across my collarbone. The next morning, I moved my shirt to the side and saw the imprint he left. I was tempted to text him a picture, but thought differently.

  I’m feeling too much and too fast. It’s why I had to step away, keep my distance, let myself take a deep breath, and get my head on straight.

  But the longer I didn’t talk to him, the longer I missed his quick-witted tongue.

  And seeing him now, in person, I realize just how much I’ve missed him over the past week.

  “First kisses aren’t supposed to be like that.” I look him in the eyes. “It was startling.”

  “Startled me too, baby.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “But you don’t see me running from it. Instead, I’m running toward it. I want to know what else there is between us.” When I don’t answer, he tugs on my hand. “Don’t you want to find out?”

  “Yes and no,” I answer truthfully.

  “That’s fair.” He stands from the booth and pulls out a piece of paper from his jeans pocket. He holds it up between his index and middle finger. “This is for you.” When I don’t take it, he slips the paper into my apron and then leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. Staying close, he whispers, “Text me later, babe.”

  And then he takes off. I watch his
retreating back—muscular and beautiful—as he struts toward the door, leaving me with a rapidly beating heart and a yearning for his arms.

  Catching my breath, I go back to the waitress station. I remove the paper from my apron and open it up. Expecting to see some witty date proposal, I’m surprised to find something completely different.

  Fifer Parson, Hiring Intern Manager for New York, New York is expecting your call.

  There’s a number provided along with a smiley face and a heart.

  New York, New York . . . what’s that?

  I pull out my phone quickly and search for New York, New York. The first thing that comes up is a website. I click on it and my eyes start to wander, taking in the touristy blog. On the About page I see that it was started by Green Enterprises because of their love for New York.

  Holt’s family.

  At the bottom of the page, there’s links to careers and internships. I click on the internships link and quickly scan the requirements. I meet all of them. Then I see words that give me chills: paid internship.

  But . . . I don’t live in New York.

  Flipping to my messages, I type out a text to Holt.

  Harmony: Can you explain this piece of paper?

  “Harmony, order is up for table five,” our line cook calls out.

  Ugh.

  In record time, I deliver the food, refill their drinks, take an order for another group that sat down, and then retreat back to the waitress station where I check my phone.

  Holt: Spoke with my dad. They have a remote intern position to fill. Proofreading articles. It isn’t writing, but it’s a start. Give Fifer a call.

  He can’t be serious.

  A remote, paid internship. That’s . . . that’s a dream.

  But I didn’t do anything to even possibly earn it other than . . . hell.

  Shaking my head, I text him back.

  Harmony: Thank you for the offer, but I can’t take your charity.

  Before he can respond, I stuff my phone into my apron pocket and lean against the cream wall of the waitress station. I squeeze my eyes shut and take deep breaths.

  I’m not going take advantage of a friendship to find an internship. That’s not how I roll. I made it here on my own steam, and I’m determined to use that same drive to find an internship. It just doesn’t feel right to be given an advantage, because if I accept it, I won’t know if I got the position because of my skills, my knowledge, or my contacts. It might have been a genuine and thoughtful gesture on his end, but it feels icky on mine. Sorry, Holt. I can’t be that girl who says yes to every step-up handout you give. I’m not that girl.