by Amity Hope
As I dropped my bag on the ground I couldn’t help but feel guilty about lying to my brother. He would never approve of what I was doing with Meg. Even if it was for a damn good reason.
“Where’s the list?”
I’d been digging through my stuff and hadn’t seen Meg walk up.
“The list?”
She nodded, causing the floppy bun on the back of her head to wobble. “Apparently I need to add…‘Meg must be at Luke’s beck and call.’”
Ball and glove in hand, I stood to face her. “You didn’t have to show up.”
Her brows furrowed, as if she hadn’t realized that.
Huh. Maybe I needed to loosen up a bit. I wasn’t the control freak she seemed to think I was.
She jammed her hands onto her hips as she glanced around. “Who are we putting on a show for?”
I couldn’t tell her I couldn’t go home so I’d called her because I was bored.
I motioned to the busy street. “You never know when someone’s going to drive by.” Already I thought I’d seen Jaclyn once, but I’d caught just a glimpse. I was probably being paranoid. When I first broke up with her, she followed me around, always hassled me. “Now that you’re here…” I held up the ball. “We might as well have some fun.”
“Fun?”
I slapped a hand over my chest, the one holding my glove. “Your skepticism hurts.”
She scratched her temple. “Okay then, let the forced fun begin.”
“If you don’t want to be here, I’m open to ideas. Did you have something else in mind?”
“I guess not.”
“Let’s go then.” I tossed my ball and glove toward the pitcher’s mound. Swiping up my bat, I led her to home plate.
“The key to a good, solid hit is to hold the bat correctly. You want to remember to hold it in your fingertips, not the palm of your hands.”
I demonstrated the proper stance before handing the bat to her. She took it with an amused smile.
Progress.
Feeling encouraged, I moved behind her. My arms slid around her body until my hands rested over her hands. Her body tensed as it pressed against mine. She was so close her hair tickled my cheek. The scent of her perfume about knocked me senseless. Or maybe it was the way her form curved into mine so perfectly that had me feeling lightheaded.
“Relax.” I wasn’t sure if the command was for her…or me. “Save all your power for the swing. You want to pull the bat back like this.” Keeping my hands over hers, I guided the bat backward. My left arm crossed over her body, pressing her even more tightly against my chest. I heard her breath catch, so before I made her too uncomfortable, I guided her through a swing.
We ran through the motions a few more times before I stepped away.
“Make sure you keep your eye on the ball.”
Meg looked at me like I was an idiot. “You’re supposed to be this baseball superstar. That’s the best advice you have? What, you think I’m going to start bird watching?”
“It might seem obvious,” I retorted, “but you’d be surprised at how many people, especially girls, cringe and close their eyes when the ball is headed their way.”
“Especially girls?”
I grinned. I loved getting her fired up. “Yeah.”
“You know this?”
“I coach sometimes.”
She gritted her teeth, her hands clenched the bat, and she dug her feet in, perfectly mimicking the stance I’d shown her.
I jogged to the mound where I swiped up my ball and glove. I slammed the ball into my palm a few times, pretending to warm up. Mostly, I was just admiring the view. She looked damn hot, her expression fierce as she waited for my pitch. I’d fired her up all right.
I wound up and then let go with far less force than I was used to.
Meg let loose, executing a perfect swing. The bat connected, the sound echoing beautifully through the park. My head snapped up as I watched the ball fly over, not landing until it was well into the outfield.
Sure, I threw her the perfect, easy pitch. But damn…
I’d caught the split-second smirk she quickly covered with her hand. She gave me a wide-eyed look, pretending to be surprised.
I stalked over to her. “What the hell was that?”
“Beginner’s luck?” Her tone oozed mock innocence.
“Beginner’s luck, my ass.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyelashes fluttered, rendering me momentarily speechless. Who knew Meg Matthews had a playful side?
“Let’s try that again.” I returned to the mound, throwing a toss almost identical to the first. It arced, descending straight toward the sweet spot on the bat.
Meg swung, dropping the bat comically low as she ducked out of the way of the ball. I knew she was doing it on purpose, not wanting to gift me with another hit like the first. What she didn’t count on was dropping the bat so low that she ended up stepping on it, tripping over it, and plopping backward onto her butt.
Her laughter caught me by surprise.
“You deserve that.” I loped up to her, reaching out both hands. She grabbed hold, and I tugged her to her feet. “You lied to me.”
I wasn’t used to a girl being able to look me in the eye so easily. I still held her hands in mine. It didn’t allow for much distance between us.
I’d dated my fair share of girls. All of them pretty, and they knew it. Every single one of them chose to flaunt it. Meg was different. She had an understated beauty. Sure, I’d noticed her before the night at the school. But I hadn’t really noticed her. Not the way I was noticing her now. Her eyes were as dark as coffee, her lips full, and her skin creamy and smooth. The contrast with her red hair made her look almost exotic.
She looked damn near flawless.
I realized I was staring when she tugged her hands away.
“Who said it was a lie?”
She twisted away from me, heading for the benches.
“Not so fast.” I ordered. “You said you hate sports.” Was I shocked that she lied? Nope. Getting information from her had been like squeezing a compliment out of my father. Damn near impossible.
I jogged after her, scrubbing my hand vigorously over her butt when I reached her.
“Hey.” She swatted at me.
“Just helping out. You want to walk around with your backside covered in dirt?”
“Oh.” She gave herself a few good swipes.
“What’s the story here?”
We dropped down on a bench.
“I played softball in middle school. Soccer, too.”
“Why’d you quit? You must’ve been pretty good.”
She shrugged. “I was okay. Stuff came up. Life happens. I guess what I hate about sports is that I had to give them up.”
Her expression clouded over. I wanted the smiling Meg to come back.
“Paint any more murals lately?”
Her gaze snapped to mine. The fire was back in her eyes. “No.”
“I can’t believe your parents let you ride a motorcycle. I can’t think of a single girl I’ve dated who would’ve gotten away with that. Your parents must be really laid back to not care.”
“They care,” she said a bit defiantly, as if my words had been an insult.
Intuition told me I’d accidentally poked a sore spot. Curiosity made me poke it again. It seemed to be the best way to keep her talking. “Really?” I let doubt cloud my voice.
“My dad got his first motorcycle when he was sixteen. He’s pretty much always had one. When I was a kid, he used to take me riding all the time. It was just…a normal part of life.” She got a faraway look. It took her a few heartbeats to come back. “Mom was never a fan, but Dad always argued that they were safe.” She shrugged. “When I decided to start riding, Dad wasn’t thrilled, but what could he say?”
“I suppose it would be sexist of him to tell you not to when he did.”
“Exactly. And he was younger than I was when he started riding.” A smile tilted
up one corner of her lips.
“What?”
“Would you still think the Rebel is sexy if you knew it belonged to him?”
“Uh…” I tried not to get a visual on that, not wanting the original to be ruined.
“It was just sitting in the garage, collecting dust. I needed a way to get around. I missed riding. I was comfortable on it, and familiar with it. I thought, why not?” She frowned. “He put up a bit of a fight, but my arguments wore him down.”
“And now look at you, cruising around on your crime-mobile.”
“Would you stop?” She shoved me so hard I almost fell off the bench. The spark in her eyes kept me going.
“How is it that your parents let you go out at night?”
“Who says they let me?”
“You little rebel you.” I gave her a much softer shove than she’d given me. “They don’t hear you coming and going?”
She scrunched up her face. I was becoming familiar with that look. She was debating whether or not she was going to tell me something.
“I walk the Rebel down the block before I start it. Then walk it home.” She scowled at me but it was missing its usual bite. “Just so you know, it’s not like I go out all that much. I don’t paint nearly as often as you seem to think. But once in a while I just like to get away.”
“Yeah. I can relate to that.”
Her stomach growled.
Loudly.
“Maebelle’s?” I asked, half expecting her to decline.
“Sure. I’m dying for some onion rings.”
We gathered up my gear and loaded it into my vehicle.
I pulled the notebook out and dug for something to write with. I found a broken pencil.
She groaned. “What are you doing?”
“Making a rule for you.” I started to scribble.
Meg will feel incredible remorse for lying to Luke about her athletic ability.
“It’s blasphemous,” I added.
“Blasphemous?” She snorted.
“Baseball is sacred.”
Chapter Eight
Meg
The industrial paint mixer emitted a laborious sound as it meticulously shook the can of paint. The frazzled lady who had dashed in minutes ago, trying to beat closing time, flipped through a book of wallpaper samples as she waited.
I reached under the counter for an extra paint stick.
When I popped my head up, Luke was standing at the back of the store. The machine had drowned out the dinging of the bell. Noting I was busy with a customer, he began to wander. He plucked a can of spray paint off the display and held it in the air, shook it, and then mimed painting a mural on the window. I reflexively clenched my jaw, assuming he was mocking me. When he didn’t look at me once, I realized maybe he was just…trying it out? He seemed to be enjoying himself.
Our charade had been going on for a few weeks now. He had never stopped by before. This was another topic that hadn’t been touched on yet. My fingers itched, wanting to scribble in that green notebook.
When the machine stopped rumbling, I twisted around, pulling the can from its now silent clutches.
“Here you are.” I held out the can of Plum Dandy along with the extra paint sticks. “It’s ready to go, but you can take these in case you need to do any touching up later.”
“Thank you.” She scurried toward the entrance. Luke stepped in front of her, opening the door. “What a gentleman.”
I rolled my eyes. Show off.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded as he strode up to the counter.
“Can’t I stop by for a second?”
“I’m working.”
He glanced around the empty store. Not in a snide way, but more as if he was confused as to how that could be a problem. “You don’t look too busy at the moment. Can we talk?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s something I want to give you.”
He handed me a white envelope.
“What’s this?”
“A gift. For you. Open it.”
I hesitated, not wanting anything from him.
“Just open it.”
I did as commanded. Two tickets slid out. The heavy ivory paper was embossed in gold writing. I quickly scanned the invitation before giving him a questioning look.
“They’re tickets for some art gala in the city,” he clarified.
Sapphire Bay was a half hour drive to the south. It was the biggest city in the area.
“I gathered as much.” I grimaced. “We have to go to this? Are you planning on boring me into compliance?”
His smile disappeared. “No. I thought you’d want to go.”
“Oh, right.” Too late I remembered he’d told me it was a gift.
“You don’t look happy.”
I shook my head in confusion. I had no idea what to say. I could tell I’d hurt his feelings.
“I thought it would be something you would enjoy,” he said. “You’re into art, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” I admitted.
“You don’t like art?”
“Not really. But we can totally go,” I offered.
“I don’t want to go,” he said. “I thought you would. If you don’t like art then what’s with the…” He faded off as he mimed spraying with a can of paint again.
I swatted his hand back down to his side. “Stop doing that. And no, art has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what—”
“It’s not something I want to talk about.”
“Fine.” He took the fancy tickets and stuffed them back into the envelope. “I’ll give them to my parents or something.”
I felt an unwanted twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry, Luke. The thought was really sweet.”
“Sweet?” His smile flickered back into place.
Dang. He had a nice smile.
I looked away, checking out the clock behind me.
“You should probably go so I can lock up.”
Ignoring me, he moved through the store, following as I flipped off the lights.
“Actually, could you come over?”
My mind whirred into action. “Sure.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “That was too easy.”
“I don’t have to.”
“No. I want you to. Adam and Trevor are going to stop by later. It will look good if we’re hanging out.”
My parents weren’t speaking at the moment. The house echoed with their deafening silence. I could hardly stand it. But it annoyed me that I’d rather spend time with the boy who was blackmailing me. Still, every time he asked, I found myself willing to go.
There was another perk of going to Luke’s. Maybe if I spent some time in his domain, I could dig up some dirt on him. What better place to look for aforementioned dirt than in his bedroom? What if I could find something I could use against him? What if I could blackmail him right back?
“Can I meet you there?”
“Sure.”
Closing up the store didn’t take long. The ride to Luke’s didn’t take long, either. As I cruised into the circular drive, I belatedly contemplated what his parents would think about a girl on a motorcycle zooming up to their house. I realized I didn’t particularly care. What could they do? Forbid him from seeing me? I could only hope.
I wasn’t sure where to park. I came to a stop next to the walkway that led to the front door. Most likely it wasn’t the most appropriate place, which made it perfect for me.
I told myself there was no reason to be nervous. I had no one to impress.
So what if Luke’s house was an enormous brick monstrosity? So what if his last girlfriend’s purse collection was worth more than my entire wardrobe?
Before I could ring the bell, the door was tugged open.
“You made it.”
“You doubted me?” He practically owned me. Of course I was going to do what he asked.
For now.
He flicked his head to the side, signaling that I should enter.
I felt
like I was walking into another world—or at least a world completely different from my own. The heels of my boots clicked on the marble floor of the massive foyer. A staircase rose to the upper level and curved back down again. A chandelier glinted overhead. Uncomfortable ogling what this guy thought was normal, I swiveled my attention back to him.
“Let’s head to my room.” He led the way up the massive staircase. I followed him to the end of the hallway, where he shoved open a door. He motioned for me to go through first.
This was his bedroom? Apartments were smaller than this. A king-size bed with a matching bedroom set took up one side of the enormous space. A black leather couch acted as a divider between the sleeping area and the living area. There was also a recliner at an angle. All the better to get a view of the enormous flat screen that hung on the wall. A black lacquered coffee table was in front of the sofa. It was covered with homework.
“Should I grab drinks? Or are you hungry?”
“Actually,” I made an apologetic face, seizing the opportunity, “I’m starving. I always eat when I get off work.”
It wasn’t even a lie.
“No problem. I’ll be right back. Maybe you can find something for us to watch. The remote is next to the TV. Check out the movie channels if you want.”
He didn’t close the door. I scampered over and peeked into the hallway. I could hear his footsteps padding down the staircase.
I darted back into his room. His dresser seemed like an obvious place to start. A foray into his underwear drawer produced not a lot more than, well, underwear—boxer briefs, to be exact. He also had an absurd amount of socks. And aside from a couple of jock straps, there wasn’t much else to see.
I wiped my hands on my leggings, ridding myself of unseen germs.
I hurriedly rifled through the lower drawers but they were even more boring.
His nightstand was next. It produced a flashlight, a stack of Sports Illustrated, random writing utensils, and a few college brochures. The brochures sat at a suspicious angle. I pushed them aside, exposing an open box of condoms.
I froze as my heart did an unexpected dip, skydiving into my stomach. My traitorous mind taunted me with a flashback of the night on the baseball field. When Luke had his arms around me, when I’d been caged against his body, it had felt blissful. An unwanted ache coursed through me as I thought about being tangled up in Luke’s arms again.
