Extra Innings

by Michelle Lynn

Yeah, I actually do give a shit, and that’s the problem.

  Ethan and I have fiercely competed since Organic Chemistry last year. Out of all the premed students in Ridgemont, we seem to sign up for the same classes.

  “Ainsley,” Ethan calls out my name from the top of the stairs at Manchester Hall.

  Staring back at him, I wait for him to jog down the steps.

  His hands push back his long strands of hair, and I catch a glimpse of his mocha-colored eyes. “You want to meet up?” He pauses, and I’m not sure what my face must look like because he’s quick to continue, “To study. I can help.”

  My head is already shaking before he can finish his sentence.

  Help? Is he demented? I don’t need help, especially from him.

  Okay, that might be a stretch.

  “I’m good.” My thumbs tuck under the straps of my backpack. Today is my long day, meaning my back is killing me from the five textbooks. I’ve yet to eat lunch, and it’s three o’clock. That granola bar for breakfast isn’t cutting it anymore.

  “Are you sure? It would do me good, too.”

  “I’m sure. I just need hard-core, intense study time, and I’ll be fine. But thank you.”

  I move to walk away, but he lightly grasps my upper arm.

  I stare down at his hand and then back to his face. Is that actually a sign of caring?

  “I need you.” His hand leaves my arm, and he threads his fingers through his hair one more time.

  “What?”

  “You’re the one who challenges me. I need you to know your stuff, so I try hard to beat you.” He blows out a stream of air, as though he just admitted to committing a crime that’s been weighing heavy on his conscious.

  “So, I should learn all the bones of the body for your sake?”

  He chuckles—nothing boisterous, more of a low amusement.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.” He shrugs. For the first time in the last year, Ethan Birkwood looks the exact opposite of cocky.

  “Well, I’ll do my best,” I say, turning to face the Student Center.

  “I’m free now,” he throws out there, as though I accepted his help.

  “Right now, my stomach needs my attention. Later, I’ll convince my brain to recite the bones.”

  “Can I join you?” He looks at me through the long strands of his hair in front of his face.

  “I don’t own the Student Center, but I’m not talking anatomy.” I warn him with my eyes.

  He chuckles that light laughter again before falling into step with me.

  I’m in line to grab a sandwich. Ethan opted for tacos, and we’re supposed to meet up by the tables next to the windows. My mind lingers to Anatomy class, thinking that maybe I don’t have what it takes for medical school. I mean, if someone comes to me and I can’t even diagnosis them with the correct broken bone, I’m useless.

  “Let me guess…” a deep voice whispers in my ear.

  I’m not alarmed because the gravelly voice brings a familiar shiver to the skin on the back of my neck.

  “Chicken teriyaki, toasted, with mozzarella cheese.”

  I shake my head and step up to the employee waiting to take my order. Her eyes drift to Braxton, and I’m not surprised. This is what always happens.

  “Can I help you?” the redhead asks, putting on gloves while her eyes are zeroed in on Braxton.

  “Chicken teriyaki on white,” Braxton gives my order.

  I look over at him in awe that he has the audacity to tell her my order.

  He shrugs.

  “Thanks, Tami,” he says, disregarding me.

  “Any other sandwiches?” she asks after putting mine together.

  I’m not sure she even sees me standing here, much less believes the sandwich order he gave is mine and not Braxton’s.

  “Nah, that’s it.” Braxton smiles that somersault-stomach one, and we file down the line for toppings.

  “I got it from here. Thanks,” I tell him. I point to the cheese. “Mozzarella cheese, and that’s it.”

  “So, who’s the guy?” he asks.

  I look around, not finding anyone. “Who are you talking about?”

  He inches closer, and if it was anyone but Braxton, I’d feel claustrophobic.

  “The guy you walked in with. Do I have competition?”

  I let my guard down by coming to the Student Center. Braxton and all his friends hang out here between classes instead of heading off-campus to their house. I kick myself for not only knowing that fact but still coming here and taking my chances on seeing him rather than passing out in Professional Finance.

  “His name is Ethan, and he’s in my Anatomy class.”

  The girl wraps my sandwich, and I’m a minute away from escaping Braxton Brentwood.

  “She’ll add on a drink and chips, too,” Brax chimes in.

  I hate that he knows me so well.

  How did he figure me out so completely in only two months?

  Because I let him; that’s how.

  The girl smiles. “What would she like to drink?”

  “She would like an iced tea,” I answer, shooting a warning look at Brax, who chuckles.

  It’s not Ethan’s quiet laughter. Brax lets everyone in a ten-foot radius around him know he’s laughing.

  “I guess iced tea,” he repeats what I said to the employee.

  I roll my eyes and dig my money out of my bag, but when I look up, the girl is handing Brax back his card.

  See? He’s such a pompous ass. Throwing around the fact that he has money.

  “Add it to my tab.” I take my tray and scour the room of tables and chairs for Ethan.

  He’s by the back wall, already eating, so I step into the mass of college students to join him.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Brax’s long strides catch me with a row of tables between us.

  The people look up, and since Braxton Brentwood is there, their interest is piqued.

  “What question?”

  “Is he competition?” Brax asks. His eyes shoot to Ethan and then back to me.

  We’re about twenty tables to him, and I slide by a group of football players taking up a majority of the room.

  “Hey,” one of them coos to me.

  “Hands off, Turner,” Brax tells the guy.

  He holds his hands up in the air, laughing.

  “We aren’t dating, so the competition thing is a stupid question,” I say, hoping that he’ll leave.

  “Is he going to stand in my way?” He raises his eyebrows and then fist-bumps some guy he passes.

  Braxton is like the high school quarterback in high school,. The only difference is the prom king is Braxton Brentwood, the captain for the Ridgemont Tigers. Guys want to hang out with him, and girls want to bed him.

  “I’m standing in your way.”

  The tables end, and we’re at the open walkway row before the next set of tables. Ethan’s eyes are intent on Brax and me.

  “So, what’s the story?”

  “Why?”

  “I have to know. Is he your boyfriend?”

  The desperation in his tone, the one that says he’d slay any man in his way, has me answering, “No. He’s helping me with our Anatomy class.”

  “Fuck that. I’ll lie down naked on a table, and you can touch every bone in my body.”

  I laugh, but his face remains stone cold.

  Oh, he’s serious.

  “You would have no idea if I got them right.”

  He stares at me for a long beat of a minute, and then he nods. Leaning forward, he swings his arm around my shoulders and lowers his voice. “If you keep fighting this, one day, I will stop trying.”

  With that, he walks away. I don’t watch long enough to see him leave.

  Instead, I sit down with Ethan, who only has one taco left to eat. He stares at me while I unwrap my sandwich, my nerves fighting to calm down.

  “You’re friends with Braxton Brentwood?” he asks, his voice low.

  “I’m not su
re I’d call us friends.” I sip my iced tea and open up my chips.

  “Are you dating him?” Ethan asks, his eyes focused over my shoulder.

  I look back to find Brax sitting with a group of guys. His legs are swung open, his hand on a Gatorade bottle on the table, and his eyes are fixated on us.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not dating him.”

  “Okay.”

  Ethan lets the topic go, but I can still feel Brax’s eyes on the back of my head.

  Ethan pulls out his Anatomy book, and I sigh.

  “Not now, Ethan, okay?” I say.

  He tucks it back into his backpack. “Okay.”

  For the rest of the meal, we eat in silence. I know Ethan wants to leave, but he’s the one who asked to join me.

  Fifteen minutes later, we stand to throw away our trash, and I release a breath because Brax is no longer in the room.

  “I’ll catch you later,” Ethan says. “My offer still stands.”

  I nod and wave good-bye. “Thanks, Ethan. I’ll let you know.”

  I zip up my coat, secure my backpack on my back, and file out of the student center door, only to see Brax in the middle of a group of girls. Each of them is giggling and carrying on with him.

  Our eyes lock, and I wish sadness didn’t hit me because this is the Braxton that everyone knows. The one who gets what he wants when he wants it.

  I shake my head and walk down the sidewalk to Professional Finance, trying like hell to keep those blue eyes from haunting my memories.

  8

  Brax

  “See ya,” I say, dislodging myself from Crystal’s claws.

  “Brax,” she whines.

  My eyes are already zoomed in on Ainsley’s ass as she pretends like seeing me surrounded by a group of girls didn’t affect her. Meaning, I was smart to pull that maneuver to get the girls to surround me so fast.

  Crystal is way too touchy and way too eager. The funny thing is, I’ve never slept with her. Maybe that’s why she tries so hard. The harder she tries, the more I don’t want her.

  Ainsley, on the other hand, is a different beast all her own. I found out last summer that she hated athletes, and I admit, that fact fascinated me at first. Usually, that’d give me more reason to go after a girl, but Ainsley had won me over before I knew how much she despised the athletes of Ridgemont. The conversation happened the night I first made love to her. As she lay in my arms with an afterglow on her cheeks, it was clear, she’d been hurt once upon a time, and all ballplayers would pay for that dipshit’s actions.

  I hated myself that night on behalf of all the fellow ballplayers who had to deal with the aftermath of the damage I’d caused to the girls I had been with. The difference between me and the dipshit who hurt Ainsley is, I made no promises to the girls I slept with. Actually, it was the opposite; they knew the score before walking up those stairs to my bedroom.

  Immersed in all the memories of when Ainsley and I were happy for those two months, I barely notice she’s heading toward Victor Hall, the business school building.

  I jog and open the door for her.

  She stops, holding up the traffic behind her. “What—”

  “What are you doing in my building?” I ask, my foot propping the door open.

  She rolls her eyes and strolls in. A few dickwads follow after her until I cut in the line and walk through.

  I spot her in the sea of heads, and she’s halfway down the hall.

  “Ainsley!” I yell.

  All heads turn my way. All heads but hers.

  “What the fuck?” Crosby hollers back.

  I see him on the other side of the hallway. My eyes flick to his and back to her. I raise my hand and flip him off. His laugh echoes through the busy hallways of Victor Hall.

  “Ainsley!” I yell again.

  She shakes her head, but her footsteps don’t falter.

  “I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Crosby adds in, now at my side.

  “Oh, she does.” I dodge shoulders, and my feet steadily move forward.

  “I must be hallucinating. Is Braxton Brentwood actually chasing a girl?” Crosby snickers, a few people back from me.

  “What’s going on?”

  Great.

  Saucedo has joined the party now.

  “Brentwood is chasing some girl named Ainsley,” Crosby fills him in.

  He bellows a laugh. “Figures he’d go all pussy-whipped like you.”

  “Fuck off, Saucey. One day, you’ll see the light,” Crosby says.

  Their conversation falls deaf on my ears, the further down the hallway I get.

  She’s by the restroom when I tap her shoulder.

  She whips around with eyes that might slice me open. “What? Don’t you have a group of girls to surround yourself with? What do you want with me?”

  All the noise in the hallway halts to silence, and it’s like we’re an exhibit at the zoo. Everyone must be wondering why Braxton Brentwood is chasing down a girl. An anomaly that will surely be discussed on Snapchat, Twitter, and Instagram posts.

  “If you’d fucking stop, I’d tell you.”

  She crosses her arms with a smug look on her face that conveys she’d rather see me struck dead by lightning than to hear a word from my mouth.

  I could fall down to my knees.

  I could ask her out on a date.

  I could beg her to tell me why she broke us off.

  Instead, my vision lingers around us. All the eyes, all the expectations. None of those are what Braxton Brentwood would do.

  “You dropped your glove.” I hand her the glove that fell out of her pocket outside the student center.

  Those dagger eyes fall to an embarrassed dim, and if I had caught the daggers she was shooting at me, I’d stab myself with them for lying.

  “Oh.”

  I watch her lips form the perfect O, and she side-glances to the students watching our interaction.

  “Thank you.” She takes it from my hand and shoves it into her pocket. “I assumed…”

  She stops talking, and I smile because she assumed right, but I changed the game.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I look around at the people lingering in the hall for their next piece of gossip.

  The bodies start scrambling. Well, all but Crosby, who’s admiring the scene with a smirk and his arms crossed over his chest. Our eyes meet, and he cocks an eyebrow.

  Nonverbally, I tell him to get the hell out of here, but instead, he swaggers over to us.

  Fuck me. He’s about to embarrass me.

  He holds his hand out to Ainsley, and she eyes it before shaking it.

  “I’m Crosby Lynch,” he introduces himself.

  “Ainsley Winslow.”

  “Nice to meet you. I hope to see you around.”

  They release hands, thankfully before I have to punch my best friend.

  “Nice to meet you, and it’s doubtful you’ll see me again unless it’s in this building.”

  “Yeah, Cros, Ainsley doesn’t care for ballplayers.”

  He glances from her to me with a confused look. Then, he leans closer to her. “I think you’ve met the wrong ballplayers then.” He smacks me on the back. “Brax is the best guy I know, and I’ll make a little wager right now that says, if he’s chasing you, then you’re seeing the Brax I know.” He turns his attention to me. “See you in class.” Then, he grants all his attention back to Ainsley. “Come to the house sometime. You can meet my girl, Ella.”

  Ainsley smiles but says nothing, and Crosby doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he walks down the hallway, sneaking into a classroom.

  “Thank you for the glove,” she says, her footsteps moving away from me. “Don’t worry; I don’t believe your friend.”

  She opens the door, and I’m unable to respond before she’s inside her classroom.

  9

  Ainsley

  “No, Ainsley, name them again,” Ethan demands, his pointer resting on the skeleton hand.

&n
bsp; This is my Saturday night, working with Ethan on Anatomy. I really should have studied harder for that test that I got a C on. A C will not get me into med school. Of course, if I’d opened the envelope with my MCAT, I might feel better about my chances.

  “Okay. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” I place my hands on my temples, rubbing them to keep the migraine away.

  All he does is shoot me a look to suggest that I am stupid. I’d be doing the same to him if he couldn’t concentrate long enough in class to figure out the difference between the hamate and the lunate.

  If Brax would disappear from my mind, I might be able to concentrate. The first semester, I was able to push him out—not completely, but enough to function. Ever since our paths have crossed again, we’re like a damn figure eight, constantly meeting.

  My phone rings in my bag, and Ethan sighs when my hands fiddle in my backpack to find it.

  The screen is lit up with Olivia’s name, and my stomach falls. This can’t be good. The girl would rather kill a kitten than call me.

  “Olivia?” I answer as a question.

  “Ainsley,” she whimpers.

  I stand up and pack my stuff, moving into flight mode. “What?”

  Ethan’s pointer falters from his poised position.

  “It’s Cade. He’s sick.”

  I left him right before coming here, and he was fine. The loud music in the background tells me he doesn’t have the flu.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Fuck, Olivia. Hang up.” Cade’s mumbling voice rings from behind her somewhere.

  Then, it’s muffled, and I assume her hand is trying to cover the speaker.

  “We have no choice.”

  “Where, Olivia?” I ask again. My backpack is already secured to my back, and my keys are in my hand.

  “Baseball house.”

  Fuck. Seriously? First, Delaney, and now, Cade. Brax and his friends are not that great.

  “Which one?” I feel like it’s déjà vu from a couple of weekends ago.

  “I’m not sure. I saw Brax a second ago. I’m sorry, Ainsley, but I couldn’t call my dad—”

  “It’s fine, Olivia. I’m on my way.” I click off the phone.

  Of course it’s Brax’s house. It’s been two days since I crossed paths with him at Victor Hall.