Extra Innings

by Michelle Lynn

  “You said that last time, and I see we’re still circling, like a merry-go-round.”

  “I promise, I’ll think about it.” I slide forward again, asking permission to be excused.

  He nods, and when I reach the door, he calls out, “I wouldn’t be so sure that Ainsley would be there if you entered the pros. It takes a special kind of woman to deal with the baggage that career comes with.”

  I say nothing, opening the door and turning toward the kitchen. I take the dish towel from Ainsley’s hand and place it on the counter.

  “We’ll be back,” I say to my mom, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Hey, let me finish.” Ainsley fights me.

  My mom turns around, offering me those sad eyes. She knows exactly what happened in that office.

  Same old, same old. Just another day.

  “I’ve got it, Ainsley. Thank you for the help. Living with only boys, I miss girl talk.”

  “We’ll be back,” I say, grabbing our coats from the coat hooks.

  “Six o’clock, Brax,” she calls out.

  But I already have Ainsley outside, and I shut the door.

  “Brax,” Ainsley sighs.

  “I was suffocating in there.” I take a deep inhale of my small-town air, feeling refreshed. This is the town where I felt like a king.

  “So, I know one favorite. Give me your others.” She swings her arm through mine and nuzzles up to me.

  “Well, my favorite girl is this Ainsley Winslow. Do you know her?”

  She giggles and lightly slaps my hand.

  My dad’s haunting words come alive in my head. “I wouldn’t be so sure that Ainsley would be there if you entered the pros.”

  Why would she? I wouldn’t exactly be comfortable if the roles were reversed, and she had a job where she traveled and men were ogling her day and night.

  18

  Ainsley

  “What did you do with Braxton Brentwood?” I ask him as he leads us down his parents’ street.

  Thankfully, were having unusually warm weather for February, but Brax’s constant bear-type warmth helps. His arm is swung along my shoulders, and I’m nestled into his side with my hand on his stomach.

  “This is Brax,” he says.

  My eyes drift up to his, and I laugh. “I feel so privileged.”

  His lips tease a smile. “You should. Very few people in this world know that my favorite candy bar is Snickers.”

  “What about your favorite song?”

  “‘Eye of the Tiger’ from Rocky, of course.”

  I shake my head.

  “Favorite food?”

  “Wings, hotter the better.”

  “Might need to compromise on that. Favorite drink?”

  “Isn’t it more fun when you discover these things as we date instead of knowing everything right away?”

  I huff and slap him on the stomach. “I’m trying to think of something to get you for your birthday.”

  He pulls me closer, and the hardness of his muscles still surprises me.

  “You’re enough,” he says.

  We come along a concrete walkway in the middle of town, and I spot a water fountain in the town square that has a dedication to Noah Ford and Kedsey Bishop. Then, my eyes scan the street, finding a grocery store with a sign hanging above it that says Bishop.

  “Brax Brentwood,” a guy calls out to us from under the awning. He’s straightening out the carts by the grocery store.

  “See?” He points to the amazon of a man. “I’m Brax around here.”

  I smile, and he guides us across the street. The man is at least six foot six; probably taller.

  “You’re in town again?” the guy asks.

  “Yeah, X.”

  He holds his hand out, and Brax shakes it.

  The guy’s eyes move to me.

  “This is my girlfriend, Ainsley,” Brax introduces me.

  “Ainsley, this is Xavier Bishop, he owns the store.”

  It’s all I can do not to choke on my own saliva.

  Girlfriend?

  I like the sound of it.

  “Pleasure.” I shake his hand, his swallowing mine up.

  “How are things in Ridgemont?” the guy asks.

  Brax nods, shrugging his shoulder. “Good.”

  “Are you entering?”

  It’s amazing, how everyone feels it’s their business if Brax enters the draft. I mean, I get his dad’s reasoning, and he has a right, but what does it matter to everyone else?

  Brax’s entire body stiffens every time the topic is brought up. I wish I knew if it was because I was here or if he really was sick of the question.

  Brax starts walking us past him, jokingly laughing and slapping the guy on the shoulder. “That’s the question of the day. I gotta show Ainsley the town. We’ll catch up later.”

  “You know where to find me. Nice to meet you, Ainsley,” the man calls out.

  Once we’re a few feet away, Brax tugs me into a store filled with every candy imaginable. Of course, the chocolate case lures my body over.

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  “Kedsey’s brother. He recently took over the store this past winter. Their mom moved to Florida with his aunt. It’s a long story, but he was a douche who turned out not to be that bad once his mom was gone.”

  I let the subject go because I’m fairly sure whatever it is circles back to the accident, and that topic makes Brax sad.

  “Girlfriend, huh?” I ask him over the chocolate-covered raisin bin.

  He looks up at me, timid.

  Since when is Braxton Brentwood unsure of anything?

  “That okay with you?” he asks.

  “I suppose.” I roll my eyes and act like it’s an inconvenience to be his girlfriend.

  He rounds the candy bin, and his hands wrap around my waist. “I don’t want to put you out.”

  My hands splay on his shoulders as he stares down at me. “What do I get out of it?”

  “Well, you get to laugh your ass off and have fun days and then intense nights that will make you have the best sleep of your life.”

  I shrug and circle out of his hold. “Sounds okay, I guess.”

  His arms stop me, wrapping around my middle. His lips find my neck, and his tongue licks a path up to my ear.

  “Maybe I should show you the benefits that come with me being your boyfriend.”

  He presses his hard erection against my ass, and I wish I hadn’t worn leggings today.

  I fall back into his arms. “Be careful. You know, once you start—”

  “Brax Brentwood,” a lady calls out.

  He lets go of me, and I practically fall into the Jelly Belly bin.

  “Mrs. Tredwell.” He walks toward her, and he pulls her in a hug.

  “You’re back home,” she says. Then, she eyes me. “With someone?”

  Brax follows her vision, and he holds his hand out for me to come to him. “Yes, this is Ainsley Winslow.”

  I walk over, and the older lady smiles.

  “Girlfriend?” the lady asks.

  Brax and I exchange a look.

  “Yeah, she’s still testing that word out.”

  Brax winks at the older lady, and I smack his shoulder.

  “Well, I don’t have to tell you, this young man has been the reason for many heartbreaks in Beltline.”

  “Add on Ridgemont, and there might be an epidemic,” I say.

  Brax puts his hands out in the air and waves them toward him for us to keep his compliments coming.

  Mrs. Tredwell laughs and places two chocolate caramels in a box.

  “I love seeing kids in love.” She hands the box to Brax. “On me. Go enjoy with your girlfriend.” Her head falls slightly forward in my direction.

  Brax doesn’t correct her use of the love word, and I’m not about to either. There might be a heavy like but not a love. Love would bring heartbreak, and I can’t handle heartbreak.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tredwell.” Brax one-arm hugs her, and she
lightly pats his stomach.

  “Go, you two. Life is short, and you don’t want to waste your time talking to little ole me.” She shoos us with her hands.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you,” I say, bowing my head her way.

  “Come back soon.” She waves her hands to get us out of the store.

  Brax walks us over to a park, and we each sit on a swing. Facing one another, he holds the chocolate up to my lips.

  “My second favorite,” he whispers as he winks.

  “My favorite,” I say dreamily before taking a bite.

  “I’ll have to remember that for Valentine’s Day.”

  We each circle around, our feet digging into the wood chips.

  “So, what do you want for your birthday?”

  “I told you, you’re enough for me.” He leans forward until his lips land on mine.

  “Come on. I can get you something,” I say.

  He laughs, kicking off and swinging his legs in the air. “How about you swing? Then, we’ll jump off, and whoever gets farthest wins.” His eyes brighten from the prospect of competition.

  “You have longer legs than me.”

  “You weigh less,” he argues back.

  “Fine.” I swallow the rest of the chocolate caramel and kick off the ground.

  His legs straighten and tuck fast next to me, and I finally get on the same level. We’re at an even pace, and then he switches his hands to push off the swing, so I do the same.

  He jumps, and I already know he’s won. Still, I jump off the swing and try to propel myself forward as far as I can, but I end up coming short and then topple over onto my face.

  I’m on the ground, rolling and laughing.

  “Shit. Are you okay?”

  Brax comes over to me and holds his hand out for me, but I yank him down, and he falls on top of me.

  “So, I have two things I want for my birthday,” he says, his hands on either side of my head.

  “And what would that be, my boyfriend?”

  He smiles, and his arm moves back to his pocket. “I want to know your MCAT scores.”

  That white envelope that’s taunted me for the past few weeks is resting in his hand.

  I try to snatch it from his grip, but he holds it up in the air.

  “I remember you asking me to open the letter.”

  “You’re a thief!” I’m half-laughing, half-nauseated.

  His body shifts so that he’s not on top of me, and I sit up, placing my head in my hands. My palms are sweating, and my heart is racing.

  This is the moment.

  “I was going to take you up to screw hill tonight, but the weather isn’t supposed to be good, and I don’t want to chance it.”

  The accident didn’t happen too far from screw hill.

  He nods, almost hearing my thoughts.

  “Yeah, I thought we’d put our pasts away and face the future together.”

  Who is this man? Surely, not the guy I typecast him as.

  He turns the envelope around, and his finger hovers over the seam. “May I?” he asks, rising to his knees.

  I cross my legs and hide my face, peeking through the slivers of my fingers. I nod. “Yes,” I mumble.

  I hear the envelope rip. Then, the letter is unfolded once and then the other end. Brax straightens it out in his hands, and I close my eyes.

  “What is a good score?” he asks, genuinely curious.

  I groan and shut my eyelids as tightly as possible.

  “Oh, I see.” He continues reading. “From what this says, you scored…”

  He takes my hands away from my face, and I squint up to him. His smile tells me to breathe.

  “Five hundred twenty. Ninety-eighth percentile.”

  I grab the letter from his hand, making sure that what he told me is the truth. “No way.”

  “Way,” he says.

  I rise to my own knees and slam my chest into his. With the force and him being unprepared, his back falls to the wood chips.

  Five hundred twenty gives me a fighting shot to most medical schools. I release a breath, and my heart rate slows.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  His arms wrap around my waist, his warmth once again surrounding me.

  “You let that fester the entire time.” He shakes his head, joking.

  I hug him into my body as close as I can get him.

  Maybe the impossible can happen? Maybe I can have Brax and a medical career.

  “Now, Dr. Winslow, I have another birthday gift I want.”

  I’m not going to lie, hearing my name with the word doctor preceding it is nice. Really nice.

  I lift up, and he’s smirking in that cocky typical Brax way.

  “What is that?”

  “A kiss?”

  “Only one?”

  “As many as you’ll give me.”

  I inch forward. He rises until our lips meet, and we kiss. We keep it PG since we’re at a park, but Brax snakes his tongue into my mouth, and my hands move up the front of his shirt.

  He breaks our kiss first. “Let’s get out of here before we’re on the front page of the Beltline Gazette.”

  19

  Brax

  I fall to my side, sweaty and exhausted.

  “Someone should have told me about this girlfriend thing,” I say.

  Ainsley rolls over on top of me. Our bodies are slick along one another, and she inches forward, kissing my lips before crawling off me.

  “I thought you liked your carefree lifestyle.” She tiptoes to the bathroom, peeking in the door to make sure Crosby’s not there.

  The door shuts, and I don’t respond to her. If I did, I might have sounded like a pussy. One who has gone from the stud on campus to the I’ll-carry-your-books boyfriend.

  I roll the condom off my dick, tie a knot, and toss it in the trash can. If I had one complaint about the sex we’re having, it’s the cost of condoms.

  She walks out a few minutes later, and she pulls the covers back, rolling under them.

  “Are you spending the night?” I ask her.

  She lifts the blankets for me to join her underneath. “Sure, but let me call Delaney to make sure she’s home for Cade.”

  “Okay.”

  I slide under the covers while she texts Delaney on her phone. Wrapping my body around her, I wish Crosby had told me a little about what this life is about because, man, I fucking love it. Girls walk by me on campus, and I wave or say hello, but I don’t miss their attention. If anything, I miss Ainsley’s when she has to go to class or work or wherever she is when she’s not with me.

  “She’s home. Cade is already home and in his room, she says.”

  She places her phone on the nightstand and pushes into me. My dick is home in its spot between her ass cheeks.

  “So, I have something to talk to you about.” My finger grazes along her skin.

  “Okay.” Her voice is low and unsure.

  “I got a call this week.”

  “Okay.” Again, her voice is in serious distress.

  “From Chicago. The Sox. They want me to come into the city in March. See the facility, talk to the coaching staff.”

  She swivels around in my arms. “That’s great.”

  If only her eyes matched her words.

  I won’t deny that my heart stung when Coach told me the call would be coming. I mean, this is a bad way to test me. The White Sox versus Ainsley. Give me a break.

  “Really?” I ask her, squeezing her to me harder.

  “Yeah.” There’s that high-pitch squeal that Ainsley’s voice only carries when she’s lying.

  “So, I was thinking…why don’t you come with me?”

  Her eyes light up this time.

  “We could tour the campus of Feinberg School of Medicine. See the city. Have a weekend getaway before my season really starts.”

  A smile finally tugs at the edges of her lips. “I think that sounds great.”

  “Okay, I’ll text you the dates, so you take t
hem off work, and then I’ll book the airline tickets.”

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  “Babe, it would really cut into our time if we drove.”

  “You aren’t buying me a plane ticket.” She leaves my arms, sliding up on the sheets, so her back is now pressed against the headboard.

  What did I miss?

  “Do you have money for a plane ticket?”

  “No.” She pulls her knees up to her chest.

  “So, how do you figure we get there?” I lean on my elbow, holding up my head with my hand.

  “It’s just…I don’t want you to take care of me.”

  “Ainsley, I’m not taking care of you. I asked you to come with me, so it’s my responsibility to buy the tickets. It’s my treat.”

  She flips the covers over, and she climbs out of bed. “I get that we’re on different sides of the financial spectrum.” She holds her hands out and waves her right. “This is you.” Then, she waves her left. “And this is me.”

  I sit up, the sheet pooling at my waist, so now, I have a front-row ticket to Ainsley Winslow’s freak-out.

  “And?”

  Her hands run through her just-fucked hair. “Brax, I’m not some girl who’s after you for money.”

  I glance behind me. “What am I missing?”

  “It’s just…I never want you to…to think I am with you for your money.”

  Now, it’s time that I slide out of the warm bed and find out what the hell is really going on in her beautiful brain.

  “Where is this coming from?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and paces back and forth in front of my bed.

  “Nowhere. I just don’t want to be some poor girl that Braxton Brentwood takes care of.” She stops, her eyes pointed directly at me. “I’m no one’s property.”

  “Whoa, babe. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Aren’t you listening?” She moves across the floor and starts picking up her jeans and T-shirt.

  I chase her down, plucking up her underwear before she can get them.

  Déjà vu of a month ago.

  Seems like a lifetime ago now. What was my life before Ainsley Winslow?

  “You aren’t going home,” I say.

  She clutches her clothes to her chest. “You aren’t my boss.”