Strike Out (Barlow Sisters Book 2)

by Jordan Ford

  “I should go.” I breathe the words so softly Cairo probably doesn’t even hear them.

  “You owe me a date,” he blurts.

  “What?”

  “I came here to claim my date.” He makes a circle with his hand. “My hang out time.”

  “Wh… You…” I lick my lips and scramble for the right words. “I…I don’t owe you anything.”

  He snickers and points in the direction of the field. “I just sat through an entire game of baseball. That’s the second time I’ve done it now…and I don’t even like baseball.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Well, then why the hell do you come to the games?”

  “Because I want to see you.” His brown eyes drink me in, making me feel like I’m beautiful or something. “I miss you, okay? And I don’t think it has anything to do with guitar.”

  Okay, he’s making it really hard to breathe right now.

  What is he saying?

  “I know this might seem weird, but I guess I didn’t realize how much I was living for those lessons until they weren’t happening anymore.”

  Inching closer, he gets into my space, running his fingers around my neck and brushing my jawline with his thumb.

  That feels so amazing.

  I can’t move.

  “It makes me realize that it wasn’t just about the music. It’s you. I like hanging out with you.”

  My eyelids flutter as I work up the courage to look into his eyes.

  He’s smiling at me. That brown gaze tells me he wants…me.

  And not in the friendly let’s play poker or throw a ball together kind of way.

  He’s looking at me like he wants to kiss me.

  “Uh…” I release a shaky breath. “I’ve never really gone on a date before. Because you know…guys, um, they quickly work out that I’m just a little too tomboy. I’m not girlfriend material. Not that anyone has ever seriously wanted me to be their girlfriend or even asked me on a date. See, I’m the girl you play sports with or the one you drag along when you like another girl and you’re trying to play it casual. You know what I mean?”

  He just smiles at me like I’m cute.

  “I’m not the girl you kiss,” I whisper.

  His straight nose crinkles, his smile spreading a little wider as he leans into my space and whispers against my skin, “I’m pretty sure you’re the girl I want to kiss.”

  “I don’t know how to do that,” I quietly admit. “I’ve never–”

  My words are swallowed by his lips. They land on my mouth just as his hands cup my face. Closing my eyes, I melt into the sensation of his smooth skin pressing against mine.

  It feels so good.

  I can’t even think straight.

  My brain is slowly disconnecting, cutting out the world until all that matters is the feel of Cairo against me. His fingers are lightly resting on my ears while his thumbs brush my cheeks.

  The pressure of his mouth on mine is out of this world. His lips are soft but sure, commanding yet gentle.

  Skimming his fingers down my face, he then threads his hand around the back of my neck, parting his lips and gently sucking my lower lip into his mouth.

  Holy crap, I’m lost forever.

  A quivering breath whistles out of me as the mitt in my hands thumps to the ground between us and I grip the side of his neck.

  I feel his smile move against my mouth and then his tongue sneaks across my lips. I instinctively know what to do and open my mouth to match his move.

  Our tongues touch, just the briefest taste, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

  I’m hungry for more as I wrap my arms around his neck and he pulls me against him, closing any distance remaining between us and showing me everything I’ve been missing out on.

  There’s no way I can go to the locker room now.

  22

  It’s Different This Time

  CAIRO

  Max’s tongue in my mouth is pretty damn awesome.

  It’s hard to believe I’m her first kiss with the way she’s owning me right now.

  I tip my head, catching one more taste of her before forcing myself to pull away.

  Her blue eyes are bright and electrified as her soft breath hits my skin.

  “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, sounding like she’s caught in a dream that she’s afraid to wake up from.

  I grin. “Do you need to get your stuff?”

  “No.” She shakes her head and starts to smile. “I don’t own stuff right now. I just want to go, with you. I need to leave before my sisters come out looking for me.”

  “You sure?” I brush my fingers down her face.

  “They’ll break the spell,” she whispers, gliding her fingers over my hand and pressing my palm into her cheek. “Just let me have today and I’ll face reality later, okay?”

  I’m not about to argue with that.

  She’s right about the magic.

  It’s buzzing between us, making it impossible to refuse her.

  Bending down, I collect her mitt and tuck it under my arm before taking her hand and leading her to Mom’s car.

  I hold the door open for her and she gives me a giddy smile as she slides into the passenger seat.

  As soon as I’m buckled in, I look across at her and grin. She’s still in her uniform, which is marked with dirt and sweat.

  “Wanna go clothes shopping?”

  She makes a face. “You don’t want to hang out with me in my sweaty, disgusting uniform? What’s your problem, man?”

  Firing up the engine, I pull out of the parking lot with a laugh and head for Main Street.

  I’m gonna have fun dressing up Max Barlow, and I know exactly where I want to take her.

  Suit Yourself is a secondhand clothing store at the north end of Main Street. Latifa shops there all the time. Not that I want to turn Max into some kind of replica, but I have a feeling she’ll like the stuff she finds in here.

  Taking her hand, I thread my fingers between hers, loving the cute blush on her cheeks when she dips her head and fights a grin.

  She’s a smitten kitten and it’s making my chest expand in ways it never has before.

  We step into the store and I wave my hand at Margo. She’s one of those awesome hippy chicks who has been running this place ever since I moved here. I have no idea how old she is. It’s one of the cases where she could be an old looking fifty or a young looking sixty-fiver. It’s hard to tell.

  “Hey, Cairo. Nice to see you.”

  “Thanks.” I grin at her.

  “Can I help you find anything?”

  “Just looking around for now.”

  “Okay, well I’ve just put a bunch of new stuff on the racks at the back. You need to let Latifa know. There’s a sequin jacket on the end that will be perfect for your next gig. It’s got her name written all over it.”

  “Thanks, Margo, I’ll let her know.”

  As we move farther in, the storeowner lays her eyes on Max. She gives me a sly wink before biting her lips together and pretending to be busy at the counter.

  I inwardly cringe. She’s assuming that Max is my new girl.

  Which she is.

  Or at least I want her to be.

  But not in the same way.

  It’s different. At least it feels different.

  I smile at Max when she glances at me.

  “Through here.” I point and tug her into the back corner where Latifa and I usually find our clothes.

  Max lets out a sigh and then steps up to a rack and starts sliding clothes across.

  “You really don’t like shopping, do you?” I cross my arms and study her.

  She harrumphs, her upper lip curling as she pulls out something red and immediately puts it back. “It’s just not really my thing. I mean, I’m not one of those amble through the mall for a day kind of people. I walk in, I find something I want, I buy it, and I’m out. The faster the better, you know?” She shru
gs and holds a pair of ripped jeans against her body. They look about the right length, so she hangs them over her arm, ready to try them on. “It doesn’t help that the clothes I feel most comfortable in are usually made for guys.”

  “You looked pretty good in that homecoming dress,” I murmur.

  Her lips twitch with a smile. “I thought you were checking me out.”

  “You know my favorite part of your ensemble though, right?”

  “What?” She glances at me.

  “Those red high-tops.” I grin. “I love that you wore a classy black dress with red high-tops.”

  “Yeah, well heels hurt your feet, so…”

  I snicker and move up beside her, rifling through the clothes until I see a pink shirt that’s kind of cute.

  “How about this?”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s pink. I don’t do pink.”

  I chuckle, put it back and find a cool plaid one instead—pink free.

  Her nose wrinkles when I hold it up, but then she bobs her head. “Sure, why not?” She takes it from me and heads for the changing room. “Feel free to find me a pair of shoes. I’m a size eight.”

  I grin, once again surprised by how low-maintenance she seems to be. Most girls are pretty particular about what they wear, and wouldn’t be asking a guy to go pick out some shoes for her.

  Heading down the two steps, I go to the shoe section and manage to find a cool pair of boots. They’re pretty worn, but Margo’s put brown polish over the worst patches and they’ve come out okay. They don’t have a heel and they’re a size eight and a half, so hopefully they’ll fit.

  “You got any thick socks, Margo?”

  “Yeah, look to your right.” I do as she says and pull out some thickish socks before heading up to the changing room.

  Max steps out just as I arrive. She’s still buttoning up her plaid shirt and I get a quick look at her white bra.

  I swallow and glance away, determined not to be a perv. She has a really nice body, lean and conditioned from all that baseball training, and it makes her curves kind of delectable.

  She yanks down on the shirt and looks in the mirror, wiggling her hips to make the tight jeans sit a little better.

  “You look good,” I assure her.

  And I’m not lying. Those jeans fit her like a glove. She’s got one of those figures that could probably wear anything, but that faded denim with the rips in the knees really suits her. It’s very Max.

  She tips her head to study her appearance once more before shrugging. “It’ll do.”

  I hold out the boots to her. “Are these okay?”

  “Nice pick.” She grins, sitting down to put them on.

  She’s pulled the tie out of her hair and the luscious locks roam free on her back before tumbling over her shoulder when she leans forward to do the boots up.

  Bending down to collect her uniform, I get a scent of citrus in her hair and my insides buzz with desire.

  I want to kiss her again.

  Licking my bottom lip, I resist the urge and let her finish lacing the boots in peace.

  “I’ll just grab a bag for this stuff,” I murmur, heading for the counter.

  Margo hooks me up and then rings up the bill as soon as Max appears beside me.

  “So that’s four items, then?”

  “Yep.” I nod and then spot a leather bracelet on the counter that will look awesome with the boots Max is wearing. I pick it up to have a closer look. It’s thick and chunky with this cool silver buckle. “Actually we’ll take this too.”

  I hand it to Max and she raises her eyebrows in approval before holding out her wrist so I can put it on.

  “Not that I really need it,” she mutters.

  “Not everything has to be about necessity. It looks cool on you.” I wink at her and pull out my wallet.

  “Sorry, I don’t have any money on me.” Max cringes. “I’ll pay you back on Monday.”

  I shake my head. “No, you won’t.”

  “Uh, yes I will.”

  “No, I want them to be a gift.”

  Her face buckles with a look of confusion. “You want secondhand clothes to be your gift to me?”

  “Yeah.” I grin. “That way, every time you put them on, you’ll think of me.”

  Margo rolls her eyes like I’m some try-hard Casanova while I swipe my card and punch in my pin number.

  Max, on the other hand, doesn’t know how to respond, so she runs a hand through her hair and looks down at her boots.

  Taking the bag of dirty baseball gear off the counter, I grab Max’s hand again and lead her out of the store.

  I’m not sure what the rest of the day holds, but if Max keeps letting me hold her hand like this, I almost don’t care what we do.

  23

  Starving

  MAX

  After the secondhand clothes store, Cairo took me to his favorite diner. It’s a quirky little cafe away from Main Street— one of those places that’s hard to discover but people become regulars once they do.

  Cairo grinned and smiled at the staff as we walked in. He’s obviously well known in this town, which, to be honest, makes me nervous. I slipped my hand out of his and made sure I sat opposite him at the table. We shared a plate of nachos and talked about music. It’s so easy with him. He doesn’t hold back.

  Any question I asked him, he answered without hesitation. He told me all about his family, how the band started, how he and Latifa used to date but then became just friends. He told me about how Roman and Latifa really like each other but are both too scared to do anything about it.

  I talked a little about Columbus but tried to shift the conversation back to him. I didn’t have anything to hide, but his life is so much more interesting than mine.

  All I can really talk about is baseball… and school.

  My sisters are interesting, so I told a few stories about them. But then we got onto music, and I swear it was like the world turned gray outside of us. We both leaned forward in our seats, enthusiastically talking about the bands we love, sharing opinions over albums and songs. We even broke into spontaneous singing. Both of us know the lyrics to so many songs, which led us into a game of “Sing the next line.” After that came “Name that song.”

  Cairo pulled out his phone and I had to guess the song as quickly as I could. I basically knew them all.

  “You have the best playlist.” I wipe my hand on a napkin and then drop it onto the empty plate.

  “I bet you do too.”

  I grin and scoop my hair over my shoulder so I can play with it.

  “Actually that gives me an idea.” He snaps his fingers and quickly leaves the booth to pay. Before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling me out of the diner and walking me down to an old record store that looks ancient.

  I’m surprised to hear the bell tinkle merrily as Cairo opens the door. The place seemed dead from the outside.

  “Come on.” Cairo grins and tugs my arm, leading me into a cluttered mess. Every spare space of the store is filled with CDs, books, DVDs, figurines from movies, posters. You name it. If it has something to do with entertainment, it’s here.

  A smile bursts across my face as I brush past Cairo and get busy checking out a CD collection. “This place is amazing.”

  “I know. So old-school, right? Check it out.” He points to a table of vinyl records.

  “No way.” I laugh and join him, thumbing through the old records. “Do they even have record players anymore?”

  “My dad has one.”

  I let out a delighted gasp and look up at Cairo. “That is so sick. I’d love to see it sometime.”

  “Okay.” Cairo bobs his head. “Let’s go.”

  “Uh, what?” I take a step back from him, still holding Michael Jackson’s Thriller album.

  “We should go to my place. We can hang out in the music room, listen to vinyl records, play a little guitar. It’ll be fun.”

  “Will your parents be there?”

  “Maybe.�
� Cairo shrugs. “I don’t know what they’re doing today.”

  I work my jaw to the side, instant nerves attacking me.

  “Hey.” Cairo slowly takes the record from me and lays it down so he can cup my face. “You don’t have to worry. They’re just parents.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew my dad.”

  “Is he really that scary?”

  “Not scary, per se, more… It’s just easier to do things his way.”

  “And I take it bringing home a guy he doesn’t know isn’t doing things his way?”

  “He’s a cop.” I shrug. “He struggles with trust.”

  “Hmmm.” Cairo tips his head to the side. “Well, my mom’s a poet-slash-artist and my dad’s a music teacher, so there’s really nothing too scary about them.”

  I snicker and try to drop my head, but he gently forces me to look at him. “Come hang out with me at mine. Let me show you how I live.”

  It’s so damn hard to resist. Not when I’m having the best day of my life.

  “Okay,” I whisper, and let him lead me out of the little record store and into a whole other world of coolness.

  I take a seat beside Cairo as he pats the bed and encourages me to sit down next to him. I’m in his room and kind of nervous, but it was actually his mom’s suggestion that we come hang out in here.

  She’s awesome.

  I mean, talk about cool and laid-back.

  My mom’s like a taut wire compared to that beautiful Indian woman who is cooking us something delicious in the kitchen.

  Stretching out my legs, I pat my jeans, totally aware of how close I am to Cairo right now.

  We’re sitting on his bed together.

  The butterflies in my stomach are making me dizzy. No, not butterflies, a herd of elephants, a charging rhino, a pride of roaring lions.

  A line from that song “Starving” floats through my head and I snicker.

  “What?” Cairo picks up my hand and starts playing with my fingers, threading them in and out of his.