“It’s not embarrassing to ask for help. Many people use the service.”
Her eyes gloss over as she strains to swallow. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“Caleb’s the tutor.”
“Oh.” A breath of air escapes my lungs as her predicament becomes crystal clear. There isn’t any way she could seek his help. From what I witnessed whenever I was around them, he belittled her the entire time they dated. And apparently, he hadn’t gotten enough digs in since he goaded her at the party. He’s a real piece of shit, and I’m surprised Braxton didn’t pulverize him. He would’ve if we weren’t on the Wildcat’s baseball roster.
“Exactly. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“What’s your current average?” My back stiffens when her mouth sets in a firm thin line, and she drops her gaze. Whatever falls from her mouth is going to be bad.
“Promise not to tell Braxton?”
“What goes on between us isn’t Braxton’s concern.”
Our eyes meet. The question in her stare no doubt wondering if there is more behind my words. Part of me knows there is. Part of me knows there can never be. But I speak the truth. No matter what we do or discuss, it remains between us.
“Total overall average is fifty-nine percent.”
I keep my face stoic. She clearly needs help. If she doesn’t understand the early concepts, she’ll sink farther into the hole as the semester continues. I swallow back the lump in my throat as I stand there, debating my options—to help or not.
“Then…” I stop talking. If I commit to this, I’m placing us together. One on one. That much proximity would be disastrous. I run my hand through my hair and then rest my palm on my neck. If I hadn’t kissed her last August, there wouldn’t be anything to question. I would’ve volunteered in a heartbeat. Why did I fuck everything up between us? This is why I don’t drink. Well, not the entire reason, but I’m never being inebriated around her again.
“Then what?” she prompts.
“Then, I’ll help you.”
Shock registers across her face before a glimmer of hope fills her eyes. The brightness dulls the second her mind registers what my offer entails. “Noah, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re busy with baseball practice and your own classes.”
“I wouldn’t have volunteered if I didn’t think I could swing it.”
Why, why, why did I agree to this?
One look into those blue eyes and I have my answer. Committing to another task is the farthest thing from staying away from her and, not to mention, the last thing I need to do. Still, I’ve never been able to stand seeing Shannon in pain. And the girl standing in front of me is stressed beyond necessary. I can help her.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m more than sure.” I hope the conviction in my voice eases her nerves. “In fact, I can do it right now if you want to.”
“You’re not busy?”
I am, but for her, I’ll make time. “Yeah, come on. I know a quiet spot where we’ll be left alone.”
“Weren’t you heading to practice or the gym?” She spies my gym bag and gives my athletic wear a once-over.
“Nah, I didn’t have anything planned.” Except heading to the batting cages. I figure one white lie won’t hurt. “The recreation center has some alcoves for us to study.”
She nods, and without giving it a thought, I place my hand on the small of her back. The moment our skin touches, I realize my mistake. I snap my hand back to my side as the memory of how she felt in my arms when those soft lips touched mine replays through my mind. What am I getting myself into?
Our feet pound against the sidewalk as people pass by. We’re silent, but the tone between us has changed. I’m not sure when this transition happened, but the awkwardness plaguing us these past couples of months is gone. Now, being with her, being around her, feels more like us.
I’m not a praying kind of guy, but I could use some good vibes to get me through this next hour. I don’t want to do or say anything to screw this up.
Chapter Eleven
Shannon
Working beside Noah in a tight corridor probably isn’t my wisest decision. If my situation wasn’t so desperate—I’m talking the “kicking the love of your life off the floating wooden door and telling him he’ll never be forgotten while you float off to be rescued” level of desperation—I would have refused his help. How am I expected to steel myself from the influx of emotions his smiles cause? It’s nearly impossible.
How can I complain when the symbols in each equation that have been nothing but foreign rubbish now have clarity? I study the problems on the worksheet, fighting off the embarrassment from not knowing what others deem simple math. Now is not the time to let pride get in the way. I’ve struggled all through high school trying to grasp the concepts of these equations—the math portion of the SAT was my lowest score for a reason—and even though I don’t fully understand, Noah explains the basic concepts better than any teacher I’ve encountered. The air that started out stuffy and smothering lightens as hope surges through me. Maybe, I can learn enough to pass.
“Let me get this straight,” I say, straightening in the hard, plastic chair. “Basically, what you’re saying is the ‘like terms’ contain the same variables raised to the same power. Right?”
“Correct. Remember, we can only add or subtract like terms. You plug in the order of operations to help solve the problem. Let’s start with the first question you got wrong.”
He leans in, pointing to the first step of the problem. His woodsy scent with a hint of citrus wafts over me and causes a shiver to skate up my spine. I try with every ounce of my being to pay attention, but he smells so damn delicious. I want to nestle against his chest—the same one that’s inches away. To have those defined forearms wrap around me. To have those long fingers caress— Stop it, I scold myself. The last thing I need is to torture myself with fantasies that will never come true.
I pull my gaze from his chiseled frame and concentrate on the problem he’s explaining. Or at least try. Noah made good on his promise of finding a private place to study. Down the long corridor away from the gym is a series of inlet cubbyholes I never knew existed. This building is crawling with students, but leave it to Noah to find a spot where we can be left alone. And it’s totally quiet. Maybe, too quiet since my mind keeps straying, which is sort of the reason why I protested at first. I may desperately need the help, but sitting this close to him is pure torture. The other side to my protest stems from sheer embarrassment. Working on this level with him showcases my weaknesses and vulnerability. And trust me, no one wants to look stupid in front of their lifelong crush.
Maybe, I should’ve known better. What could’ve easily been mortifying was nothing of the sort. Throughout my entire childhood, Noah has put me at ease. Whether we were at a baseball game or at school, he always knew what to say to calm my nerves. Friend vibe or not, the connection between us is real and has always existed.
Noah continues to explain the equation, and I focus as much as I can. As he shows me where I went wrong on the test, the concept finally clicks. Excited, I whip around to face him, wearing a huge grin. My sudden movement places his mouth within inches of mine. His warm breath tickles my face as mint assaults my senses. Those deep-green eyes hold mine captive, dissolving my smile. There’s never been a stronger moment than now for wishing to be a mind reader. I’d give anything to know what’s flitting through his thoughts. Because the look in his eyes doesn’t quite scream friendship. He may deny whatever pull this is between us, but the heat in his eyes reveals he wants a lot more than he’s willing to admit.
“I think I got it.” The words fumble from my mouth, severing this strange connection between us. I shift to create the much-needed distance before making a fool of myself. The last thing I want to do is initiate another kiss. I don’t think my body can withstand another rejection.
“That’s good.” His gaze dips to my lips, and m
y heart beats faster from the small rush of air he sucks in. He is fighting whatever strange connection exists between us. If I was a betting woman, I’d say he wants me just as badly as I want him. Wouldn’t that be a surefire way to lose, though? To win a bet, there has to be an action proving itself. And I’m all too aware that Noah Geren will never act on his drive. Not with me, at least.
He blinks a few times and clears his throat. I bite back my disappointment as he shifts his focus to the paper. He moves my test aside and reaches for my assignment. His hand brushes against the bare skin of my forearm as he points to the first problem. I once again prepare myself for the onslaught of sensations that simple touch creates. Safeguarding my heart is proving impossible.
We continue to work—him explaining terms and equations I should’ve already known and me absorbing every bit of knowledge he throws my way. We’re still in the beginning phase, but I have a slightly better grasp. At least, I don’t feel like I’m sinking farther into the dark hole alone.
We’re about halfway through the assignment when my stomach rumbles. I press my lips together, willing my stomach to be quiet.
“You hungry?” Noah asks and then shakes his head. “Of course, you are. It’s late, and you’ve missed supper. I’m sure the cafeteria has closed. I’ll order some food.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But it is. I’m starving, too. What do you feel like?” He pulls up the delivery service app and raises an eyebrow.
I don’t want to be one of those girls who say whatever and then secretly complain about the food choices. And I am rather hungry. “I’ll take pad Thai noodle with chicken and jasmine rice.”
“Hmm, very specific. I like that. What do you want to drink?”
“Water will be fine.”
He types in his order and leans back and stretches. I try not to watch his muscles flex beneath his black running shirt. He never did say where he was going when he ran into me. “Let’s take a break until the food arrives.”
“Thanks so much for taking the time to help me. I know you’re busy.”
“I’m never too busy for you, Sprinkles.” Our gazes lock and hold, and I have to will my heart to slow down. He doesn’t mean it the way I want him to.
“So, where were you going?” I try changing subjects.
“Just to the baseball field. I was going to work with the pitching machine.”
“You want to work on your swing?” I cock an eyebrow as if he’s nuts. Noah’s a good hitter, but he’s better known for his defensive skills and intelligence behind the plate.
“No, I was going to work on blocking.” He laughs.
“How do you that with a pitching machine?”
“I set the machine to shoot the balls on the ground. That way, the ball bounces just behind the plate, and I can work on blocking the plate.”
“Clever. But I’m a little confused. You’re pretty good at that already.” More than good, really. He kept the passed ball count to a minimum. He even came close to breaking the school record.
His gaze drops to the desk, and the hard line of his jaw sets. Something has to be bothering him, but the question is, what? “I just want to be my best at it. This is an important year.”
“What’s bothering you.”
He lets out a humorless laugh and softly smiles. “You know me too well.”
But not well enough, apparently. I shake off that thought and decide to be direct. “Are you worried about making the draft?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m working hard. I need to stand out more.” He shrugs and studies his hands on the table. More than the draft is bothering him, but I can’t pinpoint the issue. I wish he’d open up to me.
“It seems like there’s something else—”
He scoots his chair back and stands abruptly. “I better go meet the driver. I’ll be right back.”
And then, he leaves with me staring after him. My eyes narrow as I watch him slip into the hallway and disappear from sight. Noah has always kept his feelings close to his chest, but for once, I wish he’d let me in.
Chapter Twelve
Noah
Today, the team takes the field, and we finally get to see what the hype surrounding the new kid is all about. I take each step leading out of the dugout with more energy. The actual first day of practice always feels good and is way better than the grueling weight conditioning coach has us do in the beginning. When I reach the field, I step beside the dugout’s entrance and pause, taking in the sights—the home plate area where Wildcats is painted around the outer circle, the plush turf our maintenance crew keeps in top condition, and the evergreen backdrop beyond the home run fence. I breathe deeply, and my lungs fill with everything baseball. Renald Field has been my home for the past three years. This year will be no exception.
“It’s good to be here.” Braxton looks out across the field with a nostalgic gleam in his eyes.
Everyone has their personal reasons for playing: fame, money, recognition, pure enjoyment, or a combination of all of it. Regardless of the reasoning, the field takes on a certain feel. And Braxton gets it. It’s been the two of us since Little League. On the same team. On the same wavelength. The day will come when we’ll no longer be able to play together, but until then, it’s like the old times. Teammates all the way. And this reinforces the need for me to keep my feelings about Shannon to myself.
“I’m glad you’re still here, man.” I pat him on the back. I don’t think I ever told him that, but when he and Garret decided to stay in school after getting drafted last year, I was relieved. I still don’t understand their decision. If it were me, I’d be long gone. Nothing against my teammates, but all I’ve ever dreamed about is playing in the major leagues before the day comes that I can’t. I’d like to say I wasn’t jealous of them when I was passed over during the draft, but damn, not being selected hit me hard. We were getting ready to start the College World Series, so there wasn’t any time to dwell on it. I had no other choice but to suck it up and push on. But after we won the championship, I had all summer to sulk. It sucked. But all that self-pity made me determined to come back stronger than ever this year. I’ll make it impossible for the scouts not to notice me. The only thing I hadn’t figured into the equation was Mr. Talent sliding into my position.
“I made the right choice. This right here… It just feels right.” Braxton fist-bumps me. “All the way, buddy.”
“All the way.”
“Cara tells me that you’re helping Shannon with her algebra?”
My stomach hardens. I hadn’t realized he found out. “Yep. We meet in the library on the days she has the class to go over the assignments. She’ll do all right.”
After meeting her in the alcove the other day, I had to pick a more neutral area. The library is the most logical choice. There are enough people around to keep my mind on the tasks at hand. My tactic has been working for the most part. I’ve managed to keep my hands to myself, but my thoughts are another thing. There isn’t a single childhood memory without her in it. But we’ve never had this much alone time. I can’t get those luscious lips of hers out of my head. It took great restraint back in the alcove not to kiss her. I wanted her. Badly. But I can’t mess up our friendship, my best friend’s friendship, or the team’s interest over my sexual urges. I won’t do it.
“I can’t thank you enough. You’ve always had more patience with that sort of thing than me. If left to me, I’d end up frustrated and then start yelling. Teaching isn’t part of my skill sets.”
“It’s not hard. She just needs extra help with figuring out the formulas and when to plug them in.”
“Still, I’m glad you have her back. There aren’t too many people I trust around her. I know you’ll take care of her.”
“That I will.” Fucking kill me now. If he only knew how I’ve fantasized about taking care of her. This right here is why being alone with her is a bad idea. No matter how good she felt, how good she tasted, I have to keep things platonic.
“Noah and Harry, I’ll have you two work on the block and recover drills,” the assistant coach says.
I suppress a groan. The last person I want to help improve defensive skills is the guy competing for my position.
“Catch you later.”
“See ya.” Beyond frustrated, I grip my catcher’s mitt tighter and do the right thing—meet Harry on the field.
Halfway into the drill, I conclude the boy is talented. He outshines any catcher I have ever worked with. He has incredible arm strength, especially when throwing to second base, but his pop time needs work. In other words, the timing between the moment the pitch hits his mitt to the moment the second baseman receives the ball bogs down a bit. Pop time is something I had to work on myself. It’s not all about arm strength as most people think and more about feet positioning and letting the pitch travel. He’s reaching when the pitch travels around his body, which causes his exchange to drag. The coaches will work with him, teaching a quicker glove-to-hand exchange closer to his chest, but I should show him some feet exercises I’ve learned along the way. It’s just, do I really want to help my competitor? This is my last year to impress the scouts. If he takes more of my playing time, I’ll be in the same position as last year—draft-less.
The entire practice, I’m focused more on his skills than my own. The drills are going smoothly, but there are a few things he can tweak to be better.
We finish, and Harry wipes his forehead. The kid comes from North Dakota. He may not be acclimated to the California weather. Today’s temperature is mid-eighties. It’s barely on the hot side.
“Great job. You have incredible strength throwing to second.” Don’t mention his pop time.
“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you. You’re one of the best college catchers. I’m glad we’ve partnered together. I can learn a lot from you.”
Behind the Count: Cessna U Wildcats Book Two Page 8
