The Ninth Inning Page 5

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” I said as the ball sailed my way, and I easily caught it before throwing it hard to second base for the cutoff.

  “You and I both know I should be starting over you. You’ve had a shitty time at the plate, and I don’t see that ending anytime soon.” He was poking the proverbial bear, and he knew it. Logan knew if he was going to talk shit, to do it where it counted. “Coach will get sick of it and yank you. Watch. I give it two more games. Three, tops.”

  My heart spun in my fucking chest. It was my worst fear, being pulled from the lineup and forced to watch the games from the bench, but I couldn’t let Logan know that. I had to make him think I wasn’t worried. “It’s not my fault you’re not good enough to play here. Should have gone to a different school. Maybe a D2 university, so you would have had a better shot at starting.”

  Telling someone they weren’t good enough to be playing at the top D1 level was a low blow. It felt like a win even if it was short-lived.

  “Fuck you, Anders,” Logan fired from behind me, and I grinned to myself, knowing I’d struck a chord.

  “Nah, I’m good,” I said without turning around.

  I fielded a ground ball this time and threw it at home plate to Chance. It reached on one bounce, low and perfect at the plate for a potential tagged out. I heard a few of my teammates whistle in response.

  “Heard Christina’s done with you. That was fun to watch. I’m thinking about asking her out. She seems feisty,” Logan said as we switched positions, and he stepped in front of me, waiting to take his turn.

  The idea of Logan touching Christina made my blood go straight from simmering to a strong boil. I bit the inside of my cheek to stay focused and to stop myself from tackling him to the fucking ground and beating him senseless. No matter what instigating and vile things came of Logan’s mouth, I would be the one who got in trouble if I did that.

  Coach Jackson had no tolerance for fighting between teammates, especially over girls. It wasn’t something he warned in vain to keep us all in line, but something he followed through on as well. I’d seen him do it my freshman year. When two of the guys on the team had fought over some chick, Coach had benched them both. During playoffs. We lost that year.

  He’d followed up his decision with a speech that started with, “No pussy coming between my players,” which of course forced us to all fight back laughter, and ended with, “You have all the time in the world to let females ruin your life. You don’t have that with baseball. Get your head in the game or get off my field.”

  Teammates didn’t poach on their teammates’ exes. It went without saying that if one of us had dated a girl, she was off-limits to the rest of us. But then again, Christina and I had never officially been together, so those rules didn’t necessarily apply. An ex-girlfriend was one thing, but hooking up wasn’t. And if they weren’t even remotely on the same level, then why did I feel so betrayed?

  “If you want my sloppy seconds, be my guest.” It was rude as shit, and I didn’t mean a single word of it, but Logan was trying to rattle me, and I couldn’t let him know just how badly he had.

  “I think I will,” he said before Coach Jackson waved us in. We started jogging toward the dugout, and he turned to offer one last dig. “I won’t ask for permission when I steal your position next.”

  This motherfucker thinks he’s going to steal my girl and my position? Over my dead body.

  Guys in Bands

  Christina

  The party had left me rattled emotionally. Seeing Cole had broken the proverbial cage I’d kept him in the past seven months wide open and obliterated it to pieces. It had been made of cheap plastic anyway, so it really was to be expected. But now, he was out in the open again, free to torment my days. I’d tossed and turned in the three nights since I last saw him, sleep eluding me as I replayed our interaction, angry that I was back in this fucked up, emotional place again.

  I was pissed at myself. For going to the party, for letting Lauren suggest the idea, and for me agreeing that it was a good one. I had known that seeing Cole could potentially wreck me. Okay, I hadn’t known, but I’d damn well suspected that could be the case. Sucking in a breath, I resisted my own thoughts. I was not wrecked. Cole did not wreck me. He’d stopped having that ability months ago, and I was not some weak girl who couldn’t get over a guy.

  Although, to be fair, him grabbing my face and kissing me like he actually missed me could have been so much hotter if it had actually meant something. But it hadn’t. It was just more of his games. More of his bullshit. More things to add to my list of What Not to Look for in a Guy. I mean, if I’d had a list like that in the first place.

  A quick knock on my bedroom door had me looking up.

  “Are you almost ready to go?” Lauren asked, her purse and notebook in her hand.

  Glancing down at my feet to make sure I had shoes on, I nodded. “Yep. One sec,” I said as I pushed off the bed and made my way into my bathroom for a quick swish of mouthwash. I avoided overanalyzing the fact that my eyes looked tired and that I wasn’t skilled enough in makeup techniques to cover the light bags that had started to appear underneath them.

  “You didn’t sleep again, did you?” Lauren asked as soon as I exited my room and met her in the hallway.

  “I did,” I lied, and she gave me an eye roll. “Just not very much.”

  “This is all my fault,” she groaned as she walked toward the front door and held it open for me to go through before locking it behind us.

  “It isn’t. And I swear, I’m not trying to not sleep. I want to sleep. I want it so bad. I think it’s avoiding me because I keep chasing it so hard,” I said with a sick laugh, realizing the irony and apparent theme of my life.

  “Well, if it makes you feel better,” she said as we walked into the brisk morning air, “there’s a live band playing at The Bar tonight. I think we should go.”

  The Bar was literally the name of the bar across the street from campus where everyone who was old enough to drink hung out. If you were underage, you could definitely get away with using a good fake ID in there, but if you didn’t have one, you weren’t allowed on the premises.

  “It’s Wednesday,” I argued as her car chirped to life as we neared it. “Who goes out on a Wednesday?”

  “We’re in college. We can go out any day.” She smiled. “And I might know one of the guys in the band.” Her cheeks crimsoned as she dropped into the driver’s seat and out of view.

  “Wait.” I opened the door and sat quickly, fastening my seat belt. “You might know one of the guys in the band? Either you do or you don’t.”

  She waved me off as she started the engine, her lips pressed together tight.

  “Oh my gosh. You have a crush on some dude in a band!” I practically shouted because it was so unlike her.

  “Why are you yelling? I’m right here. And I don’t have a crush on him. I barely know him,” she tried to argue, and I laughed.

  “You don’t have to know someone to think they’re hot,” I teased as she navigated the short drive to campus. “Wait,” I said before remembering a conversation we’d had. “Doesn’t a guy in a band go against all your safety rules?” I started to ask as it all came rushing back to me. “Yeah,” I said, holding up one finger. “They never stay in one place for long, so if they commit a crime, they have the potential for getting away with it.” Holding up a second finger, I added, “Two, they have access to drugs that other people might not and are willing to use them to their benefit.” I said, adding a third finger in the air, “And three, no one stops a girl from going off with a guy in a band because they all assume she’s a willing participant. So, basically, anything bad could happen, and no one would believe her.”

  “I’m impressed. Not only do you pay attention to what I say, but you retain it as well,” she said, sounding like the future psychology teacher she wanted to be.

  “Guess I’m more than just a pretty face,” I said with a smile as we drove toward one of t
he farther student parking structures.

  Lauren knew better than to park in the one where Cole and I had shared multiple nights on the top level, looking up at the stars, talking about life, and watching the sun rise. I avoided it too. Even if it was the closest one to my classes and not parking there added ten minutes to my walk, I never cared. I refused to park in there on principle alone.

  “Barely.” She pulled the car into a spot and cut the engine before turning to face me. “Fine. I sort of, maybe think the drummer is good-looking, okay? And I know, boys in bands break all my rules, but this is more for you than it is for me anyway.”

  I pulled back slightly before asking, “More for me how?”

  I grew nervous and worried, hoping she hadn’t set me up on another blind date before talking to me about it first. She had done that once before during freshman year, and it hadn’t ended well.

  Thinking back, I remembered us sitting in the library, studying, when two guys walked in, dressed in full Harry Potter cosplay, wands and all.

  I laughed and whispered how it wasn’t even October, so what were they doing, all dressed up? Lauren only smiled as the guys headed straight for us.

  “Wh-wh-whyy are they coming over here?” I stuttered as their pace quickened. “Lauren?” More steps. “Lauren!” I whisper-shouted as they stopped in front of our work table and sat down, the entire library focused in our direction.

  “Hi, I’m Ron.” The redhead stuck out his hand.

  I stared at it, wondering three things:

  1. Is his name Ron, or is he just in character?

  2. Is his hair really red, or again, is he in character?

  3. And the most important, WHY THE HELL IS HE INTRODUCING HIMSELF TO ME?!

  I stared at his hand like I’d never seen one before, and he finally pulled it back, tucking it inside his cape sleeve, where it disappeared. Yeah, I’d said, cape sleeve.

  “Sorry. This is Christina. She’s just really shy.” Lauren broke the awkwardness, and I punched her leg under the table. “Ow!” she said before trying to play it off.

  I was not shy. I just had no idea what the hell was going on.

  “We should get going, or we’re going to be late,” the other Potter person said.

  I looked between the three of them as Lauren slowly gathered up her things and started shoving them in her messenger bag. She was clearly leaving with them.

  “Be late for what? I’m not going anywhere,” I argued. “I have a test tomorrow.”

  Fake Ron—or Real Ron, I still had no idea—pulled a chocolate frog from a pocket in his cape and handed it to me. A chocolate frog! Like from the movie! I stared at it like it might come to life and start hopping around, leaving little chocolate frog prints all over the books and the shelves and the walls. How pissed off would the janitorial staff be if they had to find all those little things and clean them off? I imagined that a frog hopped around a lot before you actually caught it.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I shook my head.

  “Are you coming?” Lauren asked, and I realized that no one had told me where they were going yet.

  “Where?”

  “To the party,” the other Potter said like I was an idiot who should know exactly what party he spoke of.

  “Is it a costume party?” I asked, still completely confused.

  “What? No. Why would you say that?” Fake/Real Ron asked seriously, and I wondered if I’d fallen and hit my head.

  Was I sleeping? I pinched my arm and flinched. No. Definitely not asleep.

  “You guys go ahead,” I said slowly, wondering briefly if I was being filmed for a prank show. Glancing down at my books, I pointed to them with my finger—because, unlike the Potter people, I didn’t have a wand to point with. “I have to study.”

  “I thought you said she’d agreed to come?” Fake/Real Ron pointed his wand at Lauren, and she backed up a step before apologizing. “I don’t want to be a third wheel. You promised, Lauren.” He was getting riled up, his wand waving all over the place, and I thought he might stab her in the eye with it if he wasn’t careful. “You said she liked Harry Potter and this wouldn’t be weird.”

  Lauren looked back at me with a pleading look in her still-intact eyes, and I shook my head. I loved that girl, but I wasn’t going anywhere with them.

  I’d assumed we’d both learned our lesson when it came to coordinating blind dates without asking, but now, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Stop looking at me like that. I did not set you up with anyone,” she reprimanded me as she read my thoughts. “I promised I’d never do that again.” She reached for her door handle and pushed it open, stepping out.

  I did the same, getting out of the car and looking across the top of it at her. “Tell me how this is more for me then.”

  “Fine.” She huffed out a quick breath like whatever admittance came next was going to physically pain her. “I stalked him. Then stalked the band. And their social media pages are crap. Not updated at all. How can you expect to grow if you don’t even do the simplest thing, like tell people you have a show coming up? It’s like they’re not even trying.”

  Realization dawned on me as we weaved through cars in the parking lot and walked toward the tree-lined campus. “And that’s where I come in.”

  “That’s where you come in.” She felt satisfied with her idea, I could tell. And she wasn’t wrong to feel that way.

  Social media management was what I planned to do with my life, and she knew that I was always looking for a good addition to include in my online portfolio. So far, I handled a few accounts for professors who had creative side gigs regularly as well as a handful of people who wanted me to focus on highlighting particular activities or events. Those were short-term gigs but still resulted in huge awareness and success on all fronts.

  When I’d mentioned what I was doing to Cole one time, he’d told me that when he got drafted, I’d be his second hire—after his agent, of course. He said he wanted me to handle all of his online accounts. That there wasn’t anyone else he could think of trusting more than me. I remembered blushing and feeling so incredibly flattered. I went home that night and researched other baseball players, taking notes on what their sites were like, when and how often they posted. I’d read all their comments, noting if they ever responded or not. I had a social media file with Cole’s name on it that I should have tossed in the trash after last August, but I could never bring myself to do it.

  “I mean, if their social media is that bad, I’d be doing them a favor by helping.” I grinned, and she pretended not to be overly excited at my agreement.

  The one thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to start my own social media management company. I assumed that I would have to work for someone else after graduation to get more real-life experience, but being my own boss and getting hired as an independent contractor was my end goal. I wanted to work with multiple clients and offer a sliding scale of services—from the basic, light finessing to total hands-on management every day. Whatever a person needed on their social networks, I planned on being their one-stop shop.

  I had originally debated between specializing in high-profile companies or individuals. I carefully weighed out the professional pros and cons versus what I thought would interest me the most in the long run. I didn’t want to get into something that I’d burn out on quickly, so making the initial decision wasn’t as easy as it might have seemed.

  Working for high-profile companies would come with a huge paycheck and stability, but I worried that I might get bored at some point or be bound too tightly by their company policies and politics or that I’d feel stuck with what I could and couldn’t do creatively. I absolutely wanted the safety and financial security that a large company could provide but not at the cost of my heart.

  I didn’t want to play it safe when it came to my passions, and that was when I had known ... that working for individual people was the right choice for me. I remembered feeling instantly lighter after the realization,
and it only reinforced the decision I’d made. I knew that I’d still be bound by beliefs and what my clients wanted to show to their followers, but I’d be more involved in how they presented it. My job would have a more intimate approach rather than me feeling like a replaceable cog on a corporate wheel.

  We walked toward our respective buildings, our parking structure closing in on me as it neared in the distance.

  “Don’t look at it.” Lauren nudged my shoulder with her own, knowing all that it represented, and I shot her a look.

  “I wasn’t planning on it. I wish they’d demolish it.”

  The stupid building hovered, calling to me like a bright beacon of neon, highlighting all the memories I had shared there with Cole. It taunted me. Haunted me.

  Lauren laughed. “It’s not the parking structure’s fault. They just can’t demolish something because you’re mad at it.”

  “Stop being logical. If I want logic, I’ll ask for it.” I frowned, wanting to change the subject. The topic of conversation needed to stop revolving around Cole Anders.

  I was about to ask Lauren the name of the band, so I could do some online research before the show tonight, but some not-so-quiet pieces of conversation caught my ear.

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Slapped him.”

  “He hates her for it.”

  “I hooked up with him that night anyway. It’s not like he’s into her.”

  My steps faltered only the tiniest bit, but Lauren locked her movements in time with mine and smiled big for any girls looking our way to see. “Don’t listen to them.”

  The girls on campus had always said things under their breath about me or Cole whenever I was around. It was petty and immature, and you would think I’d be used to it by now, but I hated the way being the topic of conversation felt. Especially when it wasn’t ever anything nice or complimentary. A girl could only take hearing, “She’s not even that cute,” so many times before she wanted to beat someone senseless.

  And it was all Cole’s fault. It’d felt like everyone on campus knew about the two of us hooking up the minute after it happened, and apparently, it was everyone’s business. Other females made sure I knew that I wasn’t the only one spending time with Cole. Heaven forbid a girl felt special for two seconds. Oh no, not when it came to a highly desired baseball player at Fullton State. Cole Anders was a hot commodity, and I would not be the one to take him off the market. Or so I’d been told by a drunk sorority girl at a party one night.