The Perfect Game
Page 9

“When did you start playing baseball?”
His eyes lit up. “My grandparents signed us up for every sport imaginable when we moved in. They thought it would help.” A slight chuckle escaped from his lips, his mouth curving upward. “I don’t remember, but my grandma said I would cry whenever the season ended.”
I laughed, imagining the scene in my mind. “That’s cute. You loved it even then.”
He released a breath. “Being on that pitcher’s mound, it’s the one thing I’m really good at. The one thing I haven’t fucked up. And when I’m on the field, everything else fades away. You know?” He turned to look at me, his eyes craving understanding.
I smiled and he continued. “It’s like my mind is clear when I’m out there. It’s not about my mom or my dad or the stupid shit I’ve done. It’s about me, the ball, and the batter. It’s the one place in the world where I feel like I’m in control. Like I have a say in what happens around me.”
I stopped my head from nodding in agreement once I realized that I was doing it. “I feel that way when I’m taking pictures. Anything that I’m not seeing through my lens fades away in the background. And I get to frame my picture any way I choose. I get to dictate how it looks. What’s in it. What isn’t. Behind that lens I have complete control in how things are seen.”
He smiled, his dimples indenting his cheeks. “You get it.”
“I like this side of you,” I said, genuinely meaning it.
He crossed his arms across his chest. “Don’t get used to it.”
I jerked back at his suddenly defensive tone. “Way to ruin a perfectly good moment with your craptitude.”
“Craptitude?” he mocked.
“Yeah. Your crappy attitude.” I pulled my seat upright and reached for the door handle again.
“ Fuck Shit . I’m sorry, Kitten. Don’t hate me. I just really suck at this.” His hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me back toward him.
“Suck at what?”
“This.” His finger wagged between my face and his.
“What? Having a serious conversation? I know, it’s really hard.” It was all I could do not to roll my eyes.
“I don’t really have serious conversations with girls,” he admitted reluctantly.
“That’s seriously pathetic, Jack.”
“If I haven’t conveyed to you by now that I have a hard time trusting people—” he started to explain before I cut him off.
“I know you do. And you have every right. But you have to start somewhere.” He breathed loudly and I finished, “Sooner or later you have to let people in.”
And by “people,” I really meant me.
Shit.
He leaned toward me and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my face. “I know,” he murmured, closing the small space between us even further.
He cupped my cheek in the palm of his hand and looked into my eyes. “I’m going to kiss you.” My heart hammered inside my chest as thoughts of stopping him raced through my mind.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I stammered, my defenses fading.
“It changes everything.” He sounded so sure of himself as his soft lips silenced my weak protest.
My eyes closed and I lost myself in the warmth of his kiss. His cinnamon-flavored tongue gently parted my lips as I allowed him to explore my mouth. He was gentle, the flicker of his tongue soft and slow, causing my heart to expand. His fingers tangled tenderly in the back of my hair, tugging lightly. I lifted my hand to the side of his face, my thumb tracing the lines of his cheek down to his chin before gripping the back of his neck and pulling him closer.
My mouth was frantic, all sense of composure lost somewhere in the taste of him. He pulled away, our mouths parting with one final, closed-mouth peck.
“It changes everything,” he repeated, still cupping my face in his hand.
“Prove it.”
SIX
JACK
Prove it were the two words she said to me before hopping out of my car and running through her apartment door that night. She didn’t trust people either. Or more to the point, she didn’t trust me. Cassie Andrews didn’t need rescuing, but I still wanted to save her.
She wanted me to prove that she was different from all the other girls I’d been with. Apparently she didn’t realize she already was. I asked her out on a date and I never ask girls out. Hooking up at a party or a club was one thing. That’s easy. I can do anything with a beer in my hand, or an audience watching.
But asking Cassie out in the daylight, dead sober, with no one around…that was something I’d never done before. She made me nervous as hell. I knew she wasn’t like other girls the moment I saw the disgusted look on her face after I called her “Kitten.” Most girls would have creamed their pants if I called them that. But not Cassie. She looked like she wanted to punch me in the jaw.
And I’ve wanted to kiss her ever since.
The first order of business in my prove-to-Cassie-I’m-serious agenda consisted of ditching my usual table filled with random fan-girls to sit with her in the student union. I figured that giving her priority attention in public showed my intent. The whispers and comments were brutal that first month with my teammates bagging on me every chance they got. Not to mention the relentless advances from what appeared to be every female on campus under the age of thirty.
I never realized how exhausting it was to turn women away. It was one thing to hook up with them and then call it a day, but to be off the market completely was something I’d never dealt with before. To put it simply, girls don’t like being rejected, especially if it’s because of another girl.
But no one knew what it was like to be me. I’d finally met a girl who didn’t try to impress me. She didn’t care about what I did as an athlete; she cared about what I did as a person. I was jumping into this thing with both feet. Holding on to Cassie with both arms.
Number two on my list consisted of spending as much time with her outside of school as possible. I made myself a regular at the apartment she shared with Melissa, where Cassie and I had become masters at making out.
I never knew you could spend hours just kissing a girl. I never knew because I’d never done it before. In the last month, I’d learned just how erotic kissing could be. Many nights I’d left her place unsatisfied sexually, but completely content emotionally.
I sound like a fucking chick. I want to go drink a beer and punch something.
That’s better.
With enough food on my tray to feed an army, I passed a group of panting girls in the student union on my way toward Cassie. A sorority chick named Andrea stopped me with a hand on my arm. I moved away from her touch, scowling at her hand. “What?” I asked sharply, uninterested in whatever was about to spill from her lips.
“Our sorority formal is coming up, Jack.” She paused, her eyelashes batting at a ridiculous pace. “And I thought you could come with?”
“No.” The huge smile fell from her face.
“Why not? Is it because of her?” She sneered in Cassie’s direction.
“None of your business, Andrea. And if you ever refer to my girlfriend like that again, I’ll find someone to teach you a little respect.”
She huffed at me, all offended, and I walked away, noticing Melissa laughing in my direction.
“You girls are a species all your own.” I shook my head in disbelief as I nudged my tray against Cassie’s.
She glanced around at the girls whispering and watching us. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s been a month, ladies. Time to get over it already.” Melissa waved her hand into the air, her voice raised.
“Sorry to put you in the spotlight, Kitten.” I knew she hated it when I called her that, but I couldn’t help it. I liked it. I tossed my arm around her shoulder and pulled her into me, my thumb caressing her soft skin. Her hair tickled my neck as it fell around my back and I wished I could hold on to her forever. I kissed the top of her head before letting her go, her green eyes forming half moons as she smiled.
“I guess it comes with the territory.” She looked at me, her cheeks tinged with pink.
“The territory of being Jack freaking Carter’s girlfriend,” Melissa added with a laugh.
“Glad you’re on board with this, Melis.” I smiled, encouraged by her attitude.
“Jack, you’re still an asshole but you’ve grown on me. And if you hurt Cassie, I’ll break your pitching arm. Capisce?”
“Capisce,” I responded, purely to humor Cassie’s fun-sized best friend.
I leaned into my girl, the smell of her shampoo engulfing my senses. “You know I’d never hurt you on purpose.”
Cassie immediately turned to face me, her eyebrows pinched together. “That’s not really reassuring. You know that, right?”
“I’m just being realistic. Don’t want to make you promises I can’t keep,” I added, hinting at rule number three of her boy test.
“So you can’t promise that you won’t hurt me?” Her tone was annoyed and I instantly wished I could take back my words.
“Cass, I don’t ever want to hurt you, but I can’t promise you that I’ll never screw up or make you mad.” I paused, trying to make the thoughts in my head come out right.
“He’s good at pissing people off. Isn’t that right, big brother?” I looked up to see Dean smirking at me, and took a half-hearted swipe at him as he sat down next to me.
“That’s the rumor.” I nodded with a smile.
“Plus, if he pushes you away, then you won’t be the one who left him. He’ll be the one who made you leave,” Dean added defiantly.
I glared at my little brother for his openness in such a public space. I glanced around, making sure no one was too close to overhear.
“I don’t plan on going anywhere.” Cassie put her hand on top of mine and squeezed. “So don’t try to make me.”
Relief coursed through my body with her reassurance. I had spent so much of my life convinced that no girl would ever want to be with the real me, that I’d never given anyone a chance to prove me wrong. If my own mom didn’t love me enough to stay, how would anyone else?
“Jesus, I’ve never met two people more scared to let someone love them than the two of you,” Melissa remarked with a frown.
I opened my mouth to protest when she continued, her ponytail bobbing from side to side as she moved her head. “And don’t even try to deny it. You’re both all messed up from your stupid parents. Cassie here,” she lifted her hand in Cassie’s direction, “with her dad’s constant lies and inability to follow through on even the simplest, most mundane thing, has been disappointed and let down most of her life.”
Her hand pointed in my direction. “And you, with your mom up and leaving, telling you it was your fault because you were a bad kid. You’re convinced that no one will ever stick around. That eventually, they’ll leave you too. And somewhere in your twisted, screwed-up psyche, you probably think you deserve it.”