He takes a breath and steps close again, his fingers tugging at mine until our hands are laced together. “I just know that every minute we’re not together, I want us to be. And that kiss we didn’t have? It was the best kiss of my life.”
His words shred the last of my defenses. And when he bends to kiss me, I rise up on my toes to meet him. His lips are soft. Careful.
I think I might die from soft and careful. I put my hands on his chest—not to push him away but to bring him closer. And when he moans, I stop thinking of anything at all.
We kiss until my lips feel swollen and new. Until I know the texture of his face under my fingers and until I never want to taste anything but Garrett again. We kiss until I pull back because it feels so good that I’m scared.
“Jesus, Walters.” He’s panting as if he just ran the bases.
I want to smile because I’m happy it’s not just me, but fear is expanding with my lungs. How can I trust in this? In Garrett? He’s a guy with one foot out the door and I’m a girl who knows what it means to be left. “This is such a bad idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea. I think it’s right up there with the wheel, and chicken on a stick, and the infield fly rule.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “I hate that you got dressed up for someone else.”
“I’m in jeans.”
“You’re beautiful.” His touch is restless, skimming my hair to my shoulders and down my arms.
“Garrett, stop. This is crazy.”
“Why? We’ve got a month before graduation. Before anything has to change, before any decisions have to be made. A month to see what happens.”
“A month for it to end badly.”
“Why are you thinking about endings?” His blue eyes shine like an endless sky. “This is a beginning. First inning, first at bat.”
“You’re not seriously giving me a baseball analogy right now?”
He brushes a grinning kiss over my mouth. “We’ll hang out, Walters. Where’s the danger in that? And you’ll tell the giggler to keep his hands off.”
“He’s not like that. He’s a gentleman.”
“Quit saying nice things about him. You’re denting my massive ego.” When I laugh, his eyes flare with a look that would melt a metal bat. “You have the best laugh.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. And because this is all too much and I need time to process and maybe to crawl under the bed and scream with happiness, I shove at his chest. “You have to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No. I’m going to walk with Mai.”
He looks as if he might argue for a second and then sighs. “All right. Wait for me by the flagpole.”
He turns away and he’s jogging to his car before I can sputter a no. Did he really order me to the flagpole? I fold my arms over my chest and watch him drive away. No way I’m going to be waiting for him.
Effing baseball player.
Effing lungs that are still breathless.
Effing lips that are still throbbing.
Effing heart that already misses him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Cooper Davies is coming to the plate.” Garrett’s voice is thick with worry. The Cholla Wildcats are down by one in the final inning against a team we should beat. A team we have to beat. The playoff picture is tightening, and Garrett isn’t the only one worried. I’ve come to like these guys, and I want them to win.
“Davies has popped up both times at bat today, but now would be a great time to make contact,” I say. “The Wildcats are down to their last three outs.”
There’s a sudden pressure on my hand, and my heart leaps with a whole different kind of feeling. Garrett works his fingers over mine and squeezes.
Last night is still replaying in my head—has been all day—and I’m trying to adjust to this new reality. Whatever it is. Garrett’s grin was a little wider when I walked in today, but he’s been nothing but professional in the booth. So holding my hand is a little surprising and a lot, well, wonderful.
Not that I’ll tell him that.
He’s already acting way too smug. It’s amazing he could walk at all with the swagger in his step when I turned up at the flagpole this morning. But I couldn’t stay mad at him when he left the group—including Annette—to meet me halfway and thread his fingers through mine.
Mai was with me and groaned in disgust. “You’re not going to be one of those gross couples who kiss all the time, are you?”
“We’re not a couple,” I said.
“Define all the time?” Garrett said.
I’ve been stupid-happy ever since.
Now, Garrett leans forward, his hand still clutching mine. “The pitcher is on the mound, toeing dirt off the rubber. He looks down to the catcher, watching for the signal.”
I breathe in the hush of the stadium, the collective tension of nine players on the field, and the one at bat. The rest of Cholla’s team is lined up along the dugout fence, eyes fixed on Cooper. Logically, I know the white chalk lines mark a game diamond, but it feels like more than that. Like it’s a battlefield. It’s man against man even as it’s team against team. It all rests right now on one pitch. One swing.
“Here it comes,” Garrett says, “and—” His voice drops. “It’s a fastball down the middle. Davies doesn’t take a swing. Strike one.”
I swallow a frustrated groan. “That was the one he wanted, but Davies froze. Now the pitcher is ahead in the count and the pressure shifts squarely on Davies.” My blood feels fizzy and thin. There’s a tight, nervous ache in the pit of my stomach. The feeling takes me back to nights I sat in the stands watching my dad at the plate. Nights when the game rode on his bat. There
