“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “Are we going to watch this movie or are you going to blather all afternoon?”
“Blather? Grab the chips, Walters. And get ready for epic.”
Chapter Thirty
There’s a TV in the family room, but he bypasses that for another room tucked at the back of the house. It’s got brown shag carpet, a foosball table, and an overstuffed couch with a flat screen on the wall.
He sets up the movie while I sit on the edge of the couch and try to keep my knees from shaking. I was never nervous around Garrett when I didn’t like him, but there are moments now when I objectively think about his perfect looks, and his popularity, and how much more experience he has. I feel like I’ve come in to pitch to Babe Ruth. I got no chance.
Garrett settles beside me and lifts an eyebrow when I put the bag of chips between us. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
“You can use the whole cushion, you know. Sit back. Put your feet up.” He drags over an ottoman nearly as long as the couch. I shimmy back and put up my sneakers.
“A little better,” he says. He shifts closer, and surprises me by planting a kiss on the side of my jaw. “You smell like boysenberries. Or maybe rhubarb.”
“Rhubarb?” I push him away, but the silliness of his words relaxes me. “I thought you were reformed?”
“I’ve relapsed.” He tosses the potato chips to the end of the couch and settles beside me—not quite touching, but too close to pretend we’re just friends. As the opening credits roll, he hits a remote and the panel of curtains slides shut until the only light is from the TV, and a movie that appears to have been made in a different century.
Ten minutes later, my face hurts from rolling my eyes. “Can I get a cracker with this cheese?”
“Give it a chance.”
“That wrestling outfit…” I wave a hand at the TV where Matthew Modine is in a slinky one-piece that shows off his bits and pieces.
Garrett hits the pause button. “It’s not an outfit. It’s a uni. Come on, Walters, I expected better from you.”
“I expected better from this.”
“You have to focus on the story. Not the low budget eighties filmmaking. Now can I hit play again?”
“All right, but who is this Shute guy?”
“You’ll see. It’s going to take a vision quest to beat him.”
Though I hate to admit it, I do get into the movie. It’s one where you know exactly what’s going to happen, but it’s still fun to watch. By the end, I’m grinning as the Shute kid goes down.
“Tissue?” Garrett asks.
“What?”
“You look a little teary.”
“I do not.” I shove my shoulder into his. At some point during the movie, almost touching turned into touching. After I remembered to breathe again, it felt good. So good I think I’m going to miss the feel of Garrett every time I watch a movie.
He laughs and hits the mute button. “Admit it. You liked it.”
“It wasn’t horrible. But as sports movies go, it wasn’t the best or even the second best.”
“Not even top ten, but it still fires me up every time. I first saw it with Uncle Max. It was after a club game where this kid hit for the cycle against me. After he had a single, double, and a homer, I got smart and decided to walk the guy. He caught a low pitch with the end of his bat and ended up with a triple. He was my Shute that day, and I got my ass kicked.”
I scoot over a cushion so I can see him as we talk. I like looking at him. He’s still too pretty, but now I can see the disappointment behind his smile. The fear that pushes him. The scars that don’t show on the outside. “Did you ever get revenge?”
“No. He got a homer off me the next time I faced him, and then he moved out of state. But I still think of him sometimes when I work on my drills.”
“What kind of drills does Masters have you doing?”
He shakes his head in slow motion. “I don’t want to talk about that with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you tense up. And then you get mad.”
“I do not.” But I already can feel how tight my shoulders are. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If anything changes? If it looks like you might have a shot?”
“I’d tell you.”
My eyes search his. “Because you wouldn’t have to be all that great to play at a junior college or even a D3 university. They always take a lot of pitchers.”
“Josie—”
“You don’t have to throw hard if you can hit your spots. They need—”
“Josie!” He puts his fingers over my lips. “I don’t want to play D3 just for the hell of it. I don’t want to play unless I have a chance to go all the way. That’s what it’s about for me. I’m not trying to stretch it out so I can sit on a bench for another year. Okay?”
Something unfurls in my chest. I think it’s a tiny blossom of hope. “Okay.”
The TV shows a stripe of white static. Garrett reaches for the remote and hits the stop button. “Next movie we watch is One on One. College basketball.”
“Is that from this century?”
“Nope. It’s even older than this one.”
I sit up and stretch. “Why not baseball? I would’ve thought that would be your go-to.”
“I love baseball movies, but you’ve probably seen them all.”
“Probably. My dad and I watched a bunch.” I smile in spite of myself. “He was awful to watch movies with. Spent the whole time critiquing the baseball parts—but every once in a while he’d make me pull up his training journal and add a note about something to try.”
“He kept an online journal?”
“Never missed a workout. Kept track of his exercise routine, training drills and reps, even what kind of protein shake he had afterward. I did a lot
