AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You made me throw a pitch that I told you was shit, and now you’re fucking pulling me?”
He kept his palm out flat and blinked at me without speaking.
“No fucking way.”
His jaw went rigid and his eyes narrowed to slits. “You just gave up a two-run homer. I’ll ask you the same question I asked when I was out here before. Who coaches this team?”
That fucking question made my head explode. “Who coaches this team?” I took a step closer. “A fucking moron who will never lead us to the playoffs if he doesn’t open his ears and listen when his players talk. An idiot who’d rather run his fucking mouth than give his players the respect of hearing them out. No, he’s too much of a dumbass to bother with that shit.” As I dropped the ball in the grass halfway to the dugout, I already regretted my words and the fine that was sure to come.
As my cleats hit the bottom step of the dugout, I didn’t slow. I brushed the trainer away and continued down the cinderblock halls. I didn’t want to talk. I needed to cool off before I took out my anger on anyone else. I yanked my jersey off and threw it on the floor. Next came my cleats and pants. A minute later, I was headed for the shower, dreading the texts that would be waiting for me when I was done.
With a towel around my waist, I pulled in a long breath and pushed down the dread and disquiet threatening to consume me. Then I snagged my phone off the shelf in my locker.
Pop: Four fucks, one shit, and name calling. Not your best.
Pop: Didn’t even need a lip reader for this one. The announcers could even tell what you said. And throwing the ball? Kids are watching you. You’re setting an example, and it’s your responsibility to be a good one.
I rubbed the back of my neck. I knew I’d acted like an ass, but I wasn’t wrong.
I pushedthrough the door of my Thursday afternoon happy place. Arti’s Subs was, in my opinion, the best sandwich place on Boston Harbor. And the Thursday special? It’s what foodgasms were made of.
“Hey, Avery.” Arti smiled at me as he leaned his beefy arms on the glass case that displayed the variety of sandwich meats he offered. Arti cooked 90 percent of it in-house, and he purchased the bread from a local bakery that had perfected the onion roll. All thrown together, it made for the best North Shore roast beef in all of Massachusetts.
“How’s wedding planning?”
His daughter was getting married in a few weeks. For months, every time I stopped in, he’d been going on about the torture she was putting him through.
He heaved a sigh the size of Texas and shook his bald head. “Don’t start with that shit.”
The bell on the door behind me jingled, and Arti looked past me.
“Hey, Dragon. Give me one second, and I’ll grab your order.”
My heart skipped at that name—Dragon—and I spun. The second I laid eyes on him, my heart took off at a furious speed. Holy heck, the man was gorgeous. He’d been photographed wearing glasses, but I’d never seen him wear them in person. And damn if he didn’t have the Clark Kent vibe going. He lookedgoodin Rev’s blue, but like this? Iwas having a hard time taking in a full breath. He was in a pair of gray practice pants and a white T-shirt, with his Rev’s hat on backward. The scruff that normally brushed his jaw was thicker, as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Add in the black-rimmed glasses, and it made it hard to breathe.
“Hey, Blondie.” The corner of his mouth lifted in thatI’m not going to smilelook he’d perfected.
“Hi.” I shifted on my feet.
I hadn’t heard from him since he’d called my dad a dumbass on national television. He’d apologized to the press after the game, saying he’d let his frustration get to him in the moment and that he shouldn’t have lashed out. As far as I knew, it was the first time he’d ever apologized for an outburst.
From there, most of the questions the media had for him revolved around the problems with his slider. And although he said it wasn’t because of hitting Puff, I knew better. He was still harboring guilt about it.
“You stalking me?” he asked. It was his favorite line when we ran into each other in the wild like this. It had only happened four or five times in the last few months, but in a city the size of Boston, maybe it was a lot.
I shook my head. “Stalking requires a pattern, not an accidental meetup.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest and sent a shiver through me. “Yeah, you’d have to know where I go on certain days and be on the lookout for me in order for it to be considered stalking, right?”
“Exactly.” The old me might have done that. Thrown myself in his path over and over, all but screamingpick me, pick me. God, I felt pathetic just thinking about it. But we were friends. There was no reason to vie for his attention or affection. And more than that, I wouldn’t be that person again. “You’re very casual today.”
He rocked back on his heels and tucked his hands into the back pockets of his baseball pants. “Since I ended the season with a two-week suspension and don’t get to travel with the team, I don’t have much reason to dress up.”
I winced. Because not only had the league fined him twenty-fivethousand dollars, but my dad had suspended him for the last twelve games.
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I deserved it.”
“Got your order here.” Arti appeared behind the counter again and slid a large brown bag toward Chris. “And I grabbed you your usual.” He nodded at me and set the small white bag next to the brown one.
