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I see the doubt in Xavier’s eyes. I can’t blame him. My reaction was suspicious, to say the least.
Then, Corey says something that distracts the reporter from the path his thoughts are, no doubt, traveling. “Carlee is my best friend’s little sister.”
Excitement illuminates the reporter’s face. “Best friend? As in, Carter Jones, the linebacker for the Rough Riders?”
“One and the same.”
The reporter begins to question Corey about his friendship with Carter. It’s not a secret. Carter and Corey have been pictured together several times over the years, and their friendship was traced back to Rose Hill.
But Corey has never been a person to speak about their relationship. Or any relationship, really. Xavier must know that, and he’s taking the opportunity to dig as much information out of the normally private pitcher as he can.
The two talk for several minutes before Xavier excuses himself to speak with another player. I wait until he leaves before walking back towards first base to try and coax some of the kids to pose for a picture.
“Carlee, wait up!”
I stop walking and turn around. “Yes?”
Corey jogs up to me. “What are you doing right now?”
I lift a brow. “Um… working? Taking pictures.” I hold up my cameraphone in demonstration.
“Cool.” He nods. “I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I don’t mind.”
That’s not the problem!
I need to keep my distance from Corey. Our pseudo-friendship is slipping into a familiarity that is too similar to how we interacted as kids—back when he was the boy who starred in all my fantasies. Now, he’s a man who threatens to step into that role again. I need to keep him at arm’s length. It’s for my own good.
“Since when do you talk about Rose Hill?” I ask with a petulant tone that makes me want to cringe.
Corey doesn’t miss a beat. “What do you mean?”
“Rose Hill. You know? The town you grew up in but hated so much that you never came back until literally a few weeks ago. Since when do you talk about it to reporters?”
My goal is to rile Corey up so he walks away and gives the warm feelings I’ve developed the chance to cool. But he stands his ground.Literally.
He crosses his arms, but otherwise seems unaffected by my snarky question. “Since today, I guess.”
My forehead furrows. “Butwhy?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Carlee. The guy asked about the barbeque joint I posted about last week,and I told him it was good, but not my favorite. When he asked what placewasmy favorite, I told him about Jerry’s. It’s not that serious.”
“Except it is!”
“Why?”
That’s a good question. Why am I so worked up about this? My heart is racing, and I feel like I’m about to break out in a sweat. I should just walk back my comments. I should apologize and leave while my dignity is still intact.
Instead, I blurt, “Because you spent a decade avoiding our town. Why pretend like you’re embracing it now?”
I regret the outburst immediately. This isn’t me. I’m not confrontational, and I don’t press people to explain themselves when they don’t want to. That’s why I never reached out to Corey over the years even when I desperately wanted to.
“Carlee,” Corey murmurs. Emotion creeps into his steel blue eyes.
“Never mind.” I shake my head, feeling awful. “Forget I said anything.” I turn on my heel to leave.
