In my head, I tell Coach Randall to go jump when Summer says, “True. But there’s no harm striving for better.”
I should have started getting ready for training five minutes ago. I just don’t want to untangle myself from Summer to do that. I thought baseball would always be the only thing I’d strive for a personal best at. The past fifteen hours with Summer have proved otherwise, but I lose the ability to keep going on when Summer presses her lips to my chest before unwrapping herself from my hold.
Her grin when she spots my pout would have you convinced she’s a sadist. “We can’t have car sex if you don’t go anywhere for me to collect you from.” When I attempt to rebut her claim, she tosses a Morrison training shirt into my face. “Get your ass out of bed, Lenigan69, before I tell Coach Randall the real reason you’re late. We can’t strive to reachourdreams if we don’t both put in the work.” My ass remains put until she tacks on, “Coach Randall’s call will be closely followed by one to my father.”
That’s my cue to fucking leave.
After scampering out of bed and tossing on a pair of boxers and shorts, I spin to face Summer. Although I’m not eager to meet again with her father after all the dirty things I did to his daughter, I am curious to discover how she plans to handle this. “Are you going to tell him about us?”
My ego takes a hit when she shakes her head.
It doesn’t cower for long. “I don’t need to. He already knows.” When I arch a brow, encouraging her to continue, she smiles a grin that has me creeping toward her like lunch has been served, and I skipped breakfast. Before I can devour her lips, she fans her hand across my chest and stops me in my tracks with seven little words. “He thinks you’re in love with me.”
“What makes him think that?” You couldn’t say my voice is detached as such, but there is an ounce of unease to it. I have feelings for Summer I’ve never felt for anyone before, but I’m not exactly sure if that’s love.
After slipping a two-sizes-too-big shirt over her head, then pulling on a pair of overalls, Summer answers, “He said you look at me like he looked at my mother.”
Her reply isn’t as bad as I am anticipating. “Of course, I look at you like that. Have you seen your ass? I could bounce a quarter off it.”
“Not that way, you asshat.” She’s acting angry, but she loves my compliment. “Like you lov—”
Knock. Knock.
“That’ll be the bus,” I announce, never more grateful for an interruption.
I swoop down to press a kiss to Summer’s cheek, slip a shirt over my head and shoes onto my feet, snatch up my training bag, then head for the door.
My ass slots into the seat next to Holden before I realize I just farewelled the girl who blew my fucking mind last night with a peck kiss on her cheek.
What a fucking soft cock!
Needing to make the situation right, I leap up from my seat. My endeavor comes too late. The bus has already pulled away from the curb, and Assistant Coach Kubeckis wouldn’t care if the hotel was on fire and hundreds of guests were trapped inside.
He stops for no one.
I’m still reprimanding my stupidity for not getting another sample of Summer’s lips when I had the chance when Lindsay steps in front of me. We’re on the ball field, waiting for Coach Randall to allow a throng of journalists onto his turf. This was supposed to be the press conference where I hinted about a possible permanent placement at Ravenshoe Ravens. The more the media circulated the story, the more fans would get hyped. The more hyped they were, the higher the owners of the Ravens’ already generous offer would become.
Instead of doing that, we’re expanding on the baseball scholarship program Summer unknowingly initiated yesterday. Some big parties have come to the plate, meaning no child will go without sports like Summer did because her father couldn’t afford the sign-up fees.
“When we’re done here, I need you to get me in touch with a local learn-to-swim company.”
Lindsay’s eyes rocket to mine. They’re not as pissed as they were when I first rocked up to training. That might have something to do with the fact the owners of the Ravenshoe Ravens think I’m playing hard to get to increase their bid to secure me. I’m not, but since Lindsay is confident he can stretch the negotiations out until after the MLB season starts, I’m happy to pretend I’m a money-hungry prick. “You can’t swim?”
“I can swim as well as I can pitch—”
I give Rye’s head slap a try when Lindsay interrupts me, “It’s just running you hate.” Before he can scowl at me, a group of sports journalists races our way like I just got busted jabbing steroids into my ass. “Let’s keep this short and quick.”
“Like your dick,” I mumble a mere second before microphones are shoved in front of my face.
I answer a range of questions from what my warmup routine is like to what flavor of Powerade I like the most, but since most of the questions stem around rumors I’m considering playing for the Ravens on a permanent basis, most of the answering is left to Lindsay.
I’m about to jump back into the conversation when the questions shift from my professional aspirations to personal, but my focus shifts from shutting down speculations with facts when I spot Summer gliding down the bleacher stairs. She’s not galloping down with the shy smile that highlighted her face only twenty-four hours ago. Her face is ashen, her eyes are brimming with tears, and she looks seconds from collapse.
“Summer!” I shout when my last remark comes true. She falls to her knees like the rigid material coating the stairs won’t scratch up her delicate skin before she burrows her head into her shaky hands.
I race for her, my speed increasing when I realize who’s making a beeline for her from the opposite direction. I hate running, but I sure as fuck won’t let Cody comfort Summer before me.
Even with Cody reaching her at the same time as me, she throws herself into my arms when I lift her tear-stained face from her hands. Her tears soak my shirt in under a second, and nothing she says makes any sense. I can honestly say I’ve never once seen her this upset, and she was bullied relentlessly the majority of her first two years at college.
