I groan when I see the Kiss Cam pop up on the huge screen over left field. It’s a known fact that the Kiss Cam is the absolute worst. Still, it doesn’t stop me from subtly nudging Tessa closer to Rob. She shoots me a knowing look and I innocently smile.
Seth clears his throat, and I realize that in the process of pushing Tessa into Rob’s space, I’ve inadvertently moved myself into Seth’s. To the average viewer—and to any wandering cameraperson—I’m sure it looks like we’re cuddled up close together.
“Sorry,” I mutter. I turn my head, but all it does is bring our lips close enough that should we show up on-screen, it’d take only the slightest movement for our kiss to connect. “We should...” We should move, we should separate ourselves, we should do anything but sit here like this. But I can’t seem to find the will.
Seth’s fingers curl around my elbow, which is perched on the slim armrest between us, stroking the thin skin on the back of my arm. “Lana, I...”
I lean in an inch closer, because this close, the sense of him overwhelms me. The fear of a looming camera is all but forgotten.
He gently squeezes my arm. Then his fingers drop from my skin and he pulls away. “I can’t do this, Parker.”
My breath flutters in my chest and I want to ask whatthisis, but words don’t seem to be coming to me. I yank my arm from the armrest like it burned me and scoot closer toTessa. My phone buzzes and I’m so happy for something to distract me, I don’t even care that my boss is texting me during nonworking hours.
Natasha:Please make sure you take a selfie tonight and post it to our Stories before the game is over.
Me:How did you know we’re at the game?
Natasha:I made sure Rob got enough tickets so you could all go together.
I pause for a minute before responding. On the surface, it makes sense that our sports reporter would regularly get tickets to local sporting events. It even makes sense that his boss would be the one to facilitate said tickets. But get enough for all of us? This outing isn’t part of the competition, it’s not one of our tasks. Seth and I certainly don’t need to be here.
Pursing my lips, I swipe open to my camera and pull Tessa into a side embrace, snapping a quick photo of the two of us and uploading it to Instagram.
My phone chirps again a minute later.
Natasha:Cute pic, but post one of the whole group please.
Me:Sure.
Natasha:Also, I just emailed you and Seth the details about the upcoming writers’ workshop for teens. Can you make sure he sees it?
Me:Fine.
I shove my phone back in my pocket. The nachos I scarfed down in the third inning churn in my stomach.
Before I can say anything to him, Seth nudges my arm. “Did you see this email from Natasha?”
“She just texted me about it.”
“I guess we have an end date now. At least for our joint activities, it seems.” He shifts his foot and it brushes up against mine.
Glancing in his direction, I try to read his expression to see how he feels about it.
Not that I know how I feel about it.
If I’m being honest with myself, I like having Seth back in my life. In the moments when we’ve been able to let go and have fun, it’s felt like I had one of my best friends back. Rehashing the reunion mishap was awkward and painful, but I know it was necessary to clear the air, and for me to apologize. But some of his comments, “true north” in particular, still haunt me, and his oversized reaction to my stranger’s kiss didn’t exactly scream “just friends.”
And if I dive into the depths oftrueself-honesty, the way it felt seeing him on a date with someone else wasn’t exactly driving the highway to Friendsville either.
In so many ways, it would be so easy to let myself fall back in love with Seth Carson. Hell, I don’t think I ever really fell completely out of love with Seth Carson, though the man sitting next to me is certainly not the teenager I grew up with. But despite everything, I want to see this competition through to the end. Not just for the chance at the column—though that certainly doesn’t hurt—but becauseI’m genuinely learning things about myself. I’m enjoying not just the assignments themselves, but how it feels to complete them.
I turn fully toward Seth. “It might be good for us to get some space, yeah?”
He doesn’t answer me right away, a little crease forming at the center of his forehead. I fight back the urge to smooth it away. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Some space might be good.”
It isn’t until after the game, when Seth has dropped me back at home, after I’ve showered and changed into my pajamas and tucked myself into bed, that I realize I never posted the group photo Natasha asked for. It was mostly an oversight—I truly did forget about it once I put my phone away—but it also might be the first time I explicitly didn’t do something Natasha asked me to do. A couple of weeks ago, the stress of it would’ve kept me awake all night, but tonight, I drift right off, not concerned in the slightest.
#LANAVSSETH
