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He gave a minute shrug. "Maybe because there's only ever one good choice."
"I don't believe that. I think there is more than one good choice anyone can make."
"Are you saying you want me to rent you a bat?"
I grabbed the extra bat from his hands. "No. I don't want a shitty bat hundreds of people have abused."
His laughter followed me into the cage. I took a few practice swings while Finn studied the helmets behind us. After knocking a few on the head and squeezing the plastic between his hands, he settled on one that he brought into the cage.
“This is really ugly.” I turned it over in my hands. The inside had a plastic adjustable frame.
“You could wear a bag, and you’d still be beautiful,” he replied and took the hat out of my hands. Caught off guard by his compliment, I didn’t resist as he dropped the helmet onto my head and then dialed the adjuster knob so the brim didn’t fall over my eyes.
Then he set his bat against the net and walked down the alley to the pitching unit. He did something and then returned. "I dialed it down to sixty miles per hour."
"Sixty?" I reared back. "I'm supposed to hit something hurtling toward me at highway speed?"
"Any slower and it won't get to the plate." He moved behind me, and I thought he'd do the classic arms around the girl, hips snug against her move, but he didn't—to my surprise… and regret.
He placed his hands on my hips and kicked my feet apart. "Line up your hips with the pitcher's mound and balance on the balls of your feet, resting slightly on the back leg. In fact, lift your left leg and kind of shake it, and then put it back down."
I did as he told me but felt foolish. "Are we doing the hokey pokey?"
"We can do any kind of dancing that you want…later."
His breath was hot on my neck, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from moaning. I steeled myself against the full body hug, but he surprised me again by stepping back and rearranging my arms so my right elbow was bent and my left arm was almost fully extended. "This feels weird."
"Because you've never hit before," he replied patiently.
I gave a few practice swings and then nodded that I was ready. I vowed not to duck, but when he pressed a button and the ball came flying out of the machine, it took a lot for me to stand there and swing the bat. And even at sixty miles per hour (which was not slow), I struck out. I struck out for the next ten balls until I finally hit the top of the ball with the bottom of my bat. Sadly the ball did not fly way out to the end of the alley, nor did I hear that satisfying smack. Instead, it dribbled about two feet away from me.
I pulled off the helmet and handed it to him. "I think hitting a baseball is overrated. I'll just sit on the table and have a drink."
He reached to his back pocket for his wallet, and I stopped him. "I'm paying for my own drink tonight."
He looked like he wanted to argue but wisely did not. As I went to the concession stand, he walked down the alley toward the machine. Probably to turn it up to five hundred miles per hour or something.
I sat with my soda and bag of candy and proceeded to watch him crush the ball ten times out of ten.
"Were you disappointed you didn't get a baseball scholarship?"
"No way. Do you know how hard they work?" He stopped, and the ball flew by him into the net. I quirked an eyebrow at him. He twisted the bat in his hands and then tapped it against his feet like he had done when he was in high school, when he’d been in the on deck circle. "Our frat had several guys on the baseball team, and they were busy nonstop, even during the off season. Lifting weights, in the batting cages, running drills. I didn't want to put the time and effort into it."
I heard a tiny bit of disappointment in his voice, and I wasn't sure what to assign it to: the fact he hadn't played baseball, or that he thought it was a mountain not worth climbing.
After another round of his bat meeting balls, he finally got tired and exited the cage to join me at the table. He sat and grabbed my bottle of Dr. Pepper and drank half. "Here's the deal, Winter. I want you to give us a try. One week, no thinking about other people, the past, anything. Just you and me. After the week is up and you never want to see me again, fine. But you need to give me the week."
A week with Finn, pretending like we had no complicated backstory? It sounded too good to be true. When I opened my mouth to say no, my heart talked for me. "Okay. One week."
"Great." A huge grin stretched across his face. "How about the concert in the park on Saturday?"
I started to object, because what would I tell Ivy, but he knew exactly what my protest would be.
"You agreed. One week. No other people."
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
One week. Just the two of us.
