In the billboards around New York, Jupiter’s hair was cut short like he was about to join the army; but now… now he was transforming into the boy I’d known.
The second I’d got home last night I’d collapsed in bed. I’d been too scared to sleep on the plane, for good reason. My dreams were becoming more pronounced. In the brief few hours I’d managed in Miami, all I’d seen when I closed my eyes was Jupiter’s naked body covered in tattoos… like he himself had been tattooed on the back of my eyelids.
It must have been years’ worth of work.
I could still feel the throb between my legs as I glanced over at him, or maybe it was still throbbing; every cell buzzing like a pylon, just like I was sixteen again.
I wanted to drag my tongue over the outline of stars and through the constellations, along the Milky Way imprinted into the thick divot of muscle over his left hip and splayed across his body; it had been so perfectly captured that for a second I thought I’d been looking at the night sky. And I wanted to look. I’d wanted to follow it under the pajama pants, especially as I very clearly remembered what would be there waiting for me.
My heart and my head might not be convinced that being in New York was a good idea, but my body was a salivating, wanton harlot.
I moved to the stool on the other side of the table, because if I had to be in a room with him – which I seem to do – then I needed space between us if I was required to think.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, you know about Sabermetrics, right?”
He scoffed. “Of course; the analysis of baseball stats taken during each game, everyone knows that.”
“Yes, well... this is kind of… the exact opposite of Sabermetrics.”
He looked between me and the list on the board, and back again. “Dumb it down for me, Stars and Stripes.”
“I’m not dumbing down anything for you,” I gritted out and rolled my eyes. “Simply put, winning isn’t going to happen overnight. Sabermetrics is clunky. This – the one percent – is about working with surgical precision; changes so small and delicate that you barely notice them, but when they add up, the difference is massive.”
“Like the atomic bomb?”
My brow furrowed, “Um, no. Nothing like it, and that’s a terrible analogy. It’s like… fixing the annoying things that you think don’t matter, but in actuality they really do.”
He thought for a second before he started speaking. “Like taping Ace’s mouth shut so I can concentrate on the game, and what the opposition is doing?” he grumbled, and I couldn’t stop the little giggle that erupted.
“Hooo!” His eyes widened, as did mine, and he pointed right at me. “What was that?”
I set my mouth in a hard line, hiding the evidence. “What?”
“That.Thatwhat was on your face just then? You smiled, I made you smile!” He cupped his hands round his mouth, and hollered “Hallelujah! She smiles!”
“Shut up,” I huffed. “We’re working.”
“Nah, I’m not working, I’m celebrating.” He leaned over the desk to where his LifeSavers had rolled, and broke it open, “Mmm, cherry. My favorite.”
Goosebumps rippled across my skin the second he stuck his tongue out to show me. The shiny pink candy glistened with his saliva, and my throat thickened as he slowly pulled it back into his mouth with a loud crunch.
Distracting. Wholly distracting. In fact, I’d never met a bigger distraction than Jupiter Reeves.
“Please, continue,” he grinned, but I’d lost my train of thought, and any memory of what we’d be talking about – and he knew it. His eyebrow rose. “Is it, or is it not like taping Ace’s mouth shut? Please say yes."
Jupiter stared at me, eyes wide, waiting to see if I’d crack a grin. I relented with a tiny smile. He sat back like he’d already won the Commissioner’s Trophy.
“Kind of. But speaking of tape, that could be a thing. Something as small as making sure the tape’s right.” I sipped my coffee before continuing; it was perfect. “Okay, say the tapeyou’ve been using hasn’t had the right grip, or it’s rubbed your hands slightly, or slipped, maybe all three. And when you went to bat, it caused your hand to drop the tiniest fraction, which caused you to be slightly off center when you made contact with the ball. It could be the difference between a line drive getting you to third base, and a home run.”
Jupiter sat back on the stool and pulled a face. His thinking face. His impressed face, though I wasn’t sure if it was due to the idea, or the baseball reference.
“Marn, seriously, where’ve you seen this?”
“I’ve been reading up.” I waved around the piles of books and magazines. “There’s a lot of data to back this up. Sports teams have won with it.”
“Which teams?”
“Foreign ones… an Olympic cycling team.”
