I move my head in some semblance of a nod. “Number sixteen, in the flesh.”
A few words to the blond woman across from him—Coach Kitt—and he’s walking our way. Hands in his pockets—he’s the perfect, terrifying mixture of nonchalant and confident.
“Liv.” He says it with his customary half smile. Which looks nice when paired with jeans and a golf polo. I’ve never seen him in real, nonathletic clothes, and that thought is so distracting that I totally don’t answer him.
So my best friend does it for me.
“Hi, I’m Addie.” She sticks out her hand for a shake.
“Grey Worthington,” he says, taking her hand. “I’ve seen you play.”
Addie blinks at him. “Volleyball, basketball, softball, or all of the above?”
He laughs. “Just softball, sad to say. Base hit to beat Northland at state.”
He was there. He hadn’t just heard about my infamousgame, like Coach Shanks. He had been there in person. But of course he was.
I should’ve known. Of course he’d seen my arm in person before that day on the track. Of course he’d been there to see with his own eyes the kind of arm I have—not just the one that can sling a deadly accurate softball, but the one that can pull back for a mean right hook.
Again, Addie’s confidence rescues me.
“Too bad,” she says. “Softball’s the weakest of the three.”
“I’ll have to see you play the other two sometime.”
“Liv will update you on my schedule.” Her eyes flip to mine, all wide. “Won’t you?”
I nod, trying to get my head back in the game. “I’m the keeper of the official Adeline McAndry performance calendar.”
Grey laughs again. “So, while we’re talking games, I’m assuming you’re coming Friday?”
“Friday?” Her eyes skid to mine for a hot second, but I’m not exactly sure what Grey’s getting at.
“Liv’s first game.”
I shrug, immediately brushing off everything—his enthusiasm, Addie’s surprise, the whole idea that I’m actually going to have playing time. “I’ll just be riding the bench. It’s no big deal.”
I laugh but Grey doesn’t. “Just because Brady’s starting doesn’t mean you won’t play.”
My stomach rolls a hard left, garlic knots and all. Embarrassing myself in the privacy of practice is one thing. Being sat on by a two-hundred-pound behemoth from another school in front of a couple thousand people is quite another. “Sure. I guess if he gets hurt, I’ll be ready to go.”
Grey half grins at Addie. “She’s being modest. Brady’s scared shitless that he could get benched in favor of her.”
Usually my confidence in my athletic abilities rivals Addie’s, but the second Grey finishes speaking, I start cracking up. “Yeah, right.”
Sure, I look good when we’re doing routes, but in an actual scrimmage? I suck. Hard-core. Granted, that’s my own estimation, but given my elite status in one sport, it’s pretty easy to see my general suckitude in another.
The giggles keep coming… until Grey shoulders his way into my side of the booth. I immediately shut the hell up, surprised by the sudden warmth of him next to me.
Grey’s face sharpens to an edge as he looks at me. “Why is that so funny?”
“You’ve seen me play, right?” I glance across the booth for backup. But Addie’s face is tabula rasa–level blank. I guess she’s pretty freaking surprised, too. “I’ve spent more time facedown on the turf than right side up.”
Grey’s head is already shaking, corners of his lips tipped up. “You’ve also made about 90 percent of your plays since Thursday. You’re deadly accurate. And, despitethe fact that, yes, you’ve taken a few body blows, you’re extremely mobile. Brady can’t move his feet to save his life. And that means he throws the ball away at least a third of the time.”
I had no idea how Brady played. I hadn’t been watching him scrimmage because I’d been busy enough trying to remember my own plays and stay upright. “If you say so.”
“I do. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.” He slaps me on the back, winks at Addie, and slides out of the booth. “See you bright and early. Don’t leave the awesome at home.”
