Page 42 of Third Strike Smitten

10

ISLA

The thing about going viral is that nobody warns you how weird it feels to see your own face on a gossip website while you’re eating cereal in your pajamas.

I’m sitting cross-legged on my couch, spoon halfway to my mouth, staring at my laptop screen at a photo I didn’t know was being taken. It’s from Bellamy’s a few nights ago. Killian and I at the window table, the river glittering behind us in the background. His head is tilted toward mine and I’m laughing at something he said.

The headline reads: Lagers’ Star Pitcher Killian Haynes Finally Off the Market? Mystery Redhead Has Our Attention.

“Mystery redhead,” I say out loud to nobody. “Fantastic.”

I click away from the article before I can read any further, because the comments section is a place I have absolutely no business going. I know this about myself. I have the self-preservation instincts of someone who has survived worse than a gossip blog, and I’m not about to let a bunch of strangers on the internet ruin my morning cereal.

My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me.

Tara

MYSTERY REDHEAD. I CANNOT. I AM DECEASED.

Then, three seconds later it buzzes again.

Tara

Also, you look gorgeous. But also, I’m deceased.

I’m typing back when another message comes through, but it’s not from Tara this time.

Killian

You’ve seen it.

It’s not a question.

Me

Mystery redhead is a strong choice of words. I have a name.

Killian

To be fair, they don’t know your name yet.

Me

Yet.

Killian

Yet. You okay?

I stare at the two words for longer than I should. There’s something about the way he asks it—no preamble, no spin, just the question sitting there plainly—that catches me somewhere behind my sternum.

Me

I’m fine. I don’t mind being linked to you. I just wasn’t expecting the photo.

Killian

Linked to me hmm? Are you secretly one of those clingy types?