Page 24 of I Wish He Would

“That’s a relief. I was starting to worry I’ve lost my touch.” Fletch turns to me. “So, who is she?”

I roll my eyes. “She isn’t anyone. Nothing’s going on.”

Hayden nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. “But you want something to be going on with her.”

“Just tell them who she is so we can get on with practice.” Our starting catcher, Cooper Sinclair, pulls off his face mask and shoots us all a look that reads disapproving father.

He’s the oldest guy on our team by a few years, and we never let him forget it—or his slightly receding hairline. But he loves us anyway.

Hayden startles. “Dude, you gotta announce yourself next time.”

Cooper stands and joins our group. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“You’re quiet.” Fletch shifts on his feet.

Hayden nods. “Like a giant mouse.”

“He’s not a mouse,” I say. “Have you seen how hairy he is in the locker room? He’s more like a sloth.”

Cooper shakes his head, but I don’t miss his smile. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’d prefer to stay on Coach’s good side before the game, which means actually practicing and loosening up.”

“Did you not see Austin hitting out of his mind?” Hayden turns to face our catcher. “If his limbs were any looser, he’d be Jell-O.”

“He’s just frustrated that his position has been unnecessary while Austin’s been up to bat,” Fletch teases. As the pitcher and catcher, they have a bit of a love-hate relationship. I think it’s mostly love. Probably.

“He hasn’t hit every ball.” Cooper smirks. “Besides, that says more about your pitches than me.”

Fletch’s jaw ticks.

Luckily, Dawson Clarke, our center fielder, chooses this moment to jog in from the outfield. His hair, so dark it’s almost black, blows in the slight breeze. His clean-shaven face makes him look like a teenager, although I suppose he is the youngest guy on the team since he just got called up this year. “What’s going on?”

“Austin’s hung up on a girl,” Cooper says. I wasn’t expecting him to join in with this ridiculous allegation.

“You, too?” I wheel on him. “I’m not hung up on anyone.”

Dawson smiles. “We’ll be the judges of that.”

“Tell us who she is,” Hayden says.

I look around at my teammates gathered around me—the four other single guys on the Mustangs. The other guys are either in the batting cages or doing their pregame rituals elsewhere, probably calling their wives or girlfriends. I thought this group would be on my side, not pressuring me. But I guess they could provide me with a new perspective on the whole Alyssa-and-Rhett situation. Maybe it’ll make me feel a little less crazy. Get out of my head before our game tonight.

“It’s Alyssa,” I admit before I can talk myself out of it.

Hayden claps loudly. “Thank you for finally admitting what we’ve known for years.”

My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Dude, she comes to almost all of our home games,” Dawson says.

“Remember when she was on a date with the guy who got knocked out cold on the kiss cam?” Hayden roars with laughter. “That was epic.”

Fletch crosses his arms again. “It’s obvious, man. She’s the chick you ditch us to hang out with every week.”

“First off, she’s not a chick; she’s a woman. Secondly, I don’t ditch the guys every week.”

Dawson purses his lips. “I think the man doth protest too much.”

“Yeah, you haven’t joined the past few video game nights,” Hayden adds.