Page 33 of Convincing the Catcher

“I’ll be fine, Catch,” I murmur, continuing to walk with her beside me.

I want to sling my arm around her and pull her against my body. That would make her warmer, but it would probably piss her off too.

Me, on the other hand? I’d enjoy it. Maybe a little too much.

“How is your level after all the pasta?” I ask her, knowing that she had to be mindful of what she ate for dinner to make sure she wouldn’t have a spike.

Holding her phone up, she shows me the numbers on the screen. “I’ll have to give myself a shot. I didn’t put in a new Omnipod yet, and I’m a little high right now.” She snorts. “Not the good kind either.” She laughs at her joke but then flashes me a cheesy grin. “I’m kidding. I wouldn’t know anything about being high. I just couldn’t miss the opportunity.”

The more time we spend together, the more her silly side comes out, and I like it because that means she’s getting comfortable with me.

I’m thankful when we reach my truck, and I quickly open the passenger door to let her in before I jog around to the other side and get in myself.

Once the truck is running and the heat is on, she removes my jacket and passes it to me. “Thank you,” she says softly. “I’m not going to lie; I was pretty cold. My teeth were chattering.”

“Trust me, I heard,” I tease, tossing it into the back seat.

Reaching into her purse, she grabs her supplies. First a wipe to clean the area and then the syringe. Turning it a few clicks, she starts to reach for her shirt.

“That must have hurt a little,” I say, my eyes widening. “I mean, it’s in your skin. And you … literally ripped something out of it earlier today.”

“Eh, no biggie.” She shrugs, smirking. “Happens sometimes.”

Before she has time to go any further with her shot of insulin, I stop her.

“Hey,” I blurt out. “I’m not a fan of needles—at all. So I’m sure I wouldn’t be any good at it, but … would it be weird if I did it? You could, like, explain it to me step by step? You know, just in case I ever need to give you an injection.” I’m talking fast—too fast. But fuck, she makes me nervous, and she probably thinks I’m a weirdo for asking. “You don’t have to. I just⁠—"

Reaching over, she pats my hand. “Relax.” She giggles. “And sure. If we’re going to be friends⁠—”

“Best friends, I’d say,” I add in playfully. “You know, to really sell it to everyone that you like me.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile grows as she hands me the syringe. Lifting her hair up, she pushes it out of the way and tugs her shirt down over her shoulder, exposing the back of her upper arm.

“First, grab a hunk of skin,” she whispers before pointing to a spot. “Right there is good. There’s a bit of fat.”

With my other hand, I pinch her skin together.

I’ve pitched in games when it was all on the line and gone up to bat with two outs in the final inning, knowing I could be the final out for my team, yet I’ve never let the nerves get to me. Right now, knowing I could hurt her?

I’m feeling nervous as fuck.

But I can’t shake or tremble because then it’ll hurt her.

“Just relax,” she whispers. “I promise, it’s not going to hurt me. Well, it might. But I’m pretty tough.”

Bringing the needle closer, I think I hold my breath when it presses into her skin. I push down on the plunger, feeling like I may pass out.

“Okay,” I utter, trying to keep my voice from quivering, not wanting to freak her out. “Now I wait a few seconds, right?”

“Mmhmm.” She nods. “Like, five more would be fine.”

In my head, I count down from five before pulling it from her flesh.

Over her shoulder, she peeks at me. “Good job.” She flashes me a sweet smile. “For a man who doesn’t like needles, I think you did great. Five stars. Would come here again.”

With the needle still in my hand, I can’t seem to move. Instead, my eyes stay locked on hers.

“Thanks,” I mutter, my heart still thumping in my chest. “I had a good patient. I think that’s probably the only reason why I’m getting the high rating.”