Page 26 of Saving The Shortstop

“Yeah, well, you look like shit too,” she sasses back, her mouth making the pouty shape it does sometimes.

Quickly, I tear my eyes from her and look at my screen as she sinks down on the other side of the couch. She smells like coconut, and I wonder if it’s the shampoo she used. Either way, it’s distracting as hell and has my mouth watering.

And now I see why Tabor was smelling her like a weirdo …

It only makes matters worse when she scoots closer, getting a better look at my screen as I have the assignment pulled up.

“All right, show me what we’re working with,” she says, and I’m so fucking aware of how close she is to me. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been closer than this countless times, because now—it’s just us. We aren’t at a family get together or hanging out with her brother. It’s just me and her in this quiet house. And I don’t know where the hell everyone else is who lives here, but I sort of wish they’d pop out of the woodwork because I don’t trust myself alone with her.

While she dives into explaining everything in simpler terms, I realize that there’s not a single bit of judgment in her voice. She isn’t talking to me like I’m an idiot, and there’s not an ounce of mockery. She’s here right now because she enjoys helping others, and I’ve never really felt like that with most teachers.

Besides Mrs. Whitaker. She was one of the few who spoke to me like I wasn’t just the poor kid who had shitty parents and was too dumb to learn. She talked to me like she wanted to help, and it mattered to her that I understood what she was teaching. Just the way Haven does right now. I can feel it.

I tear myself from my thoughts, and after listening to her for a few more minutes, she reads a few passages from the book before she yawns.

“Okay, now it’s your turn. Take what I just read, look at these questions, and form a response.” She scootches away from me, and thank God because I couldn’t have typed with her being that close. Her coconut scent is fucking up my brain cells, making typing harder than it already is. She lays her head down on the armrest of the couch and curls her feet up between us. “Take your time. Let me know when you’re finished and I’ll look it over.” She pauses. “Hey, D?”

When I glance over at her, she smiles.

“Relax. This isn’t jail, and you’re going to do great.”

Sighing, I look toward the screen and read the questions. Or try to. For the first minute or so, my heart’s still pounding from her smiling at me like that. But then, I do my best to answer and take my time. Even though rushing is what comes naturally, making her proud might just be better.

By the time I’m done and open my mouth to say her name, I realize how quiet she’s been, and when I look over at her, she’s sound asleep beside me. Her hands are curled up under her head, and the way her neck is positioned on the couch, she can’t be comfortable, though that doesn’t stop her from snoring lightly. The sound sends a warm sensation that spreads across my chest.

Even though I know I shouldn’t, for a moment, I just watch her. Wondering what to do while also wishing I could curl up with her. That would be fucking weird though. And so wrong.

I decide to send my work to her e-mail so that tomorrow, she can look it over and no doubt nicely tell me to fix it because I’m sure I messed it up, seeing as I was left to my own devices and didn’t have her to hold my hand through it.

Once I’ve hit send, I close my laptop and gather up my things, setting them down onto the coffee table. I look over at her and once again sigh. After all she’s done to help me, I can’t let her sleep like this. And I knew from the moment she walked in tonight, she was tired. Still, she pushed through to do this session.

I need to get her to her bed—which means I’m going to need to pick her up. Picking her up includes us being way too close to each other, but I can’t leave her on this couch, all scrunched up the way she is. That wouldn’t be right.

Standing, I lean forward, sliding my arms underneath her before I lift and bring her to my chest. Just as I start toward the hallway, the door swings open, and Isla and Hendrix walk in. The second they take in the sight of me carrying her, they both look at each other and smile.

“Shut up, Hunt,” I say to him just as his mouth opens—no doubt a smartass comment coming my way. “She fell asleep, and I don’t want her to bitch at me during our next session about her back. I had no choice.”

As I start up the stairs, I hear him utter, “Whatever you say, brother.” I ignore it, but I’m sure they are speculating on what they think they saw.

I’m only doing this because I feel bad. That’s it.

Her head sits just below my chin, and every breath I take, the smell of coconut overwhelms my mind. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s always smelled so good and clean.

And … delicious.

When I reach her room, her door is wide open, and I walk inside and carefully pull the covers down before I set her onto the mattress. She doesn’t wake, though she stirs the slightest bit, flipping from her back to her side. Her damp hair spills over her face, and before I can stop myself—just like with her stupid eyelash—I push the strands away from her face on impulse.

Gently, I pull the covers up, tucking her in, and before I can dart out of the room and leave the house, her eyes open just a crack.

“Oh, shit.” She yawns. “I fell asleep, didn’t I?” she whispers, her voice barely a croak. “I’m sorry.”

My hand starts to reach forward as if to brush her cheek, but just before I touch her soft skin, I stop myself, stuffing both hands into my pockets.

“It’s all good,” I utter. “You were tired, so I emailed my work to you so that you can look it over when you have a minute.” My eyes sweep over her face, not daring to look into her eyes too long because she has a way of casting a spell on me, I swear. “Night, Short.”

“Night, D.” She gives me a small, sleepy smile. And even though her eyes are still open a crack, I back up a few steps before turning and walking downstairs.

Before I do something else to further complicate our situation.