Page 27 of Saving The Shortstop

TWELVE

HAVEN

“I just love a good Pilates class,” I say to Gigi, taking a long swig from my water as she peels out of the parking lot and heads back toward The Nest. “Like, don’t you just feel so … refreshed right now?”

“No,” she says flatly. “I do not.”

When I whip my head toward hers, she holds her hands up. “Sorry! It’s just … I don’t know. It’s not my thing. My whole life, my dad has controlled what training I do, and Pilates has never been on the table. I’m just … I’m a creature of habit, you know?”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” I utter. The thing with Gigi is, she doesn’t like change—at all. She can’t just roll with the punches. She eats the same thing for breakfast every morning, does the same workouts, has the same routine.

She thrives on discipline and repetition. Me … I thrive on pure chaos. She needs calm before a game—quiet to concentrate. I need loud music and cheers to get me going.

“So, I heard Isla and Hendrix talking yesterday and they said a few days ago, they came home and Dallas Rivers was carrying you upstairs while you were asleep.” She pokes her lip out, as if that’s the cutest shit she’s ever heard or something. “I know your families are close, but you two have always just kind of annoyed each other.” She glances from the road to me when we come to a stop sign. “But that is so cute.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I say instantly, just as she hits the gas and we cross the road. “We’ve known each other since I was twelve. He’s like family. And it’s not weird for family to do things like that.”

“If you say so,” she singsongs, almost in a whisper. “For what it’s worth though … childhood friends to lovers is my favorite.”

“Gigi,” I deadpan. “Dipshit Dallas and I are not like one of your smutty little romance books you read. We’ve just known each other forever and kissed one—” My mouth snaps shut, knowing I’ve said too much.

She parks in front of The Nest, slamming the car into park before whirling her head toward me.

“You’ve kissed?” She gasps. “When? Where?” She’s practically bouncing in her seat now, and I have to remind myself that she’s lived a very sheltered life and her dad doesn’t let her do much outside of softball.

“Years ago,” I say, like it’s absolutely no big deal because to everyone else besides me, it probably isn’t. “He was drunk, and he didn’t remember it the next day. I didn’t bring it up.” I shrug. “It was nothing.”

She leans closer to me, her eyes widening as if she’s having some sort of revelation.

“Or … he did remember but was embarrassed,” she blurts out, like she’s deep in thought. “This happens in my romance books all the time. They’re friends. Lines get crossed. The MMC finds a way to cover it up.”

“Gigi, did you just compare Dallas to one of the male main characters in your spicy books?”

“Yes,” she says right away. “And you’re, like, the cool girl who pretends not to care but inside, you’re torn up.”

“I am not torn up!” I smack her shoulder lightly, not wanting to hit her hard enough to actually hurt her because she’s a damn good pitcher, and I wouldn’t want to play the season without her. “You’re crazy. And you need to get laid that way you don’t keep comparing my life to a book.”

“I don’t have time to get laid,” she grumbles. “The schedule my dad has me on leaves no time for me to even meet someone.”

“So … you don’t, like—” I stop, staring at her. “Hook up?”

“No,” she says sharply, eyes wide. “That’s what toys are for.”

My head must rear clear back to almost hitting the window.

“Gigi Jacobs!” I practically yell. “You use … toys? Like … sexy toys?”

“You don’t?” she asks shyly, suddenly embarrassed.

“Oh, I do.” I laugh. “I just didn’t think you—well, you’re so … innocent.” I wink. “At least, I thought you were.”

Seeming like she wants to say something else, she quickly shakes her head and pushes the car door open before climbing out. I do the same, realizing I think I love Gigi even more now than I did before—even though I didn’t think that was possible.

I’m just walking up toward the sidewalk when I see Dallas jogging toward me, paper in hand. “Short! Was hoping to catch you,” he calls out, and I frown.

“I figured you’d be at the stadium getting ready for your game.” I glance down at my watch, knowing my dad considers anyone late who isn’t there fifteen minutes before the time he tells you. “Your coach is going to be pissed.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to show you this before I left.” He grins, stopping right in front of me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Gigi look over at us before disappearing inside the house, no doubt about to tease me when I get there.