Page 31 of Saving The Shortstop

“I did take some,” I say with my now chain-smoker voice.

He pushes the door open, holding it for me to walk inside.

“When?” he asks, cocking his head to the side suspiciously.

“Like … seven o’clock?” I say, unsure before I remember that I took it just prior to getting in my car. “Yeah. Seven.”

He closes the door behind us. “Well, it’s after four now, genius. Time to take it again.” He heads toward the kitchen, but I just stand here, stuck like my socks are cemented to the floor.

“We don’t have any more,” I admit. “I took the last dose.”

Not believing me, he heads into the kitchen and starts rifling through the cupboards to check for himself.

I’m so tired yet so cold that I can’t imagine sleeping. I slowly shuffle over to the couch and flop down. A tickle in my throat sends me into a coughing spell, and I cringe as my abdomen screams at me. I guess I’ll at the very least get a core workout in today …

I close my eyes once my coughing has subsided, and suddenly, Dallas is at my side.

“Let’s get you into bed,” he soothes, sliding his hands underneath me. When my eyes fly open and I look at him, surprised that he even cares, he scoffs like he hears my thoughts. “You know, so your germs aren’t getting the entire house sick. Keep it in your room, would you?”

We’ve never had the ability to just be nice to each other. If we’re nice, we follow it up with a jab. That’s just how we operate, and it works for us.

Before he can lift me up, I pull away from him.

“I can walk myself,” I grumble before I sneeze. “Wouldn’t want to spread my germs, asshole.”

I practically roll myself off the couch. It’s pathetic and probably comical, but I get it done. When I stand up, I feel dizzy, but I do my best to walk toward the hallway—not wanting to lead on that walking is actually a challenge right now. Especially since he’s right on my ass.

When I pass through my door, walking inside, he rushes around me, pulling my comforter down.

“You know, one thing I’ve never understood about you is that, even when your room isn’t exactly neat, you always make your bed …” he says, fluffing my freaking pillow.

“Yeah … and?” I sniffle, climbing into bed.

“I mean, why bother with making your bed if your room is messy?” He shrugs, pulling the comforter over me. “It’s weird.”

I curl onto my side, coughing into my covers like a disgusting animal.

“If you must know, my mom always says that if you make your bed in the morning, it’ll be ready for you when you hit the pillow after a long day. And she’s right.” I rub my eyes. “And my room isn’t even messy right now.”

“It’s not neat and tidy either, Short.” He chuckles.

“That’s because you’re comparing your standards to mine, QB,” I toss back slowly, using all my energy to defend myself. “It’s unfair to compare our rooms because you are manic when it comes to keeping things perfect. I’m not. I don’t give a fuck where stuff is as long as I have a clean pair of panties and my softball uniform is ready to rock.”

“Guess you have a point there,” he mutters before walking over to the window, pulling the curtains shut.

I shouldn’t have said anything back, but I was only teasing him.

Ever since he moved in with Lane and Memphis, he’s been particular. Always keeping things exactly how they came and needing things a certain way. My guess is it’s about control. Though I don’t know much, I do know that in the past, he had control over nothing. And now that he does, I’m sure he wants to keep it that way.

I’m the most type A-type B person anyone will ever meet. I’m a mess, but I thrive in it. And I’m always on time, if not early. My car might look like a disaster, but I know where everything is.

Like I said … I thrive in the chaos.

When he comes beside the bed, he crouches down. My head aches, and it only seems to be getting worse with each passing second, making me rub my forehead.

“Headache?” he asks, and faintly, I nod.

When I close my eyes, hoping it’ll dull the pain, the sensation of his hand touching my ponytail alerts me, and even though I’m too tired to react like I usually would, my heart beats faster. It’s hard, but I keep my eyes closed as he gently peels the elastic from my hair. My head still throbs, but relief from not having it pulled tightly back washes over me.