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23

FOXXY

“Seriously? More muffins?” Griff grumbles as he stomps into the kitchen. “We still have banana bread from yesterday.”

“I’m taking these to practice,” I reply, sliding the tray into the oven. “And if you don’t want ’em, don’t eat ’em.”

I’m being snappy, I know. I’m so fucking tired, physically and mentally. I haven’t slept a full night of sleep since…

Well, since the night at Olivia’s apartment. Which, fine, was only two nights ago, but still.

“Foxxy.”

I clench my jaw and don’t turn around.

“Dude, come on.”

Shoulders tense, I slowly pivot and lean back against the flour-covered counter, affecting a nonchalance I definitely don’t feel.

“Are we good?” Griff asks gruffly.

I give him a sharp nod. “Yup. Totally fine.” No, you fucker, we are not good. Somehow, I’m the only one who can see how well the three of us work together. How we orbit around Olivia like she is our sun, never competing, just basking in her warmth and keeping her grounded in our own way.

We’re a team. A team of three, sure, but it counts. We’ve each got our part to play in supporting each other and making this thing work.

At least, that’s how I see it. If only I could get them to see it, too.

He lets out a half huff, half snort that makes it abundantly clear he thinks that’s bullshit. But since I know he doesn’t want to talk about what’s going on any more than I do, he breaks his stare with a shake of his head. Moving to the other side of the kitchen, he pours a cup of coffee, then walks out. As soon as he’s gone, my shoulders sag.

I miss her. I miss the way she looked at us. How good and natural and right it felt, the three of us being together. I miss the sound of her laugh and the softness of her skin.

I’m going crazy. Full-on consumed with thoughts of her and memories of what happened at the cabin, and again at her apartment. Obsessed with wanting it to happen again, knowing deep down that this could be something real.

And hating that I seem to be the only one who realizes it.

I rake my fingers through my hair, then grimace when I realize I had muffin batter on them and it’s now in my hair. Whatever, I need a shower anyway. Cold water calms the heat in my blood. Heat that’s been simmering at a slow burn ever since I first felt the touch of her skin.

A couple of hours later, we hit the field for practice. As soon as the guys see the container of muffins, the jokes start.

“Foxxy, my dude, you quitting the team and opening a bakery or something?” Cal slaps my shoulder but takes a muffin. He bites into it and groans. “Goddamn, that’s good. What is that? Rhubarb?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“You can’t quit. We already lost Dixie to the big leagues, and we need our starting pitcher,” Hiro chimes in, picking up a muffin of his own. “But I’ll happily eat whatever you bring.” He pats his stomach. “Just gotta make sure I don’t bulk up too much or Miki’ll kill me.”

“I think you’re good,” I say dryly, eyeing the lean infielder. “You could eat the whole damn container and be fine.”

“Good genetics,” he replies with a wink.

“Alright boys, let’s get going. Ah fuck, you baked again, Foxxy?” Rafe, our head coach, ambles over with a grin. “Now I’m going to have carb-loaded slugs on the field instead of players.”

He leans over and takes a muffin.

“You were saying, Coach?” I comment with a smirk as he downs the entire thing in three bites.

“I was saying,” he says after swallowing, “that you better be on top of your game, Foxxy, or I’ll have to make a no-baked-goods-allowed rule. And none of us want that, just like none of us want to keep looking at that damn moustache. When are you going to shave that thing and put us all out of our misery?”

I rub my thumb over the hairs above my lips. “Listen. I can pitch a clean game or I can shave. Your choice.”