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Emily stopped halfway to the office, but she didn’t turn around.
“My father,” Michael called, “said he’d take my keys for the rest of the summer if he caught me coming back here.”
Crack.
She came back to the fence. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” He ducked his head to wipe his forehead on his sleeve.
“But you came back anyway.”
The pitching machine died, and Michael finally turned, stepping up to the fence. “So did you.”
She’d never stood this close to him before, to where she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, could count each individual strand of hair that the sun had lightened. He still smelled like summer, cut grass and sunscreen with a hint of something woodsy.
The chain-link fence between them somehow made this more intimate instead of less.
Don’t be stupid. Even serial killers can be hot.
She had to clear her throat and force her eyes away. “Like I said. I need this job.”
He gave a somewhat humorless laugh and looked past her, at the parking lot. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
His voice was vaguely mocking. That was sarcasm, not a real offer.
But she kept thinking about the weeks she’d spent looking for employment. She kept thinking of the train ticket to New York City—that would cost a week’s pay, to say nothing of rent and expenses once she got there.
So she swallowed. “Okay. You’ve got a deal.”
A deal. Michael snorted. He’d let his guard down for thirty seconds, and it was a mistake.
“You’re crazy,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I’m serious. You can play with the batting cages, and I can—”
“I can play with the batting cages?” he said, incredulous. “Just what the hell do you think I’m doing here?”
She looked taken aback. “I mean—you are playing—”
“Forget it.” Michael grabbed for the latch on the gate. He still had four tokens left, but they’d keep until next Wednesday. What had he been thinking, talking to her like she was just some ordinary girl?
It was the please that got him. He couldn’t remember the last time any of them had said please about anything.
Really, he couldn’t remember the last time any of them had talked to him civilly.
Michael was halfway to the parking lot when he realized she was following him.
He stopped short and turned to face her. “Damn it, what? You got what you wanted, okay? I’m leaving.”
She drew back, her hands up, as if he’d drawn a gun or something. “That’s not . . . I wasn’t . . . that’s not what I want.”
“Oh yeah? Then why’d you cry to your father about me?”
Her cheeks were faintly pink, her breathing rapid. The blond hair and fair complexion made her brother look like a freak, but it suited her. He’d say she looked like a china doll, but then she’d swung a putter at his head on Wednesday. A contradiction in terms: strong and fragile, all at the same time. Like she might cry, but she’d slug him first.
It made him want to apologize.
To her, of all people! He turned and started walking again.
