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“A little.”
“Because of me?” The question comes out before I can stop it. “Because of the thing the other night,” I clarify with a wince. I still feel guilty about that, jumping to conclusions and making assumptions like an asshole. And the whole exclusive thing, maybe I pushed too hard. Shoved her into a corner she felt like she couldn't get out of so she agreed.
A pinch to the skin between my index finger and thumb jolts me out of a panic spiral. “No, dummy. Class is stressing me out, not you. The tired thing, though, that is your fault.”
I grit my teeth to hide a shit-eating grin.
In my defense, she kept me up last night just as much as I did her.
I intend to retort that but something in my wing mirror catches my eye. At the sight of a familiar building, an idea springs to mind. “You know what I do to relieve stress?”
With a cheeky smile, Luna quirks a suggestive brow.
I roll my eyes. “Not that.”
Luna pouts, her shoulders slumping in exaggerated disappointment. “Then what?”
“Just trust me.”
* * *
“I look ridiculous!”
She doesn't.
She really doesn't.
I don't think a universe exists where Luna Evans could ever look anything other than perfect.
Even with a too-big helmet hiding her pretty face.
I can't decide what I like best; the grey leggings slick against her legs accentuating her ass or the Sun Valley Rays hoodie swamping her lithe body with my number on it or the way she's wielding a baseball bat, fingers wrapped tight around the handle as she swings it testingly through the air.
She looks like a less unhinged but just as hot Harley Quinn.
“Come on!” She calls across to where I stand beside the pitching machine, the remote in my hand poised and ready to fire baseballs at her. She's swinging that bat and posturing around like she knows exactly what she's doing despite the fact we both know damn well that she's never played a day in her life. I tried to coach her a little only for her to laugh tauntingly. “How hard can it be? Ben does it.”
I snort; I see her point but Ben is a clumsy fool everywhere but on the field. Luna would probably keel over in shock if she ever saw him play.
“Ready?” I double-check, my caring caution earning a dramatic eye roll in response. Shaking my head and saying a silent prayer, I press a button on the remote and let a baseball fly out.
The whooshing sound of it leaving the machine is drowned out by Luna’s piercing shriek of surprise. “What the fuck?” Dropping the bat, she scuttles backwards as the ball whizzes past her, pinning me with daggers. “Are you tryna kill me?”
Drama queen.
“How hard can it be?” I yell back, mimicking her overconfident tone.
She scowls and picks up the bat again, brandishing it at me threateningly. “I didn't think it would be that fast.”
Ignoring her whining, I cross my arms and stifle the urge to roll my eyes again. “Go again.”
“Does it have a slower setting?”
“Luna.”
“Alright, alright,“ she grumbles, setting her shoulders back and gritting her teeth as she gestures for me to release another baseball. I do, and when the exact same thing happens, I can’t hold in my laughter. Her screech is damn near ear-shattering as she flails her arms exaggeratedly. “I thought you liked me!”
Taking pity on her, I pocket the machine remote and jog her way. Positioning myself behind her, I settle a hand on her lower back, the other between her shoulder blades. “First of all, your posture is godawful.”
