Baseball and Other Lessons (Devil's Ranch Book 2) (8 page)

“’I Saw’ off of
Beneath These Fireworks
, but ‘Car Crash’ from
Some Mad Hope
is right up there.”

“Mine’s ‘Weight of It All’.” That song had helped her get through the worst days of her life.

His head snapped towards her. “Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. What? Were you expecting me to say ‘Come on Get Higher?’”

“It’s a good song.”

“Yeah, it is, and I do love it. But it’s also the one most people know.”

“So you like Matt Nathanson, too?”

“Maybe if I’m feeling magnanimous one day I’ll let you go through my iTunes so you can see for yourself.”

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you.”

“I know.” She placed her brisket sandwich on the plate that wasn’t in Matt’s hand, picked it up and headed towards the living room. She sat on one end of the couch, Matt on the other, so that an entire cushion was between them.

Jenn wasn’t sure a measly cushion was enough.

They ate in silence, eyes glued to the TV and the baseball game playing out before them. She stared, not really seeing the action on the screen, too aware of Matt mere feet away from her.

God, she so needed to get over this stupid…
thing
…she apparently still had for him. She wasn’t even entirely sure what the
thing
was. Attraction, yes. Jenn was grown up enough to admit that at least to herself. The attraction was as strong today as it had been that night ten years ago, possibly more so, and that in and of itself was frustrating.

Why was she attracted to someone who’d pulled a
wham, bam, thank you, ma’am
on her? That night had been great. The things they’d talked about, the things they’d told each other? She’d never been that open with another human being in her life. And the sex? God, that hadn’t just been sex. It had been something so far beyond
just sex
she didn’t know what the word was for it. Hell, there might not even be a word for it. Transcendental seemed too artsy, like she was describing an indie film. Making love didn’t fit, considering she wasn’t delusional enough to think love had been involved at all.

He’d touched her soul. That was really the best she could come up with.

“Are you going to eat that or just keep picking at it?”

Jenn jolted at the sound of Matt’s voice. How long had she been off in la-la land? She didn’t look at him, afraid he would see her thoughts on her face if she did, and said, “I’m going to eat. I was just giving it a chance to cool down.”

“Right.”

At least he didn’t argue with her.

She took a bite of her sandwich, forcing herself to act normally and like her world hadn’t fallen into some crazy, chaotic, jumbled mess with his appearance back in Del Rio.

Not unlike the crazy, chaotic, jumbled mess her life had become after that night a decade ago.

Chapter Seven

San Antonio, 10 Years Ago

She couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t drive up to Austin and hang out with Chase after…after…doing what she’d done the night before with Matt.

An ugly mélange of feelings crashed through her, like angry waves on a beach during a hurricane. Raw. Potent. Confusing.

Jenn picked up her phone and texted Chase.

Something came up at home. Can’t make it today. Sorry.

She hit SEND and fell back onto the pillows that still somehow smelled like Matt.

Jenn sucked in a breath, the sharp sting of shame careening through her mind and body, reminding her that this was why she’d always shied away from casual sex; the couple of times she’d done it, she’d felt so, so dirty.

Stupid Baptist upbringing.

Except she didn’t feel dirty for the reasons she did.

Silent tears leaked out of her closed eyelids as she thought back over the past twelve hours. Seeing Matt downstairs. Matt coming back up to her room. A couple of drinks, good conversation and the hottest, most delicious kiss she’d ever experienced. Images of what they’d done to and with each other flashed through her mind like a soft focus porno flick, carnal and dirty and so, so sexy.

So maybe not quite like a porno flick, because she generally didn’t find porn to be all that sexy. But still…her body was sore and stinging, and she totally had a bite mark on her left boob.

Jesus that had been hot.

I can’t believe I slept with Matt.

The tears were coming faster now, having moved on from a slow leak to a dam bursting.

She’d slept with Matt—the boy she’d known since she was in elementary school—and she’d woken up this morning to an empty bed, a head full of memories and not so much as a “goodbye” or “it’s not you, it’s me.”

He’d just left.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he’d apparently snuck out (like the cocky asshole she’d always known he was) and couldn’t even leave her a note.

Never mind the fact that they’d known each other for almost twenty years.

Never mind the fact that she was best friends with his younger brother.

Never mind the fact that they would have to see each other again at some point in the future.

Never mind the fact that last night had been the best sex she’d ever had.

He’d just left.

Treated her like nothing more than a girl he met in a bar and hooked up with.

And that stung. Even if he had met her in a bar last night and hooked up with her. Shared past experiences made that a completely moot point.

She allowed herself a few more moments of wallowing before sitting up and wiping at her eyes. And okay, a couple more sniffs of the pillow that still smelled like Matt. He really did smell good. Like hot man and leather.

Jesus, she was losing her ever-loving mind.

Would the hotel notice if a pillowcase was missing? She sniffed one more time.

With a frustrated “argh!” she pushed off the bed and began gathering up her things, throwing clothes and toiletries into her overnight bag without folding or sorting anything. Screw it. She didn’t give a flying fuck if everything got wrinkled and smelled like toothpaste and deodorant.

Jenn had just tossed her makeup bag in with the rest of her stuff—sans pillowcase, thank you very much—when her phone pinged, letting her know she’d received a text message.

Chase: Hope everything’s okay. Call me later.

Unlike his brother, Chase really was a nice, stand-up guy.

Jenn: Will do. Later tater.

She looked around the room to make sure she’d gotten everything, made one last trip to the bathroom and then picked up her stuff and left behind the room with its rumpled sheets and pillow that smelled like Matt.

#

Present Day, Del Rio, Texas

Jenn opened an iTunes playlist, trying not to think about Matt, his unexpected visit last night, or the morning after their little…whatever it was…ten years ago. As she opened her internet browser and began searching teaching forums for lesson plan ideas, she rolled her eyes at the song that began playing.

To be fair, she still loved Jann Arden’s “Insensitive,” it’s just that that was
the
song she’d had on repeat on the way back to Del Rio that morning.

Seriously. Her music wouldn’t even let her escape the memories.

“Ugh,” she said as she clicked over to iTunes and changed the song. Only to have Ed Sheeran’s “Kiss Me” come up next.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

She checked the playlist she’d selected. Yup, she had indeed pulled up one of her random playlists that she’d labeled “Work” and sighed before clicking the next arrow.

Which brought up Neon Trees’ “Sleeping with a Friend.”

“Oh. My. God.”

Click. “Going Under” by Evanescence. Slightly better, suitably angry.

Jenn opened her browser back up and started perusing the lesson plan forums in earnest.

Even though classes didn’t begin until mid-August, she liked to have her lesson plans finalized by the end of July in order to give herself time to get materials and teaching aides collected and organized. She taught a mix of students, from those whose native language was Spanish to the pre-AP kids who needed more challenging material. Creating lesson plans that suited such a broad spectrum was both challenging and enjoyable.

And, yes, she had a bit of a soft spot for young adult novels.

Most of the schools in Texas recommended the same reading lists for middle school, with some variations between districts and grade levels. This morning she was hoping to nail down her reading lists for the year so she could start working on lesson plans.

As “Going Under” switched to Mumford and Sons’ “Little Lion Man,” Jenn’s mind drifted back to the night before. After finishing supper, they’d sat in silence and watched the ballgame. She’d wanted to ask him questions dozens of times, things like, “Is it weird not being out there every five days?” to “How’s your head really doing?” to “Who’s your least favorite batter to face?” It was hell having a five-time Cy Young Award winner sitting on her couch and not being able to ask him questions.

But she couldn’t.

Self-preservation was a bitch sometimes.

So instead of asking him the questions she wanted to ask him or even making idle chatter, she’d sat there in stony silence, her body rigid and burrowed deep into her corner of the couch. She was vaguely aware of the Wranglers winning, and of the shortstop getting a shaving cream pie in the face, but that was about it. She couldn’t even say who the winning pitcher was, mainly because of the pitcher on her couch occupying all of her head space.

Damn him.

She shook her head as if to clear it and went back to researching reading lists. She chuckled at the suggestion of
Curveball: The Year I Lost My Grip
by Jordan Sonnenblick, not familiar with the book but thinking the title was quite timely. Jenn opened up another browser tab and searched for it via Amazon, read the description and laughed out loud.

Seriously? A young pitcher who loses his baseball career due to a freak accident, who’s now trying to figure out what his life is after baseball? Hell, she could have her kids read the book and then bring in Matt afterwards for a real-life discussion of freak accidents and life after baseball.

She snorted and muttered, “Yeah, right, like Matt would ever agree to that.”

Or like you would want to spend the extra time with him anyway.

Unfortunately, though, the idea had popped into her head and she knew it would be stuck there until she got an answer either way.

Crap.

And the hell of it was, it was a good idea. The book sounded like one her kids would enjoy and that would engage their imaginations, and the idea to bring Matt in would definitely impress at least some of her students. Talk about a great discussion on how fiction often mirrors real life.

Her fingers itched to write down notes and ideas, but Jenn forced herself to take a mental step back. First, there was no guarantee that Matt would remotely agree to this. Second, by the time her classes got around to reading the book he might not be around anymore. She didn’t know much about brain injuries, but common sense dictated that they weren’t something to mess around with. His head looked like it was healing, but from the little she did know, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still having concussion symptoms.

Besides, according to Twitter Matt’s career was all but over anyway.

Not that she believed that, and she certainly didn’t think Matt believed that. The rumors, however, weren’t pretty, and if she were a betting woman she would venture that the very public speculation about his future was a big part of the reason why he’d been acting so weird here lately.

And dammit, she really didn’t want to empathize with him at all, but she couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to live your life in the spotlight like that, and to have every little thing dissected by people who acted like they knew everything but who really knew nothing. She certainly didn’t want to admit that she’d been following the tweets and the speculation, but for some reason she hadn’t been able to look away.

Something about Matt simply got under her skin and piqued her curiosity.

She hated every second of it.

Annoyed with herself, she squeezed the bridge of her nose and sighed. Here she was, thirty-two-years old and acting like a twelve-year-old with a crush. It was pathetic.

“Get your shit together, McDonnell, and get back to lesson plans.”

Determined, she went back to her lesson plan research and managed to push Matt out of her thoughts and immerse herself for the next hour, until her cell rang, bringing her back to the here and now.

Mom
.

“Great.”

She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, prayed for patience and hit the green icon.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I didn’t interrupt you, did I?”

“Kind of, but I needed a break anyway. What’s up?”