Rounding Third (5 page)

T
hree days
and I’m keeping my distance from Ella. Seeing her unleashed a pain that I’ve kept roped far enough away not to choke me.

It’s the first day of classes, and trying to figure out my way through this campus is similar to a treasure hunt. Buildings are linked to others while propped on hills or tucked in and out of coves. Luckily, Brax is a business major, too, and he guides me to the buildings where my classes are.

“This is White Hall.” He points to a building with ivy climbing the white bricks.

Other students line the steps leading to the front door. I scour them for Ella.

“She’s on the other side of campus where the science building is.” He laughs, rolling back on his heels.

I snap my eyes back to him and spot an emerging smirk. “I wasn’t looking—”

“Cut the bullshit. I know you want her back, and I don’t blame you.”

My fingers weave through my hair, and I release a deep breath. “It’s complicated.”

His hand clasps my shoulder. “Not nearly as much as you guys are making it. But her boyfriend, Liam, will be a roadblock for you.”

I scoff.
I’m Crosby Lynch, Ella’s first and only love.
“Yeah, I heard about him. He’s competition, huh?”

He shrugs his shoulders, one side of his lips rising. “Depends on how much you want him to be. There’s definitely room for you to wiggle in.” With a mischievous smile, he climbs the stairs. “See you at practice.”

“See ya,” I mumble, processing the information about her boyfriend.

As if I conjured them from my mind, Ella approaches the building, walking hand in hand with who I assume is her dickwad boyfriend.

She’s gorgeous this morning with her chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her shorts are so short that they show off the long legs that I remember being wrapped around me. Our eyes catch, and I can’t turn away from her, even when she diverts her gaze to him.

She quickly fidgets, and her eyes ping everywhere but to me. The asshole looks like he walked off the pages of a J.Crew catalog.

Who honestly dresses in a polo shirt and khakis to attend classes?

I glance down at my track pants and T-shirt. Crap. If I want Ella back, maybe I need to step up my game.

Liam ends his call and kisses her good-bye. He climbs up the same stairs Brax did moments ago, the steps I should be ascending, too, but Ella stands there, staring at me, and there’s no way I’ll allow my eyes to waver. The hustle of students rushing to their classes becomes mute as I climb down the few stairs instead of up. She doesn’t move from her spot.

When I approach, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Good morning,” I greet her.

Her eyes peek up at me. “Hey, Crosby.”

I forgot how great my name sounds coming from her lips. It’s better when she’s breathless and panting, but I’ll take it however she gives it.

“Do you have class?”

“No, I have a break.”

I glance up at the building. Shit, I should be up those stairs and in my seat. I have to keep up my grades if I want to keep my spot on the team. Between baseball and Ella, there is no comparison.

“Coffee?” I step a little closer, and she doesn’t back away.

“Um…”

“Come on. It’s a caffeine run. Friends.” I shrug.

Her eyes question my intentions. “Do you have class right now?”

I glance back up at the building, seeing only a few students milling around on the front steps.

“Supposed to.” I shrug and smile.

Her hand pushes on my stomach. “Then, go.”

I grip her hand with mine, linking our fingers, and she tries to pull, but I tighten my hold.

“Crosby.” Her voice semi pleading.

“You’re more important.”

“I shouldn’t be. Baseball is your future, and you need the grades for it. Ditching your first class would not be a good decision.” She tries to escape my hold, and this time, I grant her.

I wish I had the balls to tell her that she’s my future, but if I move too fast, she’ll be sure to hightail it away from me.

“Rain check?” I ask.

I know Ella will not let me ditch class. She did only once in high school, and it was senior ditch day. Both our parents knew we wouldn’t be there. They didn’t know that we left Great America and our friends early that day. Instead, we spent the rest of the day in the barn on the far edge of her parents’ property. Good times.

A small smile cracks her lips but she catches herself, transforming her face to a nun-like expression. “I said, time.”

“I’ve given you three days.” I cross my arms over my chest, proud of myself. Three days is a long time to wait for something I’m growing impatient for.

We share a smile with one another, and my stomach flips at the sight of her lips spreading wide toward me.

“Are you free tomorrow morning?” she asks.

I nod.

“No, Crosby, you can’t ditch class to have coffee with me. What time is your first class?”

“I have a break between eight and nine. We have early classes because of practice.”

“Eight o’clock at Java Go.” She turns on her heels and starts down the path.

I watch her ass teasing me in her shorts.

“Still love passion tea?”

She twists on her heels, following the path backward. “Yeah, I do.”

Flipping back around on her heels, she turns right at the corner of the building.

I turn my attention to the stairs of White Hall to find them vacant. No one is there.

“Shit,” I mumble.

Jogging up the stairs to the second floor, I sneak into the back row of the classroom. I pull out my laptop and quickly catch up with the professor’s lecture. The guy a couple seats down passes a syllabus over, and when I turn to thank him, I’m reminded that nothing comes easy in my life.

“Is there a reason you were holding my girlfriend’s hand?” Ella’s boyfriend whispers, sliding into the open seat between us.

Well…shit.

“She won’t be your girlfriend for long,” my cockiness answers for me. My arrogance is a great intimidator that’s always worked in getting me what I want.

“Who are you?”

As his beady eyes try to daunt me, I get an up close look at him. I can see why El might have fallen for him. He’s a safe bet. Probably riding the coattails of his family’s money, paving his way with his arrogant little bitch frat brothers. It only assures me of one thing. I don’t have to fight him for El. This guy wouldn’t start a fight if I fucked her right in the middle of his bed. El is just a trophy to him. He doesn’t love her like I do.

“I’m just an old friend. We have a long history together.” I glance at him from the corner of my eye, offering him a quick wink.

His knuckles whiten as he clenches his pen. It couldn’t be more satisfying, knowing I’m getting under his skin.

His annoyed expression tells me that Ella hasn’t been so open about her life and her past. This guy doesn’t have a shot.

“She’s taken, so keep your hands to yourself.”

A few heads flip around after his voice heightens.

Not needing a professor to hate me on day one, I lean in closer to whisper in his ear, “I can’t make any promises. It’s nothing personal, believe me, but technically, she’s always been mine.” I ease back against my chair right as the professor’s eyes catch mine.

Liam’s head whips around, and I wait for him to ask me to take our discussion outside. But he cowers, like I knew he would.

“Try to steal her away from me, and see what happens,” he says.

“I’m not going to have to try hard. Your time with her was over the moment she saw me.”

The professor forcefully clears her throat, eyeing us. If we don’t end this conversation soon, we’ll both be kicked out.

“Don’t be so cocky, asshole. The fact that I don’t know anything about you, and the fact that she’s never mentioned your name, show what she really thinks of you.”

“You two”—the professor points, and a hundred pairs of eyes turn in our direction—“since you’re so chatty, maybe you should be conducting the lecture this morning?” She crosses her arms over her purple blouse and waits for our answer.

“Sorry, Professor Knight,” Douche Bag says.

“Sorry,” I say.

She nods and starts the lecture back up again, her eyes continuing to linger on us.

He slides over to his original seat.

I strike my earlier thought. I have no idea what El sees in this weak shithead.

I lean over the now vacant chair, testing my luck one final time. “Don’t worry. I’ll be around. We can continue this conversation soon.”

He scoffs me off, shaking his head. His fingers start tapping on the keys of his laptop as he accepts his defeat for this round.

* * *

“
L
ynch
!” Coach Lipton yells into the locker room.

Every player stops mid movement. I swear the man could scare Big Foot right off of his hairy ass.

“Yeah, Coach?” I scream back, tying my cleat.

“I need to see you.”

“Sure thing.” I stand, grabbing my sunglasses, hat, and glove.

“First day, and you fucked up already?” Oliver asks from the locker next to mine.

“Shit, I hope not,” I murmur.

I leave my half-dressed teammates, crossing my fingers that Professor Knight didn’t narc me out to Coach about my disruption in class.

Getting called into a coach’s office is either really good or really bad, but never in between.

With his reading glasses on the tip of his nose, Coach is sitting in his chair, the sports section of the newspaper opened on his desk.

I knock on his open door.

“Come in, Lynch.”

I slide into the nearest seat, placing my stuff on the chair next to me. the tapping of my cleats on the concrete floor echoes in the corners of the room from my uncontrollable shaking leg.

“So, I wanted to talk to you really quick about a few things.” He takes off his glasses and tosses them on the newspaper before his thumb and forefinger press on the bridge of his nose.

Surely, my interruption in class this morning wouldn’t spur this reaction. A knot forms in my stomach.

“Yes, Coach?”

“The school newspaper wants to do an article on you.” He rolls his eyes and releases a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not even sure how it all came about, but they heard about your story.”

My leg stops shaking and I strengthen my back as the uneasiness washes over me. Ridgemont was my fresh start. I mean, the accident made front pages on the Beltline Press, but it didn’t hit national news. Another newspaper article for all to judge me again? No thanks.

“What happens if I say no?”

He shakes his head. “My guess is, they’ll write it anyway—without your side of it.”

I lean back in the hard wooden chair and lock my fingers together in front of me. “So, I’m pretty much screwed?”

“I don’t think it’s some rehashing of the accident. They wanted to feature both you and Brax. Friends reunited. The decision is yours, but I’d rather have your voice in the article.

“I can’t do it.”

I stand, and Coach does the same. His hands resting on the top of his strained stomach.

“I’m not sure you have a choice, Crosby. I can’t control the newspaper. They can say and do whatever they like.”

The leather of my glove squeaks as my fists tighten around it, the urge to rip it in half growing stronger.

“Then, they can. I’m not doing an interview about my past because it’s exactly that—my past. If they care to do a story about how I plan on locking down third base or breaking the school home run record they can call me.” I put my hat on and wait for him to release me.

“Think about it,” he counters.

“Does my position on the team have anything to do with the article?” I ask the only question that might change my mind on the subject.

“No, but I worry the problems—”

“Then, my answer is no.”

“Lynch,” he sighs.

“May I go.”

He lets out a long release of breath and his hands fall to the top of his desk. “Yes.”

I hightail it out of his office as fast as my cleats will allow.

I rush out of the locker room, ignoring the razzing from Oliver and Tyler. Once I reach the hallway, my back leans against the wall, and I slam my glove onto the concrete floor. When will I ever be free of it?

A small voice inside me answers.
When you face it.
I push that voice aside because I’m not convinced me rehashing the accident would fix the brokenness I feel every morning when I wake up.

The locker room door clicks open and shuts quietly. There’s only one person who it could be.

“I heard,” Brax says.

There he is.

“I can’t talk to you about it.” I pick up my glove and head toward the field.

“Then, who
are
you going to talk about it to? Come on, man, I used to be one of your best friends!” he screams out.

My footsteps stop right at the edge of the field.

“Noah was my friend, too,” he continues.

“I know.” I push open the doors to the field, allowing them to slam shut behind me.

Once practice starts, I’m thankful for the distraction of baseball. Hitting drills is easy. My anger helps me smash the shit out of the ball, earning me a few catcalls from the guys. When we practice drills on third, that’s where I fuck up. The ball flies by me for the third time, and I hear the groans of my fellow teammates. They aren’t used to me missing the ball.