Stealing Third (7 page)

The
baseball field is dusty and hot, and it’s exactly where I want to be.

Between
job shadowing Doc, thinking about Emily in that teeny tiny bikini—which I
completely shouldn’t be—and the pressure of choosing between medicine and
baseball bearing down on me like the mid-afternoon sun, I’d almost forgotten
how excited I was to spend the summer at a camp dedicated to sports.

“All
right, guys, I know it’s just a pickup game, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t
going to play like it’s the bottom of the ninth in the seventh game of the
World Series.” Mark, one of the other counselors who plays ball, claps his
hands. The whistle hanging around his neck and the clipboard tucked under his
arm reminds me of Coach. “Am I right?”

“Right,”
the team echoes in unison before scattering to our various positions.

Grabbing
the rim of my baseball hat and tugging it down low to block the sun from my
eyes, I pump my fist into the hollow cup of my well worn glove and settle in at
shortstop.

“Let’s
do this,” I call, and then proceed to choke on the cheek full of sunflower
seeds in my mouth at the sight of Emily walking out of the other team’s
dugout—in something way hotter than a tiny bikini.

A
baseball jersey.

Shooting
me a wink, she bends down, grabs a helmet, and slips it on before approaching
homeplate. She kicks in her toes, drawing up dust, as she grips the bat and
readies herself for the pitch.

Damn,
she looks hot. And by the slack jawed faces of my teammates, and frankly, her
team, too, I’m not alone in my thinking.

Maybe
that’s why Mark gives her a nice easy pitch right down the middle. She hits a
hard and fast line drive right between me and the second baseman, and before I
can even scramble for the ball, she’s on first and smiling at me.

I
shake my head. Of course she plays baseball—why wouldn’t she? She is the
coach’s daughter after all.

But
staring at Emily standing on first base, tying her jersey into a high knot and
revealing her toned stomach, I’m starting to get the feeling she’s playing with
a whole different set of rules. Ones I’m pretty sure her dad didn’t teach her,
but they work anyway.

Unable
to focus on anything except Emily and the tiny glint of sunlight bouncing off
her belly button ring, I miss the next batter’s easy pop up fly.

Well,
played, Emily Evers. Well, played.

“Yo,
Ty, eyes on the prize, man,” Mark shouts from the mound as the batter takes
first and Emily rounds second.

Trust
me, I’m trying.

I
scoop up the ball and toss it back, repeating over and over the same three
things I have been ever since Emily whispered on the dock a few mornings ago
that she wants me. She’s off limits. Against the rules. And probably not
eighteen.  She’s off limits. Against the rules. And probably not eighteen. 
She’s off limits. Against the rules. And probably not eighteen.

Letting
the heat of the sun sear away the goose bumps her breath left on my neck and
across my back that morning, I drop my eyes, and try to ignore her long legs in
my peripheral vision as she takes a heavy lead off second base.

I
remind myself one more time she’s off limits, against the rules, and probably
not eighteen, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I can’t stop wanting her just as
bad. And right now, watching her play my favorite sport in a crop top and cut
off jean shorts is not helping. At. All.

“Hey
there, Slugger,” Emily says. Her tone teasing and light, unlike the last time I
saw her, stomping off dripping wet and furious at me after her swim test.

“Hey,
yourself,” I say, trying to keep my eyes on the game and not her. “Haven’t seen
you around for the last few days. Been busy? Swimming or something?” I shoot
her a grin that she returns with more of a scowl than a smile. Okay, maybe she
is
still pissed.

Before
we can exchange anymore friendly banter, if that’s what we’re doing, I field
two more pop-ups, and Mark strikes out a batter looking, ending our half of the
inning and sending Emily off without a score. 

“Dude,
she is so hot,” Mark says, plopping down next to me in the dugout as Emily, and
her entire team of guys, make their way onto the field.

I
grab a bottle of water and chug it to avoid agreeing. Or to avoid punching him
for checking her out.  Maybe both.

Within
minutes the bases are loaded, and I’m finally up. I yank on my batting glove,
grab a bat, and approach the plate.

A
quick conference on the mound between the pitcher and first baseman delays my
turn to bat as they wave Emily in from center field. I grip the bat with both
hands and raise it above my head to stretch out my back, before giving a few
practice swings while I wait.

When
they finally break from their huddle, Emily remains on the mound wearing a
devilish smile as the pitcher takes her position in the outfield.

Oh,
it’s on.

I
line up over the plate, bend my knees and stare her down with a smile—which she
manages to wipe off my face in less than three seconds—when she winds up,
classic softball windmill style, and delivers what has to be a fifty mile an
hour ball straight down the middle.

“Strike
one,” the acting umpire yells.

My
eyes go wide. This girl is not messing around. And now, I’m not either.

I
dig in deeper, swiveling the bat in tiny circles over my shoulder, and wait for
the next pitch, which comes in low.

“Ball.”

Out
of habit, I step away from the plate and knock the bat against my shoes before
lining up again.

Ready
and waiting, I watch as Emily has a silent conversation with the catcher
crouched behind me, shaking her head no until the catcher calls a throw she
likes. She nods yes and then gives me an almost imperceptible smile.

The
pitch is fast, but it curves in too far, and ends up beaming me right in the
arm. I toss my bat to the ground and jog to first base, forcing everyone to
advance, and earning us our first run.

My
bicep stings, but not any worse than the sting of giving up a run on a wild
pitch, if Emily’s grip on the ball is any indication.

We
manage to score one more run before Emily strikes out three hitters in a row to
end the inning.

Coming
in from second base, I slow down to keep pace with her as she makes her way to
the dugout. “Nice arm,” I offer, but realize the moment the words leave my
mouth, it sounds like I’m messing with her, which I’m not. She really does have
a crazy good arm.

She
glares at me. “Yeah, well, if it wasn’t still sore from doing a thousand laps
for a stupid swim test I didn’t need, maybe I wouldn’t have nailed you.”

“I
highly doubt that.” I arch my brows and smile. “I think I might have had that
one coming.”

“You’re
probably right.” She laughs before smacking my ass with the back of her glove
and running off.

At
the top of the ninth, it really does feel like we’re playing the last game in a
seven game World Series. We’re up by one, and if we can keep it that way, we
win.

Emily’s
on second again, with no other runners on base and two outs on the board. This
is it. One more out, and the game is over.

Mark
gives up a quick single, putting a runner on first, and by the deep lead
Emily’s taking from second I move up and prepare for a sacrifice bunt—just in
case she’s thinking about stealing third.

“I
wouldn’t if I were you,” I say to Emily, who’s so far off the bag, if I had the
ball I could reach out and tag her.

“I
bet there’s a lot you wouldn’t do.” She winks. “Mr.
Goodie-two-shoes-stickler-for-the-rules.”

She’s
right, but for the first time it feels heavy on my shoulders. The burden of
always following the rules. I shake the thought off as quickly as it came,
remembering exactly what happens when you don’t.

“I
prefer Hottie Mchottieface, but whatever.” I shrug, as Emily’s face flames
redder than the now faded tips of her hair.

The
dull thud of a bunt pulls me back into the game. I knew it. The sacrifice.

As
the third baseman rushes the ball I move into his position to protect the base,
keeping my attention divided between Emily advancing on me, and him throwing me
the ball. When he does, it hits my glove with enough heat behind it that it
stings my palm.

Ignoring
the familiar pain, I reach out and attempt to tag Emily, but instead, end up on
top of her in a tangle of legs and arms, thanks to her sliding feet first into
the base and sweeping my legs out from underneath me.

The
rush of the play makes my heart rate rise, but it’s the feel of Emily’s body
beneath mine, and our lips just inches apart, that makes it thunder.

A
tiny voice in my head whispers, ‘screw the rules,’ but it’s the shout of the
ump that snaps me out of it right before I act. “You’re out.”

Barely
registering our win, I scramble up, and let the ball, tucked tightly in my
glove, drop to the ground with a thud, unable to focus on anything besides the
fact I almost kissed Emily in front of everyone.

Shit.

She
might be the one out…but I’m the one in trouble.

…

“Dude,
let’s go,” Todd says from behind me, turning on his flashlight and illuminating
the dusty trail to the counselor’s campfire. “I have a fly honey waiting on
me.”

“Sure
you do,” I snort, wishing I could shake this kid and his incessant chatter for
a few hours. But no such luck since he’s my junior counselor.

Up
ahead, the trees begin to thin and even in the distance I can see the fire,
stacked high with wood and burning brightly is casting a warm glow on Emily’s
smiling face.

Emily?
What’s she doing here?

“What-up?”
Todd booms as we break out of the tree line and into the small campsite, set up
with benches surrounding the roaring fire.

Emily’s
eyes connect with mine for a brief second before Todd plops down in the empty
space next to her on the bench and drapes his arm over her shoulder. “There’s
my girl.”

His
girl? Seriously? My gut twists. I thought all his talk about Emily back at the
cabin a few nights ago was just bravado. Clearly, I was wrong.

“Hey,
you,” the blonde girl I met at last night’s campfire purrs, patting the space
on the bench next to her and giving me a flirty smile. “Nice game today.”

“Uh,
thanks,” I say, sitting. “It’s Jennifer, right?”

“Yeah,
but you can call me Jenny.” She giggles, leaning her shoulder into mine. I give
her a tight lipped smile before letting my eyes fall back to Emily and Todd.
“Oh, have you met my junior counselor, Emily, yet?”

Ah.
That explains it. She’s a junior counselor.

Although,
it doesn’t explain why she hasn’t been here the last few nights—unless maybe
she was trying to avoid me—which by the scowl she’s giving me, might actually
be the case.

“Wait.”
Jenny laughs, touching my arm. “Silly me. Of course you know her. You
practically saved her life.”

Practically?

“Hey,
I helped, too,” Todd chimes in, shooting Emily a proud look, which I have to
keep from scoffing at. More like you helped drag her face down through the
water, which is not really helping. But, thanks.

“Yeah,
I know Emily. CPR will do that,” I joke, trying to get a reaction out of her,
other than the daggers she’s shooting in me and Jenny’s direction. “But luckily
there haven’t been anymore incidents requiring mouth to mouth. Since I’m sure
that’s the last thing she wants. Right?”

I
can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face when she chokes on a sip of
her drink. She recovers quickly, clearing her throat. “You got that right,” she
shoots back, but we both know it’s a lie.

“I’d
be happy to give you some mouth to mouth.” Todd pulls Emily closer to his side,
sending my smirk falling and my blood pressure rising. How can she be into this
guy?

I
pull my eyes away from the meaty hand touching her bare shoulder—the same
shoulder I was kissing a few nights ago—and find Emily looking back at me, but
this time a faint smile plays on her lips.

What
kind of game is she playing? One minute she’s telling me how badly she wants
me, and then the next she’s reveling in this meat-head’s attention. And
now—she’s smiling at the fact it’s driving me nuts.

It’s
like she’s trying to make me jealous on purpose. And it’s working.

I
smile back. Two can play at that game.

I
lean in and whisper to Jenny to test my theory, and I’m rewarded with Emily’s
knuckles turning white as she wraps her hand tight around the neck of her drink
before finally sloughing off Todd’s arm from around her shoulders. Bingo.

Todd
hardly notices as he high fives a guy who’s just arrived. Emily glances up and
her face brightens. “Dave!” she says happily as the new guy leans down and
wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her up and crushing her in a giant
hug.