“Carson.” She gets off her bed as well and takes one step forward, but doesn’t move any closer than that.

  “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I give her a small wave and grip her doorknob just as she clears her throat.

  “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I’m . . . I’m sorry I’m so awkward.”

  Fuck.

  The last thing I want her doing is apologizing, but if I walk over there, if I close the distance between us, there’s no telling what I’ll do, how my body will react. Just like I keep telling myself, I need to go slow, draw out her affection one moment at a time, and even though this is tough on me—not going over there to cradle her in my arms—I need to make this first move perfect.

  “No need to apologize, Milly,” I say over my shoulder. “We’re good. Talk to you later.”

  I quickly leave her and start thinking. I’m going to find my inner Knox and woo a girl. If he can do it, so can I. Milly Potter is going to admit she likes me, whether she likes it or not.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MILLY

  Milly: Carson knows you’re my brother.

  Cory: You told him?

  Milly: He came to my dorm room and saw all my pictures of you and me, so I didn’t have a choice.

  Cory: Hold up, what was he doing in your dorm room?

  Milly: It’s a long story, but what it comes down to is I’m awkward and make situations really uncomfortable. He probably felt bad for me and followed me back to my room to make sure I was okay. We hung out for a bit.

  Cory: Did you kiss?

  Milly: Why do you act like a teenage girl sometimes?

  Cory: Someone has to be a step-in sister for you on occasion. Answer the question.

  Milly: No. We didn’t, and he wouldn’t want to kiss me anyway. He doesn’t see me like that, trust me.

  Cory: Then there is something wrong with him. How did he take the news of your famous and extremely attractive brother?

  Milly: Shocked, to say the least. And then . . . ugh, and then he called me out.

  Cory: What do you mean?

  Milly: For being distant. For not letting him in.

  Cory: Did you tell him why?

  Milly: I didn’t get a chance. He got up and left. I tried apologizing, telling him I was sorry for being awkward. He said everything was cool. But I haven’t talked to him in three days, and now I’m worried. I don’t really know what I want from him, not that he would want anything more than friendship. But I don’t want to lose what we have.

  Cory: Aw, Mills. Don’t ever apologize for being you. You hear me? If he doesn’t like you for who you are, then fuck him. When he makes the big leagues, I’ll be sure to have my pitchers catch him between the shoulder blades.

  Milly: You’re the best, but I don’t think he deserves that. Honestly, I don’t blame him. I’ve been really awkward, and I know it’s because I have no self-control around him. I like him, Cory, and that’s what makes things really problematic, because he doesn’t feel the same way.

  Cory: How do you know?

  Milly: Because he treats me like all my friends . . . like a guy.

  Because the minute he knew who I was, he left. Even with the “status” of being the Potter sister, he still wasn’t interested in me. I sigh and put my phone down to glance at the cloudy sky. Doom and gloom. That’s what it feels like. As if the sky can read my mood and is following me around, the last three days, it’s been cloudy and gross, deepening the hole of depression I’ve tossed myself into.

  I keep replaying the other night over and over in my head. Carson Stone came to my room. He not only pursued me after I fled upset, wanting to know the reason for my reaction, but he chose to come to my room. I have no clue why, but I smile every time I think of Carson Stone lying on my bed. My. Bed. And then, of course, my blundering self-consciousness arrived. I couldn’t read him, but everything I did was wrong, every chance I had to possibly get closer to him, I didn’t take. I shied away, pushed him away, practically kicked him out of my room. Awesome work, Potter. You just lost a friend. I haven’t told Shane and Jerry, and it’s been hard to hide my despondency. They know me very well, but so far, they haven’t bombarded me with questions. Thank God.

  And now, of course, Carson’s not talking to me. Well, not like he used to. The team went to Iowa this weekend to face Iowa State, a tough team. Saturday morning, I texted him good luck and to remember to keep his knuckles in line, another slight tweak we made this past week, and all I got was a curt thanks.

  It’s Sunday night and I haven’t heard anything from him. I kept my eyes on the play-by-play on the Brentwood website when I wasn’t coaching my little guys. Carson was amazing, going two for four each game with four RBIs and not one strikeout. He made solid contact every time, at least from what I could tell.

  I expected him to text me all about it like he did the weekend before, but it’s been radio silence.

  My phone buzzes, but I’m too tired to even think about answering a text from Cory, so I leave it on the arm of the chair I’m resting in and stare at the lake. Lakeview dining hall has a beautiful balcony overlooking Lake Michigan, and if you’re lucky enough to score a chair outside, you squat there until you absolutely need to leave.

  I’m not at that point just yet. I brought my books with me to study but my head isn’t quite in it.

  The door to the balcony opens and I glance over at it quickly before turning back to the lake. When my brain finally catches up with my eyes, I realize Carson just stepped out on the balcony and is handing out high-fives.

  I’m curled up on my chair, wearing a large Brentwood baseball sweatshirt but am hidden under my hood. At least I thought I was, until Carson spots me, smiles, and walks in my direction. I don’t even bother sitting up. I stay curled and keep my eyes fixed on the lake in front of me. That’s until Carson sits on the little coffee table blocking my view.

  “Hey Mills.” He greets me with a smile.

  Emotions clogs my throat, and I instantly hate that this man can make me feel more than any other person. I’m never like this, an emotional nutcase, but for some reason, just a small smile from him evokes such strong emotions.

  I rest my chin on my propped-up hand and say, “Hey, Carson.”

  He nods at my sweatshirt. “Way to represent, girl.”

  “Always showing my support,” I reply with a lackluster lilt to my voice.

  “Good thing.” From the pocket of his sweatshirt, he pulls out another bag of caramel M&M’s. He holds them out and says, “These are for you.”

  Even though I feel frozen in place, I take them. “You know you don’t have to keep getting me these.”

  “It’s tradition now. I leave for a road trip and bring you home some M&M’s.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stands from his seat at the coffee table and stretches right next to my chair. He tips my chin up and stares at me before saying, “Have a good night, Mills.”

  He takes off toward the crowd and starts chatting them up, speaking about the weekend games. Even though I try not to, my ears deceive me and I eavesdrop, wondering why he’s not having that same conversation with me.

  * * *

  Carson: Sorry, can’t make it today. I’ll catch you later.

  I stare at the text for the hundredth time today, trying to decode it to see if there’s a hidden message. This is the first time since I started working with Carson on his swing that he’s missed a practice. The cancellation comes a few days after he gave me the package of M&M’s and then took off to hang with his “groupies.”

  I might be a little upset, not that I have any right to be upset, but still, I have some bitter feelings, and I know it’s why I’m in such a mood this morning. It’s as though he’s used me to get what he wanted from me and wants nothing to do with me anymore. I truly was just Coach to him.

  At least my shift is over and I don’t have to hear the clanging of metal plates and the grunts of male athletes lifting their weight in squats anymore. This is the first time I’ve been in the weight room and have wanted to leave earlier than my shift finished. I’ve even offered to stay longer to help out. Not this time.

  With my backpack saddled up, I give Vinny a quick wave and head out and down the wide hallway toward the exit of the training facilities. My day is done and I have one thing on my mind: a giant Philly Cheesesteak, salt and vinegar chips, and a movie. Shane and Jerry invited me to their apartment for dinner and video games but I passed, telling them I was tired. Technically I yawned earlier, so that means I’m tired, right? I hate lying to my friends, but I’m not very good company right now anyway. They’d just be annoyed with me.

  I open the door to the parking lot and run smack into a very strong and stable chest.

  “Just the girl I was looking for,” Carson says, clutching my arms and steadying me. I’m pretty sure I just head-butted his right pec, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  Blinking a few times and trying to gain my bearings, I look up at him and say, “Oh sorry, didn’t mean to run into you.” I wiggle from his grasp and start to move toward my car, but I’m stopped when he comes up beside me.

  “Where’s the fire, Coach?”

  “Huh?”

  He stands in front of me now, stopping my rush. “I’m trying to talk to you.” He laughs.

  “Oh, sorry,” I answer sheepishly, even though I know that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

  “I have some things for you. Come with me.” He nods his head toward his parked car and I follow him, staring at his perfectly rounded ass the entire time.

  I’m hopeless.

  He opens the back driver side door and pulls out a stuffed duffle bag. “Here you go.”

  When he hands it over, it falls to the asphalt. “Oh my God, what’s in here, bricks?”

  Chuckling, he picks it back up and says, “I’ll carry it to your car for you.”

  Following closely behind, I ask, “What’s in it.”

  “Shirts, signed baseballs, tickets, and hats.”

  “Oh, um . . . for me?”

  I unlock my car for him, and he puts it in the back seat and then turns around to face me. “Well, if you want another hat and shirt, sure, but they’re for your little league team. I had all the guys sign balls for them and then I had the PR team hook me up with the rest. It’s for this weekend, so they can come cheer us on. There are enough tickets for each little guy to bring a parent. I’m sure not all of them can make it but if they can, we’d love to have a little cheering section. And I asked if one of the boys can throw out the first pitch. The PR team thought that was a great idea, so I nominated Dennis.” He winks, and I die a little inside.

  How on earth am I supposed to hide my feelings now when he does something so incredibly sweet, when he offers up the opportunity of a lifetime to a little guy like Dennis who wants to be just like Carson?

  My heart is ramming in my chest, trying to break free, as a warm glow of complete joy passes through my veins. I can’t believe him.

  Actually, I can.

  “Carson, that’s . . .” I press my lips together, trying to hold back my true emotions. “This is so thoughtful.” Quietly, I add, “Thank you.”

  “Anything for you, Mills.” He steps forward and before I can decipher what he’s doing, he wraps both his arms around my back and snags me into a deep embrace. Caught off guard, I stand there ramrod straight until he laughs and whispers, “You can hug me back, you know.”

  God, do I want to hug him.

  So bad.

  I think about it all the time, what it would be like to have his arms around me again, so I take advantage of the opportunity. Arms trembling, I circle his narrow waist and hug him back.

  Sighing above me, he tightens the hug, squeezing me harder than before while one of his hands travels to the nape of my neck and cradles my head.

  It’s a tiny movement, one I’m sure not everyone would notice, but to me it feels like the most comforting move I’ve ever experienced.

  “Does this mean you’re going to come to my games this weekend?”

  “I never miss them,” I say, reluctantly pulling away.

  His mouth curves into an endearing smile before he starts to move away, but not before tipping my chin up with his index finger once again. “Good, because I want you there.”

  With a quick wink, he takes off, jogging back to the training facilities, his large gait eating up the asphalt in no time at all.

  Carson really is a decent guy. I’m learning it’s typical of him to do something so giving, not understanding the effect it has on my desperate heart. I guess it’s lucky he’s cancelling practice times with me. At least that way, I don’t have to work out how to act unaffected around him.

  A small mercy.

  The irony.

  * * *

  “Wow, would you look at that, it’s our dear friend, Milly,” Jerry says, making a commotion as he takes a seat next to me on the quad’s lawn where I’m studying and trying to catch some much-needed vitamin D.

  “I thought she was quarantined with some deathly disease,” Shane adds, flopping his body next to mine. He flicks at my notebook, trying to get my attention, but I keep my eyes focused forward.

  These two.

  I can’t really blame their sarcasm. I can’t remember the last time I actually saw them in person other than for practice with our team. And even at that, I haven’t hung around after, telling them I had to study.

  “Oh no, Shane, she doesn’t even remember who we are. Look at her trying to ignore the strangers.”

  Shane puts his hand on my leg and shakes it. “Milly, Milly, remember us? We’re the guys who peeled you off Sigma Alpha’s bathroom floor after you had your very first atomic juice drink. We wiped the drool off your mouth.”

  I snap my notebook shut, startling both of them into laughter. “What did I tell you about that story?”

  “To tell it as many times as we can?” Shane asks.

  “No, to never mention it again. It was an off night for me.”

  “It was an off night for all of us. We found Jerry making out with his hand in a closet, remember?”

  Chuckling, I lean back on my palms and say, “How could I forget?”

  “Best make-out partner I’ve ever had,” Jerry says with a wink and then plucks at the leggings I’m wearing. “Where did these come from?”

  “Cory’s assistant sent them. Figured I’d try them. Turns out, they’re really comfortable. I mentioned it to Cory, to tell Cheryl thank you for me and then two days later, ten more pairs in all different colors showed up.”

  “Man, I wish my brother was a major league baseball player who sent me ten pairs of stretchy leggings,” Shane says wistfully as he closes his eyes, adding a goofy grin.

  “He spoils me.”

  “The leggings look good,” Jerry says. “A much-needed change from the giant sweatpants.”

  “Cory told me I wasn’t allowed to wear those in public anymore.”

  “Cory is a good man.” Shane opens his backpack and tosses us all a fun-sized package of caramel M&M’s. “Daddy brought the goods. Now tell us what’s been going on in your life. We haven’t talked to you in a long time, Mills. You’re either studying, doing your RA duties, or in the batting cages. And since the baseball team has had two weekends in a row with away games, we’re feeling lonely.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Things have just gotten crazy.”

  “And is it just me, or”—Shane sits up and stares at me—“you look different. Doesn’t she look different, Jerry?”

  He sits up as well and gives me a full assessment. “She does look different. The leggings are new . . . is it the tank top? I’ve seen you in a tank top before.”

  “Not the tank top, but”—Shane taps his chin—“is your hair a different color?”

  “No.” I laugh, patting down my long brown hair that I have braided to the side this morning. “It might have some natural highlights from the sun, but that’s it.”

  “Hmm, it’s not the hair. What . . .” Jerry pauses and then leans in closer. “Are you wearing mascara?”

  “Gasp,” Shane says, leaning in closer. “No, are you?”

  They’re both about five inches away from my head, studying my eyelashes through my glasses. Anyone on the outside watching our little spectacle would assume we were in the midst of some soon-to-be-rough-and-wild threesome.

  “Take your glasses off,” Jerry demands.

  “Yeah, take them off,” Shane repeats, coming even closer.

  “Will you two get out—”

  “Hey Milly.”

  Our heads snap up as a large shadow passes over our triangle of weirdos. Standing tall, hands gripping the straps of his backpack, is Carson, looking confused and amused simultaneously.

  “Oh, hey . . . Carson.” I awkwardly give him a short wave. “Hey there. Hi. Hello.”

  “Go ahead, say hi one more time,” Jerry says out of the corner of his mouth. I push his head to the side hoping Carson didn’t hear him.

  “Jerry and Shane, right?” They both nod in awe. “Good to see you.” He tilts his head at me. “What’s up, Coach?”

  Trying not to look like a fool in front of my friends, I say, “Just getting in some studying.”

  “Cool, yeah. I’m headed to the library right now. I have study hall with the boys. Walk with me for a second?”

  “Oooooo,” Shane says under his breath, making me want to die on the spot.

  I quickly stand, needing to get away from these two meddling morons and kick Shane in the shin in the process. While I gather my things, he buckles over and whispers, “Satan’s mistress.”

  Smiling to myself, I stand next to Carson and say, “I was headed to the library too.”

  “I’m sure you were,” Jerry says this time, and I flash him my I’ll kill you eyes. He visibly shivers. “Text us.”