Yeah, I’ll be texting them all right.

  When we get a few feet away from Shane and Jerry, I say, “Sorry about—”

  “No need to apologize. Are they coming to the game tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, they always do. It’s tradition for us.”

  “Cool.” For some reason, Carson almost seems nervous. It’s . . . weird.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  “What? Oh yeah. Feeling good.” He shrugs his shoulders and then swallows hard. “Hey, uh”—he clears his throat—“we’re having a party at the loft after Sunday’s game. You’re invited if you want to go.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I say awkwardly, not completely sure what to do with that. A baseball party? Shane and Jerry will die, as they’ve always wanted to go. But parties have never appealed to me. If they’re anything like a frat party—which I’m sure they are—I’m not interested. A bunch of drunk people making fools of themselves . . . I’m good. I’m a senior in college and I know a lot of students my age are getting in their last party moments before the end of the year, but I’m more interested in my proposal for my brothers and figuring out what I can do after college.

  “It’s casual, drinks are provided, but yeah, bring the boys. It will be fun.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

  He pauses. “Think about it? As in, it’s not a definite yes?” His nerves float away and his joking personality returns. “It’s going to be the party of the century.”

  “That’s a big statement.”

  He turns and walks backward, facing me now. “Magical things happen at the loft.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please, you already have the locker room as the most magical place on campus, you can’t claim the loft as well.”

  “Ah, so you’ve heard the rumors about the locker room?”

  “It’s hard not to hear the rumors, especially at the baseball games. It’s why we moved out of the student section after freshman year. We couldn’t stand listening to it anymore, so we moved behind the dugout . . . thanks to Cory.”

  “He’s a good man, because those are sick seats.” Reaching the library, he opens the door for me and says, “Where you headed?”

  “Private room.” I glance over to where a few baseball players are congregating. “You’re at the tables?”

  He nods. “Yeah, we have to stay out in the open so we’re forced to be quiet. If we were in a private room, we’d be obnoxious and get nothing done.”

  “I could see that.” Giving him a small smile, I say, “Okay, well, have a nice study session.”

  “Hey.” He grabs me by the shoulder. “No hug goodbye?” Before I can answer, he pulls me into his chest and my arms instinctively wrap around him. “That’s better,” he says, snuggling in closer.

  Well, this is new.

  Overwhelmed with his fresh soap smell surrounding me and his warmth, I lose track of how long we hold each other until he finally steps away and stuffs his hands in his pockets, a bright smile tipping up the corners of his mouth.

  “Do you always hug your coaches goodbye?” I ask, trying to rein back my combusting emotions.

  Stepping forward, he tips my chin up and says, “Only the pretty ones. I’ll catch you later, Mills.” With a wink, he takes off toward his teammates, who he high-fives in greeting, leaving me absolutely and totally stunned.

  Pretty?

  Did he just call me pretty?

  He did. He called me pretty.

  I don’t . . . I can’t . . . Oh God, I’m so screwed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CARSON

  Milly: I know you’re getting ready for the game, but I just have to tell you the kids are so excited about today. Dennis especially.

  I’m sitting in front of my locker, going through my pre-game ritual when I see her text.

  Today is the fucking day, the day I finally make a move on Milly. I’ve been priming her, prepping her for an incoming bomb of “Hey, I like you a lot, will you go out with me?” The texts, the hugs, the surprises here and there. I hope she sees what I’m doing so when I approach her at the party tonight, she has no reason to say no. At least I hope so. I think I’m reading her right, and I’m almost positive she feels similarly.

  I guess we’ll see tonight.

  Carson: I can’t wait to hear them cheer in the stands.

  I reach for my cleats as she texts back. Seeing those three little dots does something to me. I’ve never felt like this—so enamored with another human—but Milly is so much more than just my coach and friend. She’s consumed my mind in so many ways—her kindness, her talent, her sweet yet wicked sense of humor—and . . . my heart as well. I had no clue what this felt like.

  Milly: They keep asking if you’re going to hit another home run like the two you hit yesterday.

  Carson: Tell them I’m just hoping for some solid contact.

  Milly: The perfect answer from a smart hitter.

  Carson: I had one hell of a coach helping me with that frame of mind.

  Milly: You had that frame of mind, you just needed to be reminded of it.

  Carson: Meet me after the game? Coach said the kids could run the bases when all is cleared out.

  Milly: Seriously? They’re going to be thrilled. You’re amazing. Thank you.

  I smile to myself and set my phone down, confident with my chances tonight. When I first met Milly, I thought she was quirky, pretty, but I never thought I’d crave her and harbor such heavy feelings toward her. She’s the whole package—intelligent, supportive, loves baseball, gorgeous—and has the perfect smile. After tonight, I know I’m going to call her mine.

  * * *

  “You’re so cool,” Dennis says, eyes wide, staring up at me. “Thank you so much.” The runt of the team sweeps his arms around my leg and gives me one more hug before he parts with a wave, his mom holding his hand, dragging him to the parking lot.

  Milly was right. He’s adorable, loves the game, but man, is he clumsy. Wearing the baggiest baseball pants cinched tightly around his waist, he stumbled up to the mound to throw the first pitch. Hat a little too big, shirt shelves past his elbows, he was drowning in gear, but the smile on his face told everyone in the stadium that throwing out the first pitch was the best moment in his life. His mom, Denise—yes, Dennis and Denise—thanked me profusely after the game while the kids were running bases. All the parents did and wished me luck with the upcoming draft and college world series. One dad asked if I was hoping to be picked up by the Bobcats. I told him I couldn’t think of a better way to start a new chapter in my baseball career.

  “Thank you,” Dennis shouts again, his hand waving dramatically in the air.

  I chuckle and turn to Milly, who has the most endearing expression on her face. And I take that opportunity to study her. In a pair of denim shorts, a Brentwood baseball tank top, and the hat I gave her, it’s simple but beyond tempting. It’s taking everything inside me to not press my hand to the small of her back, then reach down and link my fingers with hers.

  She looks toward me and catches me staring, but I don’t care at this point. It’s only a matter of hours until I ask her out. She removes her sunglasses, and that’s when I catch her unguarded eyes.

  Blue, with full lashes that curl up . . . I’ve never noticed how vibrant they are.

  “You’re not wearing your glasses,” I say, almost mesmerized.

  “I knew it was going to be a sunny day so I put my contacts in. Took me about five tries since I haven’t worn them in a while, but Cory got me these new sunglasses, and I figured I should wear them at some point.”

  I want to tell her, her eyes are stunning, that I want to spend the rest of the night staring into them, that I want to scoop her up and carry her to my car where we can drive somewhere and not be bothered by a single soul.

  But that time is coming and standing on the baseball field with the grounds crew still milling around and Jerry and Shane waiting for her in the stands is not the perfect time.

  I reach up to my hat and spin it around on my head, pulling nervously on the brim, to keep my hands as far away from her as possible.

  “Good game, huh?”

  “Fishing for compliments, Stone?”

  “If you’re handing them out, Potter, I am.”

  “You know how I feel about the game.”

  “Yeah, but if you could wax poetic phrases about my studdliness and skill, that would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Disik do that for you?”

  “Every Monday morning,” I retort with a smile.

  She pats my shoulder and says, “Then I’ll let him handle that for you tomorrow morning.” Damn. “Thanks again, for everything. It meant a lot to the kids and to me.”

  “Of course.”

  She gives me one more pat and starts to walk away. “Hey, the party is tonight.”

  With one more flash of those dimples, she heads up the stairs where Shane wraps his arm around her shoulders and Jerry pulls up the rear. After tonight, it’s going to be my arm around her shoulders.

  Okay, it’s time to get ready.

  * * *

  Crash.

  I slam my door and pace the length of my room.

  She’s not fucking here.

  It’s been two hours and she’s not here. And if I know Milly like I think I do, she’s probably curled up into a ball on her bed, watching . . . hell, she better not be watching Angels in the Outfield.

  There’s a knock on my door and Jason peeks his head inside.

  “So, I’ve been voted as the teammate who gets to make sure you’re not going to blow your fist through the wall and break every knuckle right before post-season.”

  “Why the fuck is she not here?” I ask, pulling on the short strands of my hair.

  When I got back to the loft, I took a shower rather than just rinsing off in the locker room. I cleaned the hell out of my room, made sure I put on new sheets—high hopes here—went to the store for some snacks in case Milly wanted to hang in my room, put some of my special beer in the fridge for me and her, and did my hair.

  I did my goddamn hair.

  And she’s not here.

  Nowhere to be seen.

  Don’t worry though. Shane and Jerry are here and having the time of their lives. I made sure of it since they’re the best friends and all, and when I was about to ask them if Milly was on their way, Shane drunkenly said, “Can’t believe Milly chose to stay back at her dorm.” Then he proceeded to do a keg stand.

  That’s when my boiling point hit and I blew past everyone in the party and straight to my room.

  She actually chose not to come. After I asked her to, after I told her she has an invite, after I even reminded her about the party at the game. She chose not to show.

  What does that say about me?

  Have I really read her wrong this whole time? Do I need to give up and accept that she doesn’t share the same feelings as I do?

  Wouldn’t she want to spend time with me?

  “Okay, I can see a vein in your forehead throbbing,” Jason says nervously. “I’m going to assume you’re talking about Milly. You invited her tonight?”

  “Yeah,” I snap. “I fucking did, and I was going to finally ask her out. Fuck,” I shout. “I was prepping her all week, trying to subtly show her that I’m interested, that I want more than just her coaching. I want her, and when she’s supposed to come to the party, she doesn’t.”

  “Did she ever say she’d come?”

  “Ye—” I pause and think about it. “I don’t know now.”

  Jason leans against my door, arms crossed with a beer in hand. What I wouldn’t give for an icy-cold brew right now. I haven’t had one drink, wanting to be sober tonight. “I don’t know a lot about Milly, but she doesn’t seem like a girl who would enjoy a party like this.” He lifts off the door, opens it a crack, and lets the boisterous party goers boom through the small opening. He quickly shuts it. “I don’t think this is her scene, man.”

  I scratch the back of my head, thinking about it. “Hell, you might be right.” With hope springing in my chest, I say, “You think she didn’t show because she doesn’t do parties, or because she doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

  “Both.” My hope splinters. “Just kidding. That girl likes you, you can see it in her eyes and the way her body reacts whenever you’re around.”

  “You’re a fucking dick.”

  He laughs unapologetically. “I’m not even sorry. Someone has to yank your dick.”

  “I’d prefer it not be you.” I let out a large pent-up sigh. “So what the fuck do I do now?”

  “Well, you’re not married to this party, so go find her. Have her meet up with you somewhere else. Tell her it’s an emergency and then lay out all your cards. Women like that romantic shit.”

  I mull his idea over. “She’s probably in for the night.”

  “Pull her out. If you want this girl, then make it happen. Go to her, man, rather than expecting her to come to you. Don’t you have a place you can meet? Somewhere special between you two?”

  My mind immediately falls to one place as a smile stretches across my face. “I know exactly where.”

  “Then send her a text.” Jason pushes off the door and brushes off his hands. “My work here is done.”

  When he leaves, I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot her a text. I just hope she responds.

  Carson: Meet me in the dugout. It’s important.

  * * *

  Milly: Is everything okay? Be there in ten.

  I stare at her message and then at the time. It’s been fifteen minutes since I sent her the text, and with each minute that ticks by, I’m starting to lose my nerve.

  I can see us discussing late-night statistics followed by even later naked adventures. I can envision her by my side throughout my baseball journey. All I can see is us. I want to get to know her more. I want to be the guy who encourages her to chase her dreams, the one who stands behind her, acknowledging her intelligence and drive. I want to hold her hand, kiss her every time I see her on campus, spend the night in her dorm room, and wake up to those dimples.

  Becoming restless, I bounce back and forth on my heels just as headlights shine on the parking lot and she pulls into the spot next to my car.

  A wave of nerves and butterflies hit me, making me feel excited and nauseous. Thanks to a Brentwood baseball fan, I was given the code to turn on the lights on the field. Not wanting a giant spotlight on the both of us, I left it to one light so we can see each other.

  I have a backpack full of picnic items if she says yes and an escape plan to tamp down the humiliation if she says no. Either way, I’m going to find out soon what the answer is.

  Eyes trained on her, I watch her hop out of the car in a pair of leggings and a Bobbies for Life shirt. I smile to myself, loving that she’s a hometown girl. Chicago Bobcats fans are known as Bobbies, and even though her brother plays for the Storm, she still has a love for Chicago.

  Keys in hand, she jogs down the hill to the field and slips past the chain link fence and into the dugout, looking frantic. She takes me in, my jeans and perfectly styled hair. Not what she was expecting, I’m sure.

  “What’s . . . what’s going on?” she asks, sounding out of breath.

  I stand from the bench, leaving my backpack on the ground but close enough that I can retrieve and sprint away. I rock on the back of my heels. “Why weren’t you at the party?”

  “What?” Her brow pulls into an affronted frown. “That’s why you called me out here? To ask about the party?”

  I nod, not caring that she might be mad about it. “Yeah, why didn’t you come?”

  She exhales sharply and slips her hand up to her ponytail holder, letting her hair loose. My eyes immediately watch the wave of brown that floats down her back, swishing back and forth as she expels a breath of anger.

  “Carson, I thought something was seriously wrong. You said it was an emergency.”

  “It is an emergency. I need to know why you weren’t at the party.”

  “This could have been done through text.”

  I shake my head. “No, it couldn’t. I need to hear the reason, not read it. Why weren’t you there?”

  “What does it matter?” she says, avoiding the answer.

  “It matters to me. Why, Milly?”

  She glances to the side. She’s about to tell me a lie. I know her well enough to understand her cues, and she’s on the verge of letting a lie fall from her lips.

  “Just not my scene,” she answers, now looking at the ground.

  Not her scene. That’s what I was hoping she’d say, that it was just an uncomfortable situation for her to be in. But her answer was also a lie, a flat-out lie. She looked away while saying it, unable to actually tell me face to face.

  That only leads to one thing . . . it was me. She didn’t come to the party because of me.

  My pride deflates into hurt and my ego is completely shot as I reach for my backpack. I need to get the hell out of here so I can go back to the loft and lick my wounds . . . and get massively drunk. I’m sure my boys will have no problem helping me with that.

  “Okay,” I answer, slipping my backpack over my shoulders. “Good to know.” I step past her. “I’ll catch you later, Milly.”

  I start for my car when she calls out, “That’s why you called me here? For that?”

  I ignore her, my heart about to crack from embarrassment. I want to murder Jason for even convincing me to come all the way out here and make a grand statement. He’s getting a punch to his dick the minute I see him.

  “Carson.” Milly pulls on my shoulder, halting me. Strong for such a little thing. “Why are you leaving?”

  “Because I got my answer.”

  “There has to be more,” she says, her teeth chattering. It’s not very cold out, so is that nerves? “You didn’t just ask me out here to inquire about the party.”

  “I did.”

  “Then tell me why it matters. Why did it matter if I went to the party? I didn’t think it was a big deal, just an open invitation.”