My smile falters.

  “He’s not into dudes, but I can still give him your number if you’re interested.” She pushes her glasses up on her nose again and even though the words coming out of her mouth sound snarky, I can tell she’s nervous from the shake of her hand and the way her eyes shift from side to side.

  Cooling my jets a little, I say, “I’ll pass.”

  We stand there awkwardly, staring at each other for a few seconds, nothing to be said. She nods her head behind me and the bravado in her voice drops when she says, “The line moved.”

  I glance over my shoulder and see that I’m still behind two people. At least I can reach the panini order form to drop it off so I don’t have to wait forever.

  Not sure if I should apologize at this point, I press my lips together and spin back around to grab a piece of paper and pencil. Staring blankly at the order form, the words all mix together, pastrami nowhere to be found in the meat section as my mind floats back to the girl behind me.

  Hating that I’m letting this entire situation bother me—old Carson would have laughed it off—I turn back around and say, “I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”

  She glances up at me, her phone still clutched to her chest. “Yeah, okay.”

  “How come it feels like you’re not accepting my apology?”

  “Well, technically, you didn’t apologize, you j-just said you weren’t trying to be a dick.” She adjusts her glasses again and looks away.

  “That was an apology.”

  She pushes her hair behind her ear, and that’s when I catch a glimpse of her pierced ear. Tucked against her soft lobe is a baseball earring. I think she’s the only other person besides Mama G that I’ve actually seen wear baseball earrings. She must be a serious fan.

  Which means she really, truly knows who I am.

  “You know”—she bites on the side of her cheek—“apologies usually c-contain an ‘I’m sorry’ in them s-somewhere.”

  “Not necessarily. They can also contain an ‘I apologize’ if we’re getting technical.”

  “Either way, n-neither were involved in your said apology.”

  “But there was remorse,” I counter.

  She pushes her glasses up again, round and brown, almost too big for her face and frankly, too boring. “There was complacency.”

  “What are you, a social behavioral major?”

  “Kinesiology.” She looks away and must spot her friends, because she shyly waves and then turns back to her fixed gaze on the ground.

  It’s looking like this is a lost cause.

  Digging deep and sucking up my pride, I say, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry if I came across as a dick.”

  “You didn’t until you turned around, but thanks for apologizing.” She eyes the order form in my hand. “Better put in y-your order or else I’m skipping you in line.”

  “Brutal,” I say, trying to lighten the mood but instead of smiling, she looks off to the side avoiding eye contact with me.

  Well, okay then. Looks like our interaction is over.

  Back to the pastrami I’ve been craving all day.

  Looking at the counter, I quickly scan the rest of the ingredients offered just in time to see one of the panini magicians put up a sign.

  Out of pastrami.

  Mother.

  Fucker.

  Isn’t that just the cherry on top of this shit cake of a day?

  Chapter Three

  MILLY

  Before I can even set my tray down on the table, Shane and Jerry attack me with questions.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Was he cool?”

  “Did he offer to buy you dinner? I heard baseball players have huge dining card limits.”

  “Did you give him any pointers about his swing?”

  I drop my tray on the table, thankful for the simple roasted red pepper panini and bag of chips on my plate so nothing splatters.

  I take a seat and set my backpack on the ground where I snag my water bottle from the pocket.

  “How about we talk about something else?”

  “No way.” Shane shakes his head. “You actually spoke to Carson Stone, so we want to know everything that happened.”

  “You’re acting like a teenage girl who wants to know if their crush spoke about them during recess.” I pop open my chip bag and stick a jalapeno kettle chip in my mouth.

  “Dude, when have we ever had a chance to talk to one of the baseball players?” Shane asks. “This is our fourth year on this campus and you talking to Carson Stone was the first time any of us have even gotten close to one of them. We are so not cool enough to be allowed into the baseball loft parties—”

  “We haven’t even tried,” I counter.

  “Because we’re not cool enough,” Shane reiterates. “We’re the kinesiology nerds who spend their nights reciting spelling cards for muscles and tendons. We don’t go to hip parties at the baseball loft. We also aren’t lucky enough to be on rotation in the training room when the baseball team is in there, as we always get the early morning shifts when we have to take care of the golfers. You had a glimpse into the legendary world of Brentwood, and you have to tell us about it.”

  I take a bite of my panini, chew, and then say, “You idolize the baseball team far too much.”

  Jerry laughs out loud. “Please, you’re the one who keeps score of every home game and puts smiley faces next to the players you like the best. Pretty sure Carson Stone has two smiley faces next to his name.”

  “He does not. I don’t ever give anyone two smiley faces, but yes, he might be marked in my scorebook, but only because I think he has a very smooth fielding glove and when his bat is working, it’s a beautiful swing to watch.”

  “Just tell us what he said,” Shane pushes.

  Succumbing to his annoying pressure, I say, “It was stupid. I asked him if he was in line, he said yes, he thought he sounded rude, he apologized, and that was it.” I leave out the fine details because frankly, I’m still shaking from the interaction.

  Carson Stone spoke to me.

  The Carson Stone.

  And I was so caught off guard that I really can’t remember what was said or how I acted. All I can remember is being so engrossed with texting the boys that I thought some other random person was trying to interrupt me. It wasn’t until Carson really grabbed my attention, that I realized he was speaking to me.

  Talk about humiliated.

  There is no doubt in my mind my face was bright red and blotchy while I stumbled over my words, trying to sound intelligent. I think I came off more bitchy than anything. Wouldn’t be the first time my shy and awkward personality came off as bitchy. I’ve hung out with guys my entire life, never really having any true girlfriends, so you would think it would be easy for me to talk to someone like Carson Stone. But that was not the case, not when those dreamy light blue eyes shone down at me, as he tried to carry a conversation.

  Not my best moment. Probably goes down in history as one I’ll regret for a long time, because when he’s playing professional baseball and I’m sitting at home with a bowl of Cheez-Its on my lap—watching him make diving play after diving play—I can remind myself of the way I told him the line moved up. Rather than the in-depth conversation I would love to have about baseball and how he got his start.

  It’s as if I was Baby in Dirty Dancing when she speaks to Johnny for the first time. “I carried a watermelon.” Yup, that’s me, the I carried a watermelon girl.

  Despite the probing, there is no way Jerry and Shane are going to get the details of that conversation, especially the part where I argued with him about what an actual apology is. I blame my nerves and total shock.

  “That was it? Seriously? You have one opportunity to talk to him and you didn’t even fish for an invite to one of the baseball parties?”

  “That wouldn’t have been awkward at all. And you don’t need an invitation,” I say exasperated. “Anyone can go.”

  “That’s what they tell you, but I think we all know only certain people get in.”

  “You’re exhausting,” I say to Shane. “It was an inconsequential interaction, one I think we all need to move on from. Now, shall we talk our starting lineup for the little guys? I think we should start Dennis in right field.”

  “Over Linus? You are out of your damn mind,” Shane spouts off, the ever-opinionated friend. Jerry, the neutral zone, watches us bounce back and forth between each other.

  Happy for the subject change, I dive into why I think Dennis would be the perfect starting right fielder for our team . . . despite his uncoordinated little body.

  * * *

  “Mildred,” Cory shouts into the phone once I answer his FaceTime call. “How’s my favorite sister?”

  “I’m your only sister.” I lie back against the pillows on my dorm bed and stare at my oldest brother who decided to grow a mustache for some stupid reason.

  “I don’t know, Rian can act like a girl at times.”

  Laughing, I ask, “When are you going to shave that molting caterpillar off your upper lip?”

  With this index finger and thumb, he strokes the small patch of hair and says, “Why would I shave this masterpiece? It’s a work of art.”

  “If you’re trying to repel women, you’re doing a good job. It’s hideous.”

  “You would be surprised with how much ass I’ve gotten since I started growing this thing.”

  “Eww, gross. Can you please not say things like getting ass? That’s so vile.”

  “You brought it up and I thought I would clear the air since I’m sure Rian and Sean are telling you differently.”

  “They haven’t said a word actually.”

  “Smart men. But I’m only kidding. I’m single and lonely just like you left me last time, and I’m shaving tomorrow. This shit itches.” He shifts on his bed and puts his arm behind his head. The sleeve of his shirt slips down his arm showing off his large bicep. It’s weird, seeing my older brother all beefed out like he is now. Many years in the weight room and sucking down protein shakes has paid off, and it’s showing in his stats, but it still feels weird knowing he’s a . . . man, rather than the scrawny boy I grew up with. “How’s your last semester of school treating you?”

  “Fine, I guess. I’ve picked up more hours in the weight room. I now have to wake up at four thirty every morning to be there by five for the golf team.”

  “Golf? Come on, why don’t they have you working with the baseball team? They could use you and your knowledge. Don’t they know you’re Cory Potter’s sister?”

  “No, and I plan to keep it that way. I don’t need people trying to be my friend falsely to get close to you or to score a free autograph or tickets or a date. I’m good with Shane and Jerry.”

  “Are they still taking care of you? After the incident last fall where they left you at a frat party, I’m still ready to twist their kneecaps.”

  “It’s not their fault. They both met girls and I told them to go. I was fine.”

  “You were left outside for over an hour waiting for an Uber to pick you up.”

  “It was a busy night, and we’re not getting into that again. I was fine, they apologized to you profusely and swore it would never happen again, so all is good.”

  “Good.” He cracks his neck to the side and says, “So who do I need to call to make sure you have a better shift in the weight room?”

  “Nobody. I don’t mind the golf team. They’re low-key and listen to country music while lifting, which is nice. The lacrosse team listens to EDM, and I swear I skitz out being in there with them.”

  “Have you given any thought to the offer to work in the training room full-time?”

  I shrug. “I’ve thought about it a little. It could be fun, but I don’t think it hits upon all the things I want to do. I love training athletes and morphing their bodies into well-oiled machines, but I also love teaching the mechanics of baseball.”

  “You want to coach.”

  “Yes, desperately. But I’m not sure if I’ll be taken seriously.”

  Cory’s brow crinkles. “Why do you say that?”

  “Come on, Core. I’m a girl.”

  “Who cares?”

  “Uh, every baseball player past the age of twelve. They don’t want a girl teaching them. That’s why I’m coaching eight-year-olds right now. They don’t judge you by what’s hiding in your underpants.”

  “Putting the words hiding in your underpants and eight-year-olds in the same sentence is not the best idea, Mills.”

  Laughing, I say, “You know what I mean. A woman breaking into the business of coaching men is next to impossible.”

  “That’s not true. There are a few female coaches out there paving the way for you. Look at them. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish, Milly. You know more about the sport than all three of your brothers combined, and it would be a crime if you didn’t put that to use.”

  Smiling shyly, I look out the window of my dorm to the pelting rain splashing against the glass. “Can I tell you something and you promise not to tell Rian and Sean?”

  “Secrets just between us? You know I thrive off them. What’s up?”

  “I’m thinking about proposing an idea to them but you have to tell me if it’s stupid first, because if it’s stupid, I won’t say anything.”

  “Hit me.”

  One of the reasons Cory is my favorite—apart from the fact he’s the oldest and has always taken care of me in every way possible, even buying me a brand-new car last year—is that he’s truly invested in everything I do. He encourages me, tells me when I need to pull back or put all my effort into an idea. He’s my sounding board and the one person I rely on whenever I’m in need.

  I twist my shirt in my finger and try not to sound nervous about my idea. Cory’s always told me to be bold, to believe in myself. “Well, you know how they’re putting together that new facility?”

  “Yeah, the one in Hyde Park? Beautiful location; they lucked out.”

  “Well, it’s pretty big, and they’re thinking about adding an event space, which seemed odd to me because who wants to have an event at a training facility? And I know they don’t focus on one single sport in their training, but I was thinking about suggesting using that space for individual baseball coaching. With the Bobcats and Brentwood in Chicago, this is a breeding ground for young players to learn and succeed, and I think we should take advantage of that. We can have fielding, batting, and pitching cages. Gather some of the top individual coaches in the area, even offer some slots to a few Brentwood boys, and they could rent the space and hold private lessons. And I could be one of the coaches. I’d still help out with the athletic training portion, but I could take on clients and work on their batting.” I cringe, feeling uncomfortable voicing my grand idea for the first time. “What do you think? Is it stupid?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “It’s brilliant.”

  “Yeah?” I perk up. “You really think so?”

  “Really, really smart, Mills.”

  “You think I should talk to Rian and Sean about it?”

  “I think you need to talk to them sooner than later so they can develop the space properly.”

  “And even though they don’t want to focus on an individual sport, they’d go for it?”

  Cory sits up and grows serious. “If anything, Mills, they’re businessmen, smart businessmen at that, and they know good ideas when presented. This is better than a good idea. This is sheer brilliance and will fill a hole in Chicago. They have the talent in coaches and the name for the facility already, so they’d be idiots not to take it on.”

  I can’t contain my smile. “Okay, so, I should write up a proposal then? Should I include a PowerPoint presentation?”

  “You know Rian needs visuals, so at least include something like that.”

  I laugh out loud and nod. “He does. Okay. Awesome. Thank you, Cory. I really appreciate it.”

  “Anything for my little sis.” He yawns and flops back on his bed. “Shit, I’m whipped. Is there anything else I need to know? Any love interests you’ve left out?”

  I shake my head. “Please, if a guy were interested in me, you’d hear about it. No one is knocking at my door.” I push up my glasses and avoid looking at myself in the tiny little FaceTime box. “I’m not really looking for a relationship anyway, so it’s whatever.”

  “Maybe if you plucked that unibrow every once in a while, a guy would turn his head,” Cory jokes.

  “I don’t have a unibrow.” I rub my forehead with my hand, trying to remember the last time I did pluck my eyebrows. I forget about the everyday girly things to do because growing up, I really never focused on them.

  I’m the tomboy, the girl every guy wants to be friends with but no one wants to kiss. And it’s fine, I’m cool with that . . .

  Although, it would be nice to be asked out on a date just once.

  I’ll pluck after I get off the phone, just for the hell of it.

  “Have you tried on any of those clothes I had Cheryl send to you?”

  “You know I love your assistant, but her choice in clothing comes from the corners of horny and whorebag. I would never wear anything in that box.”

  Chuckling, he says, “Just because the shorts aren’t made of mesh, doesn’t mean they’re made for whores.”

  “I have other shorts that aren’t mesh.”

  “Khaki Bermuda shorts.”

  “Hey, they’re a nice length and I’ll have you know I started wearing skinny jeans.”

  “And let me guess, you wear a baggy shirt on top.”

  “God gave me a bosom, so I like to cover it up.”

  He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Whatever you say, Mills. But you will tell me if there’s a guy you like?”

  My mind immediately floats to Carson and the way he looked at me in the panini line, his eyes boring into me. I swallow hard, and hold back the absolute disgust of the idea that someone like Carson Stone would even consider taking a second look at me. I can one hundred percent guarantee I’m not that guy’s type, not even close.