“Yes, I would tell you. Now get some sleep. You have some ass to kick tomorrow.”

  “The Lions will have no idea what hit them when I step up to plate. Thanks for the tips by the way, Mills, you really helped me out.”

  “What are sisters for?”

  Chapter Four

  CARSON

  “Thanks for waking up with me and coming to the cages,” I say to Jason, who’s holding a to-go cup of coffee in one hand and a ball in the other.

  “Yeah, sure. I always wondered what campus looked like in the dark. It’s . . . black.”

  “Sorry about the time. I told you, you could sleep in the locker room while I did tee work, but I need you to pitch balls to me.”

  “Nah, I’m good. You need someone here to tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

  I stare at the tee, lift my leg, and swing through the ball, sailing it against the back net, dead center. It’s the perfect hit, smooth and clean, which is how I always hit off the tee. A lot of the guys hate working off the tee, but it’s the most fundamental thing you can do when training your swing. If you can’t do it, don’t even bother going up to plate.

  “But after seeing that swing, I’m not sure there’s anything I could tell you to change.” He lets out a deep breath. “Do you think it’s all in your head, man?”

  “I don’t know.” He places another ball down. I angle my body for an outside pitch and take the ball to the opposite side of the cage.

  Perfect.

  “Sometimes I think it’s in my head, but when I’m in the batter’s box, I don’t think of anything but the pitcher and the delivery, trying to pick up the ball as quickly as possible. I drown out the crowd and the other team and Disik’s loud and obnoxious voice. I’m not distracted easily up to bat, so that’s why I feel like I’m at a loss here.”

  Jason puts another ball on the tee. “Well, keep swinging and let me see if I notice anything.”

  We spend the next hour in the cages working off the tee and doing short pitching with Jason behind a screen and chucking balls over the plate.

  There were a few misses here and there where I rolled my wrists too soon, or my shoulder flew out a little too early, but for the most part, I was very happy with the practice.

  Falling to the ground, I prop myself up with my hands behind me as Jason leans against the pitching screen.

  “Dude, what the fuck is your problem in the games?” he asks, joking, but also perplexed.

  “I have no fucking idea.” I drag a hand over my face, exhausted. “But I need to figure it out because there is no way Badcock is taking my position away from me.”

  “Badcock isn’t having the best season either. Disik is just pushing your buttons.”

  “Well, it’s fucking working.” I check my watch and say, “Want to get in some weights before classes?”

  “Yeah, it’s one of the reasons I came in with you so I didn’t have to do afternoon weights before practice.”

  During the season, we have to lift three days a week, but because we’re constantly practicing and playing games, we have to fit in the weightlifting on our own schedules. Jason and I usually go in before practice together, but it sucks because we’re normally maxed out after practice and can barely make it to the dining hall for dinner.

  Getting the weights done early might be my new routine.

  We pack up the balls along with the tee and the nets—Coach likes everything to be orderly. I stuff my bat in my locker and change my shirt for a fresh one, not wanting to sweat all over the equipment, and then Jason and I walk down the connecting hallway to the training facilities for all the teams.

  The golf team is nearly done, which means the space will be free soon.

  We lean against the cinderblock walls as the golf team finishes up with abs, tossing medicine balls back and forth while country music plays on the speakers.

  “Did you see the drive Collins had the other day? I saw a replay of it on the local station recap. He killed it. Birdie on a par four.”

  “Missed it, but Gunner was talking about it. He told me Collins is going pro after this season. Good for him.”

  “He’s no Tiger Woods but he has great potential,” Jason says just as the team wraps up and starts emptying out of the room.

  When there are only a few stragglers left, Jason and I enter the weight room and both hop on the treadmills where we do a light five-minute jog to warm up our legs. Not that I need it at this point, but Jason’s muscles are probably still cold.

  “Hey boys, didn’t think I’d be seeing you two this early in the morning,” Vinny, the head trainer says, coming up to our treadmills and lacing his beefy hands on the arm grips.

  “Got an early start and did some batting practice,” I say between some light breathing. “Thought we’d get our weights out of the way today.”

  “Smart. Well, your workouts are in your files. It’s leg day today. Your usual trainers aren’t here but Milly and Jerry are both on the floor if you need someone to spot you. I’ll be in my office if you have any questions.”

  “Thanks, Vinny,” Jason says as he picks up the pace. I do the same, matching his speed.

  “Have a good one.” He pats our treadmills and takes off.

  Once he’s out of earshot, Jason says, “I still think he’s banging Elle in the training room. Whenever they’re around each other you can cut the tension with a knife.”

  “Is that rumor still floating around? No way.” I shake my head. “Elle is too young for him.”

  “Eight years isn’t much.” Jason shrugs. “He’s a charismatic guy.”

  “That’s true. I swear I get butterflies whenever he winks at us.”

  Jason roars in laughter and slows his treadmill at the exact moment we hit five minutes. “I knew you felt a little something for Vinny. I could see it in your eyes.”

  “It’s his bald head, there’s something about it that makes me want to rub my bare scrotum all over it.”

  He chuckles all the way to where our workout files are. “There’s something seriously wrong with you, man. I have no idea how Knox and Holt put up with you.”

  “They would stroke my ego quite often actually. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with my batting, I need someone to stroke me.” I press my hand against his back and whisper into his ear. “Will you stroke me, Jason?”

  “Get the fuck out of here.” He pushes me away, laughing.

  I snag my workout file from him and check out what’s in store for my legs today.

  Lateral-weighted squats, box jumps, dead lifts, parallel squats, front lunges . . . great.

  I glance at Jason. “Thank fuck we’re doing this now.”

  “Tell me about it. My legs would be fucked if we did this right before practice.”

  We both walk over to the free weights, claim a station, and begin racking up our bars. Vinny makes it easy on us and tells us how much weight and how many reps for each set, gradually increasing the weight as we move on. It’s mindless work, and we have to go through the correct motions to get the work done. He even provides little check boxes on the paper where we can check off every exercise. Makes us feel like we’re accomplishing something.

  “Do you need any help?” I look to the side where a buff blond dude is standing, wearing a green athletic trainer shirt and khaki shorts. This must be one of the guys Vinny was talking about. What were their names again?

  I stand up tall and lend out my hand. “Carson, what’s your name?”

  With a huge smile on his face, he takes my hand and says, “Jerry, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Jerry, cool. Yeah, we’re just warming up right now, but once we get into the heavy sets, we might need a spot.”

  “Great. I can get Milly to help out as well.”

  Milly, huh, must be short for Miller.

  “Sure, call him over in a few once we have these warm ups over with.”

  “She.”

  “What?”

  “She. Milly is a girl.”

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” I chuckle. “That was a dick thing to assume.”

  “Nah, she’s considered one of the guys anyway. She might be a small thing but she’s tough.”

  A small thing? I’m about to squat two hundred fifty pounds today. Do I really want a “small thing” spotting me?

  Before I can ask if she’s strong enough to help, Jerry calls out, “Mills, can you come here?”

  “Yup,” I hear a girl reply from the weight room office.

  My eyes carry to where her familiar voice came from, and I blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing correctly.

  Is that . . .

  Panini line girl?

  No, it can’t be . . . is it?

  I lean forward a little more as she approaches, trying to get a better look. I think that’s her, but she looks so different. Instead of an oversized shirt and her hair dancing over her face so I can barely see what she looks like, she’s wearing a form-fitting athletic training shirt, khaki shorts that touch just above her knee, and her hair is pulled back low at the nape of her neck and braided. Her big brown glasses adorn her face that doesn’t have an ounce of makeup. She’s tiny, smaller than I recall, and there’s a swell at her hips I can appreciate, something to grip on to. But what really catches my attention are all the freckles that dot her face. They’re . . . pretty.

  When she looks up from her clipboard and makes eye contact with me, she trips right into Jerry.

  “Careful there, Mills.” Hands on her shoulders he steadies her.

  “Panini girl,” I say before I can stop myself. The name causes her brow to crease.

  “Oh, that’s right, you two were in line together.” From the smile that’s pulling at the ends of Jerry’s mouth, I’m assuming he didn’t forget we’ve already met.

  Clamping her clipboard to her side and standing tall—as tall as she can—she says, “Yes, we were in line together yesterday.” In a very emotionless voice, she asks, “Did your panini treat you fine?”

  What? Who talks like that?

  I chuckle and rub the back of my head. “Yeah, it was delightful in all the right ways,” I answer, mocking her. “No bowel issues, if that’s what you were wondering.”

  Her nose scrunches up. “I really wasn’t.”

  “Ah, so since you already know each other, why don’t you two work together and I’ll take Jerry,” Jason says with a wicked gleam.

  I eye the runt next to me and then look over at the beefy Jerry and his expansive chest, then back at the runt. I think I got the short end of the stick—no pun intended.

  I lift more than Jason at this point, so there is no way I’m going to be spotted by panini line girl.

  “Not a good idea. I lift a lot.”

  “She can handle it,” Jerry says, defending his friend and moving to Jason’s side of the weight rack.

  I give her a once-over. “My arm is thicker than your leg. No way can you spot me.”

  Clearly offended, she says, “Try me.”

  “I’d rather not break you.”

  “Give her a chance,” Jerry chimes in. “I think she’ll surprise you, plus, she’s a wealth of knowledge when it comes to baseball.”

  “Yeah? You know some stats?” Jason asks, loading up his bar with tens on each side to warm up.

  “Pish. She’s not a statistician. She’s a coach.”

  A coach? Really? I would never have guessed that and not because she’s a woman, but because she looks more like a bookworm than someone interested in sports.

  “Okay, you can keep your mouth shut now, Jerry,” she says, her face taking on a scary shade of pink.

  “What? You are. Don’t sell yourself short, Milly. You know your way around the baseball field better than anyone I know.”

  Milly and baseball? Panini line girl knows a little something about the sport? Is that why she was weird in the dining hall, because she’s a huge baseball fan? I mean, she is wearing those little baseball earrings again.

  “You know baseball?”

  “Her brother is—”

  “Shut. It.” Milly takes on a scary deep voice, full of warning—like Satan popped out of her mouth and bitch-slapped Jerry.

  “Don’t be mad at me. I’m just telling it like it is,” Jerry says, shrugging off how upset she is.

  And I was the start of that. Now I feel like a dick. Again.

  Glancing at my weight chart, she folds her arms across her chest and says, “You know, you’re right. You lift too much. I’ll get Vinny to help you.”

  Without another word, she turns around and starts walking away.

  Shit.

  Now I feel like an even bigger dick.

  “Hey, wait. You can—” But she doesn’t let me finish. Instead, she disappears into the office.

  I stand there, silent, staring at the office, guilt hitting my chest. Even though I’m going through a tough time right now, I shouldn’t take it out on other people. I’m not really that man, and to be honest, I’m disappointed he’s the only version of me she’s met. I used to be better.

  I step to go after her and apologize . . . again, but Jerry stills me with a hand to my chest. “Let her do her thing. She’ll only get more irritated if you go in after her.”

  “But if I don’t, I’ll look like an asshole.”

  “Trust me, she probably already thinks you are.”

  “Great,” I mutter and slink back to my weight rack, where I put on the same amount of weight as Jason, who already started squatting.

  I grip the bar, steady my legs beneath me, and lift. I step back and get into position where I start counting off my squats in my head, all the while, peeking in the mirror of the weight room to see if she’s watching.

  No such luck.

  When I’m done with my warm-up set, I rack up more weight, building up to two-fifty, while Jerry sits between both of us, observing with a watchful eye.

  “She really knows her stuff, you know.”

  “Who? That girl?” Jason asks.

  “Milly. And yes, she does. I’ve seen her work magic on batters before. She grew up with three older brothers, dedicated her life to the sport, and all she really wants is to be taken seriously in this field. Maybe you’ll give her a shot, since you seem to be in a slump.”

  It’s a jab, a direct one. A fucking ballsy move too, but then again, I just insulted his friend—or girlfriend, who knows—and he has his armor on display.

  Feeling defensive and unable to hold back, I say, “We have the best coaches in the country on staff. I’m sure they can pick out anything we might be doing wrong.”

  His brows lift as he looks to the side. “Sure, okay. Keep telling yourself that.” He pats his hands on his legs and stands. “I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

  He takes off, and Jason and I both stare at each other in disbelief.

  Okay, conceited moment coming up in three, two, one . . .

  If there’s one thing I’ve gotten used to since I’ve come to Brentwood, it is the immense amount of ass-kissing we’re privileged to, not only by the student population but the administration and faculty too. No one ever gives us shit. Rather, they roll out the red carpet wherever we walk. So to have someone shoot some salt our way, it’s kind of . . . shocking.

  Still confused, Jason asks, “Did he just give us attitude?”

  I glance behind us and then back at Jason. “I think he did.”

  “Huh.” He smiles. “I fucking liked it.”

  “Yeah, it was . . . different. But I’ll tell you what I didn’t like—feeling like an ass.”

  “Then don’t act like one.”

  “You think I was acting like an ass?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He laughs. “You could have at least heard the girl out. Maybe she has some secret sauce you need to drink.”

  “You think she would have more knowledge than Disik at this point?”

  He shrugs and squats under his bar, loading it onto his shoulders. “Couldn’t hurt to find out.”

  Chapter Five

  MILLY

  “Come on, Milly, it’s been two days, you can stop giving me the cold shoulder.”

  My feet eat up the paved stone of the beautiful, historic campus. Coffee in hand, and a determined stride, I try to distance myself from Jerry.

  I am still . . . humiliated.

  Why did he push me on Carson?

  I’m a prideful woman and won’t ever turn down a challenge, but there was no way I could have spotted Carson Stone. He’s at least ten inches taller than I am, his squatting weight was obscene, but if he had faltered, we would have crashed down together. And that’s not only dangerous, but it would have bruised my pride as well.

  And then when Jerry opened his mouth about me possibly lending some advice to Carson on his swing, I couldn’t have been more embarrassed. I don’t advertise my coaching, or the fact that my brother is Cory Potter, because I want to be able to prove myself on my own. I don’t need to be begging for opportunities or using my brother’s name to back me.

  I stick with my eight-year-olds, because they think the world of me. And who knows. Maybe I’m training up a future generation of professional athletes. There’s satisfaction in that.

  “Milly, come on.” Jerry pulls on my shoulder. “At least talk to me.”

  I have some time before class—thanks to my power walking—so I stop my pursuit to the classroom and step aside so we’re not in the middle of the walkway. “Why did you do it? Why did you try to force Carson on me?”

  Stunned that I’m actually talking to him—I’m good at the cold shoulder, it’s not the first time he’s gotten it—he stutters a second. “I . . . uh . . . I thought, you know, you’d want to talk to him. You’ve always wished we were in the weight room with the baseball team and there was your chance.”

  “The last thing I want to do is bother the baseball team while they’re trying to work out. That was humiliating, Jerry. And what would have happened if he actually needed spotting? There is no way I could have assisted him.”

  “He’s Carson Stone. He doesn’t need assisting when it comes to weights.”

  “That’s beside the point. You put me in a stupid situation and in the end, I was burned. You saw the look on his face when you said I could help him. If I wasn’t standing directly in front of him, he would have laughed out loud.”