My hair!
Behind my ear!
I could feel his fingertips graze my skin.
“C’mon!” Brooks tugged on my hand, and within moments, we had escaped the high school paparazzi and were back in a familiar place.
The janitor’s closet.
Only this time, Brooks didn’t knock a million things over, and he knew right where the chain was to flick on the light. He leaned back against the door.
“I did it,” he stated again.
He was so proud of himself, too. I could see it in every crevice of his face.
“You didn’t think you wouldn’t, did you?” I had no idea why Brooks even doubted himself so much.
Brooks shrugged. “I don’t like to be overconfident.”
“But there’s cocky, overconfident, and then just plain confident.” I hoped I was encouraging him. “You’re the nice sort of confident, and you have every reason to be. You’re a great catcher.”
His eyes narrowed, and he studied me. “You really think so?”
I was touched that my opinion mattered. “Of course I do. And I would tell you if I didn’t.”
Brooks chucked. “Yeah. You would.”
There was silence, then.
It got kinda thick.
Then a bit awkward.
Not to mention, the janitor had moved stuff around, so to be in the closet together, we had to stand . . . close together.
“I’m—proud of you,” I admitted. I was also trying to fill the silence.
“You are?”
I lifted my eyes, and they connected with Brooks’s. “Of course I am.”
He stared at me then, and his expression softened.
I couldn’t breathe. That seemed to be happening a lot lately.
“You’ll come to my games?”
Games. Plural. He wanted me around for the season? That meant—wait. Of course. If I didn’t show up at his games, then people would question if something was wrong. I couldn’t get all excited about this. Not now. This was all part of the act. Part of the show. Part of the deal.
“Of course I’ll come.” I wouldn’t have it any other way. It was baseball, after all.
“Good.”
That one word, “good,” had so much feeling oozing out of it.
The closet was getting warm.
I could smell cleaning chemicals.
