How have I never noticed how large Trevor’s hands are?
I mean, they should be, right? The better to catch with.
It’s just—
“Your face is flushed. Are you feeling sick again?”
I jolt back when Trevor steps forward, outstretching a shaky palm.
“I’m fine,” I say, gulping down air like I’ve just resurfaced from an unexpected dunk in the ocean.
“Just…um.” I clear my throat. “Just a little nervous. About the list,” I add in a rush. “Because the list is filled with listy things.”
Say something other than list,my brain screams at me.
I turn, marching toward the water’s edge like the answer to this weird burst of attraction resides within the frothy bubbles washed to shore. Trevor follows, keeping a respectful distance.
“I want to visit a lighthouse,” I tell him, the remnants of a wave threatening to wet my shoes.
Trevor doesn’t say anything. He just nods like he usually does when he’s listening to me talk about numbers or explaining the science behind baking.
“Go to a wedding. I’ve never been to one because…” I let the sentence drop off, not wanting Trevor to know about my social ineptitudes. If I’d had friends, maybe I’d have been invited to a wedding by now.
“I want to play pool or maybe golf. Both are laden with geometry, thereby giving me a higher probability of excelling. Angles, momentum, spin, and collision prediction for the former, and shot angles, and distance estimation following club selection for the latter.”
Hearing myself, I wince. Aaron often told me to ‘talk like a normal person’ and not use elevated vocabulary because it makes others feel dumb. But when I glance at Trevor, he’s grinning at me.
“What?”
“I like when you get all sciencey.” Trevor gives one of his easy-going shrugs, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. “Most of it goes over my head, but I’m notexactly known for my intellect. I’m pretty sure sciencey isn’t even a word.”
I step forward, pushing into his space without thinking. “If I’m not allowed to call myself boring, then you’re not allowed to doubt your intelligence.”
It’s impossible to see Trevor’s eyes through his reflective sunglasses, so I drive the point home.
“Baseball is a very stat-heavy game, so much so that it has its own sports analytics term—sabermetrics. There’s a great deal of strategy behind each play,” I tell him, pushing my index finger against his sternum. “You’rethe one memorizing each player’s hot and cold zones, which pitches they chase, and how they handle breaking balls and off-speed pitches. Thenyou’readapting on the fly—reading each batter, seeing how they reacted to the last pitch, and recommending the next one. Not to mention the necessary defensive awareness of the baserunner’s speed and stealing tendencies. Managing all of that requires a great deal of intellect.”
Trevor says nothing, but his chest heaves like he just hit a double. Realizing I’m still touching him, I step back, sliding my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
“But I’m sure you probably knew all of that.”
“I did,” he says, tone even.
I nod like the matter is settled and stride south.
Somewhere in the distance, beyond the large nature preserve and its sandy shores, lies Virginia Beach. Thissmall town is idyllic and this beach pristine, but I ache for the oversized couch at home.
Because you know what happens when I relax in my favorite spot with Banks snoozing on the headrest, occasionally pawing at my hair? I don’t tell a major league baseball player how to do the job he’s been crushing for well over a decade. If said man wasn’t keeping step with me, I’d drop my face into my palm in embarrassment.
Last night, I had the first decent night of sleep since the breakup, but it’s clear my head is still a mess. I’m either insulting Trevor or having strange flares of attraction toward him. I wrap my arms around myself, but it does nothing against the emotional whiplash careening through my veins.
Chapter 11
Trevor
My old fantasy had been of Kenzie finally seeing me as more than her roommate before tilting her face up for a kiss. My new fantasy is Kenzie pushing into my space, calling me smart, and explaining baseball to me.Man alive, that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. I know women hate when men explain things, but she can Kenzie-splain my own sport to me all day, every day.
I try to be subtle about sneaking glances at her as we continue down the beach. Fortunately, Kenzie is closest to the water so I can always shift my gaze over the horizon if she looks my way. We walk for a long while with nothing but the crashing waves to keep us company until I can’t ignore how she’s wrapped herselfso tightly. The day feels nice to me, but Kenzie has considerably less body mass and looks to be shivering.
