“Breakfast after?”
“No promises, Casanova.”
We ran in our typical comfortable silence for the first three miles. but around the fourth, my leg started to get a cramp. I voiced my discomfort, but he refused to let me stop.
“Power through it. If it’s not shin splits, it’ll pass. I promise.” He slowed his pace a little as a kindness to me, which I appreciated.
“Distract me through it, please,” I grunted. The feeling in my leg took all my energy. No peace, no calm, only pain. I gritted my teeth. “Talk or something.”
“Hmm. What do you want me to talk about?”
“What’s the best baseball memory you have?”First question to pop into my head.
“Oh, man. That’s a fucking good one. Probably my Freshman year in high school. I made the varsity team, which was a huge deal as a Freshman. My mom was always working, making sure we would eat, and my sister was a senior. She was one of the popular kids and she could’ve given me such hell, but she didn’t.”
“Damn her.”
“Yeah, I know. Missed opportunity. But my mom surprised me and came to one of our games and my sister came with her friends. I hit my first homerun that game and the magic that day changed me.”
“Yeah? Sounds nice.” My smile came out feeling like a grimace.
“There’s a magic to baseball. You know what it’s like. But now I think about it, my best memory might be playing baseball in the backyard. I told you my mom took the role as mom and dad, so we’d play whiffle ball for hours and hours. Between that and the Tigers games, I fell in love with the sport.”
“Your mom is amazing.” I focused on everything except my leg. The trees, the insects flying around, the group of students who had early as hell classes, but the pain kept going.
“Callie, let’s stop. Come on.”
“Fuck.” I slowed to a walk and grasped my thigh. “I stretched it out. I don’t understand.”
“Can you walk?” He kept his arm around me, regardless of how much I was sweating. “There’s a bench. Let’s sit.”
He helped me hobble over to the bench and I gritted my teeth. I stretched out my leg full force and bent low, hoping to find the cause of the pinch. “I’m messing up your routine. Go ahead. I can get home by myself.”
“No need to be a hero. Tell me where, okay?” It was not a sexual move or moment, yet when he pressed his hands into my leg and kneaded the muscles, my lady parts woke up ready to go. And I meantready to freaking go. “You jumped when I hit here.”
He gently pushed my hamstring. I nodded, he pressed it and I jumped into the air. “Yup. There.”
“Pulled a hammie. Nice.” He began rubbing the muscle. “Good news and bad news.”
“I know what it means,” I barked, the pain getting the better of me.
“But you didn’t hear the good news yet.” He pouted. He freaking pouted. “I was going to say that I can take care of you.”
“Damn it. I’m wallowing right now. Don’t charm me.” I put my head onto his shoulder and closed my eyes. “I’m cranky.”
“No way.” I smiled at that. He put his arm around me and pulled my legs into his lap. “Do you need me to carry you back?”
“My dignity couldn’t handle that. I’ll tough it out.” We shared a look and I wanted to say something to describe how I was feeling, but no words came to mind. I opened my mouth to try, but I heard giggles around us. “What the hell?”
A group of girls had their phones out, snapping pictures of us and running away. “Zade…were they spying on us?”
“Fuck.” He clenched his fists and his jaw turned to stone. “Yeah. They were.”
“Does this happen often?”
“Sadly. Please don’t let them change anything.”
“It doesn’t, not really,” I lied. Because getting photographed crossed over being weird. It invaded our personal conversation and made me cringe. “Want to head back?”
