“Okay, what are you, his number one fan all of a sudden?” he goads, elbowing me in the side.
“Definitely not.” But my pulse quickens, and I hope Dylan can’t see right through me.
Another batter comes up to the plate, and the pitcher looks far more relaxed than he did when Gareth was up to bat.
“Oh shit, that guy sucks.” Dylan laughs as the next batter strikes out.
More laughter sputters from the dugout as a bunch of the players start roughhousing, some of them sending whoops and whistles at each other.
“Knock it off!” the assistant coach yells, throwing an annoyed look over his shoulder.
“Do you think he’ll get scouted?” I turn my focus to the boys dogpiling each other in the dugout, not wanting to put more focus on Gareth and raise any red flags.
“Oh for sure! He’s already had a couple approach him at games.”
I whip my head around. “Already?”
“Indy, you’ve seen him play. Obviously colleges are going to want him. The majors, too.”
“Well, yeah, but he’s only a sophomore.”
“When you’re crazy good like he is though...” Dylan trails off, the assistant coaches voice blistering over him.
“TEN LAPS! NOW!”
The guys messing around groan in unison, then take off in a jog, starting their laps around the field.
I can’t help but groan too. “Do we have to wait for them to finish? I’m ready to go home.”
“What else do you have to do?” Dylan situates his backpack on the bleacher above him, leaning against it with his arms folded under his head.
“Plenty. Homework. Music?—”
“Brooding, texting,” he finishes, grinning at me.
“I do notbrood.”
“Yes, you do.” He nudges my leg with the toe of his dirty sneaker. “It’s okay, matches your vibe, sis.”
“Whatever.”
A few minutes later, the team finishes their last lap and runs toward the locker room, cleats sounding like a stampede against the concrete pathway.
When the coaches follow, I take that as our cue and stand up, stretching my arms overhead. “C’mon, let’s go wait for him.”
Dylan lets out an overdramatic yawn and stands up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
The bleachers creak and clank under our weight, the soles of our shoes slapping against the metal as we go down. The school’s emptied out by now, only a few students—mostly athletes—remain, which is why it catches me off guard when we round the corner to the locker room and almost run straight into a couple I don’t recognize.
Their lips are locked, limbs tangled together as they make out. The guy has the girl pressed against the wall, and it sends a bolt of heat through me.
What I’d give for Gareth to do that to me.
Dylan scoffs.
“What?” I ask as we walk around them, stopping just outside of the locker room doors.
“You know who that is, don’t you?” He glances back at the couple who haven’t noticed us at all.
