I throw Coop a “get a load of this guy” look that makes him snort.
“Seriously, though, what book was Georgia reading?” Coop asks Logan.
“Georgiana,” Logan corrects. “And it wasThe Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.”
Shoot. If I were the type to clutch my heart when it ached, this would be the moment.The Chronicles of Narniais Logan’s favorite series to this day. Our mom used to read it at night to us, and after a couple of minutes of hearing about Lucy and Edmund and that gross-sounding candy he liked, I’d always fall asleep. Night after night.
Logan never did.
“She has good taste in books,” I say, having to clear my throat.
So does Logan.
Coop glances between us, probably making a mental note to ask Liesel about it later.
“Did you get her number?” Coop asks.
“I already asked that,” I tell him. “He didn’t.”
Logan is mid-bite into his pulled pork sandwich, and he glares at me while he chews. “I signed a jersey for her niece. Guys, it wasn’t that big a deal. She was pretty and reading my favorite book. I bet there are a hundred girls in Phoenix right now who fit that bill.”
“She wasn’t from Phoenix,” I say. “They had Southern accents, and her niece was wearing a Kayla jersey.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. They could have moved from the South years ago. Or last month. Or maybe they’re from Nashville or Atlanta. And even if somehow she’s from Mullet Ridge—which is doubtful, considering how many church potlucks we’ve attended—I won’t be on the Mudflaps forever, so it doesn’t matter. It was a thirty-minute conversation.”
“Thirty minutes?” I ask. I was about to harp on him for how rehearsed his argument felt, but I can’t because he spoke to her forthirty minutes.I left when she was still blushing and Lulabelle was still threatening to expose her life story, which means I bailed before the good part. “Dude, youtalkedtalked.”
“How did you flip this conversation back onto me?”
“I’m better at getting out of trouble than you are.”
He hunches over his plate and shovels food into his mouth, ignoring me completely.
Over at her table, Scottie’s standing up with her tray and making her goodbyes. I glance at my watch and start my countdown.
Six minutes.
Excitement swirls in my stomach. We planned this last night—both of us finishing lunch early, staggering our times, and sneaking into the most remote video room possible—the one the coaches use with the door that automatically locks. The others are too risky, as we learned with Jake.
It’s only been two days since we kissed, but we’ve already gotten creative about finding time together. Early morningsbefore breakfast when the hotel is still quiet and everyone’s half asleep. Quick detours when she “needs” me to look at a revised itinerary. A thirty-second stop in a storage room that turns into ninety seconds because she kisses my neck and I forget how to walk.
We don’t do anything stupid where anyone could see us. But there are pockets in the day no one watches too closely, because she’s my player coordinator, and we’re expected to be together.
It’s getting tougher to pretend we’re nottogethertogether, though. No matter how hard I try, I can’t play it cool. Not since we kissed or admitted just how deep our feelings run.
And watching her with Jake has gone from torture to murder. I didn’t know I could get murdered so often.
They have a plan, too, though:
No more kissing.
More bro stuff. Her punching his arm. Him giving her noogies.
They need to show the transition back to being friends in real time, so if reporters ask anything, Jake’s going to start shifting how he talks about her.
I mean, he didn’t do it at yesterday’s game against the Cubs, but he’s definitely going to do it today. Because I’m Scottie’s primary assignment, she won’t be there to keep an eye on him, but he’s promised to be on his best behavior.
Logan, Coop, and I keep eating, and Coop mentions something about Liesel and him going ring shopping?—
