“Yeah, I should go, too. Logan’s put me on dish duty until we leave for Arizona.”
“What? Why?” she asks, taking a couple of slow steps toward her car before stopping again. Almost like she forgot she’s the one who suggested we leave.
Almost like she doesn’t want to go at all.
“Turns out, he doesn’t like the setup and takedown part of pitching camp.”
“You guys shouldn’t have done that,” she says. “I’m the one who spotted the problem.”
I cock my head to look at her. “You gave us a solution to a problem we should never have created in the first place.”
“Well, thanks for saving me a conversation with Sam.”
“Why would you talk to Sam?” I ask, confused.
“I just assumed?—”
“Why would you assume that? It was our camp, our problem to fix.”
She seems almost tongue-tied. She looks away. Sneezes again.
“Bless you,” I say. I pause. “Sorry, I know I should move on from this, but why would it be your job to talk to Sam?”
She looks like she’s been cornered. “It’s what I do.”
“For who? Kayla? That makes sense, I guess, but why would you need to do it for anyone else?”
“It’s just how I am, okay? Stop reading into it.”
“I’m not trying to read into anything. I’m trying to understand why you’d think you needed to fix someone else’s problem for them.”
Her eyes water, and she looks almost angry. Or defensive. Like a wounded animal ready to strike at anyone coming near.
But before she can say anything, we hear the unmistakable sound of a car pulling near—a low, aggressive rev followed by the smooth purr of an engine that costs more than my house.
A yellow Lamborghini screeches to a stop right in front of us, and a moment later, Jake Rodgers jumps out of his car with a bouquet of roses and bounds over to Scottie.
“Hot Stuff!” he says, picking her up, twirling her around, and kissing her on the mouth. For way too long.
When he lets go, Scottie is flushing. She takes the flowers from him—they’re so fresh, I can smell them from here.
“Hey, I didn’t realize you were coming into town,” she says.
“Thought I’d surprise you,” he says, holding her waist possessively, his eyes flicking to me like he’s assessing a potential threat.
“How did you know where I was?” she asks. “You don’t have a tracker on me, do you? Babe?” She’s laughing, which is how I know something’s off. I’ve seen a real laugh from her now, and that sound with this lip curl isn’t it.
“Your mom told me where to find you. We planned the whole thing.”
Her smile doesn’t look forced, but it still feels wrong. “That was sweet of you guys,” she says. “Uh, Jake, do you know Lucas Fischer? He’s on the 40-man, so you’ll see him and his brother at Spring Training.”
Jake reaches out a hand to shake mine. He squeezes so hard, I’m glad I’m a lefty. Then he loosens his grip. “Oh, wait, Fischer? My buddy Coop’s dating your sister, right? Yeah, I know about you guys.”
I nod. Cooper Kellogg is probably the best player in Major League Baseball, and he’s been dating my sister for over a year.
“We love Coop,” I say. “He faced down Bruce Fischer for an entire Christmas. It’s hard to hate a guy who’d do that for love.”
Jake snorts, giving me a glimpse of something real behind his “touch my girl, I kill you” tough guy act. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. Did he tell you we played High-A together?”
