“I guess I can tolerate you all for one night.”
A few cheers go up behind me. Okay, so it might be pretty rare for me to go out with the team. To Sanders’s point during Spring Training, I really do need to be a better team player. My stare clashes with Shane’s again. And not byplayingwith my teammates. As tempting as that might be.
Shane’s face lights up. And there it is. The whisky warmth settling over my skin that can only ever be attributed to a smiling Shane Michaels.
“Perfect,” Nebs says. “Oh, and can you drive the three of us there and drop us at our apartment after? I’ll just leave my car here, and Winters or Michaels can drive us in tomorrow.” He smiles at me, and then the three walk off before I even have a chance to answer.
My mouth opens and closes. What the hell was that?Because I definitely feel like I was just maneuvered right where they want me.
But if it gets me even more time with Shane, I suppose I should shut up and take the win.
Shane slidesinto my passenger seat, and with him comes the clean citrus scent I got so used to on the road. He shoots me a closed-lip smile. “Hey, new bestie.”
“New bestie?”
“Yeah, I need to be able to differentiate you from my other besties.” He points at me. “New bestie.” He points to the back seat where Nebs and Winters have settled. “Old besties.”
“As long as it doesn’t get anyone in the backseat angry. I’m not stealing anybestiespots.”
“Nah,” Nebs says. “Michaels has plenty of love to go around. He’s a total giver.”
There’s a pause, and then anoomphfalls from Easton. “Oh. Yeah, Michaels issogiving. In all the ways. Did you know he cooks and cleans?”
Okay…
“Such a good cook. So is his mom.” Nebiolo moans. “The Revel Bars she makes are literally orgasmic. So, really, Michaels is the total package.”
Shane whips his head toward the back seat. “The fuck? Are you two on drugs or something?”
“No,” they say in unison.
I sneak a peek in the rearview and catch them blinking way too innocently. I smell bullshit.
“Also, please don’t say the word orgasm in the same sentence with my momma ever again. I’d rather not have to knock your teeth out. I don’t want to get Shelby mad at me.” Shane settles back in his seat. “Sorry,” he mutters. “No idea what’s gotten into the two of them.”
I have a pretty good idea. I chance a quick side-eye at Shane, and his cheeks are an adorable blotchy pink. It would seem Shane wasn’t kidding when he said his friends wouldn’t be a problem. Their persistence earlier in getting me to come out…their not-so-subtle selling of Shane…all glaring proof of that.
Looks like two of our teammates are very much team…Jane? Shed? Wow. Those are both awful. And why the hell am I shipping us?
Shane is clearly rubbing off on me.You wish he’d rub off on you.
Urgh.
Thank goodness we’ll be surrounded by people, so I’ll be forced to behave myself. It was lucky Shane decided to crash with Nebs and Winters the last two nights of our road trip. I wasn’t sure I could handle another night in the same bed as him. Not now that I’ve seen the guy who hides behind the smile. The one starving for affection.
I had him so wrong. I thought he was an attention whore because he fed off it, needed that high. Not even close. It’s a distraction. A way to be a part of something without getting too deep. Underneath it all, two decades of the world’s prejudice toward the poor have worn him down. People, including his fucking father, deemed Shane Michaels less than, again and again. Now Shane Michaels does too. My fingers flex on my thigh, desperate to move tohis.
But I don’t. I keep my hands to myself like a good boy,and fifteen minutes later, we’re settled around a table with two pitchers of beer. Shane is, of course, sitting by my side. Why, of course? Because Nebiolo and Winters, with all the subtlety of a toddler, pushed Shane and me into seats next to each other and promptly boxed us in. Thompson, Araujo, and Olander joined us shortly after. A few other guys are hovering around the table, chatting and drinking.
Roche, our veteran first baseman, lifts his tanker. “All right, listen up, you band of dingleberries.” Snickers drift through the group. “Tonight’s a big night, and we’re celebrating. Somehow we even got Pebs to join us. Actually. Scratch that. Drink to that first.”
Everyone cheers and drinks, and I pretend to be grumpy. They’re all goons. But I do appreciate them. Most of them.
“All right. Now, on to baseball. This year has started out tough. Injuries. Adjustments. That fucking losing streak where we were all playing baseball like the team fromMajor League. But tonight, we tipped over the edge. We’re twenty wins, nineteen losses, baby! It’s not over yet. We can still clinch that first-half winner spot. As the wise John Sterling always said, ‘You can’t predict baseball, Susan.’”
“That’s right, John!” a few of the guys yell.
“So, let’s go out there and play our asses off.”
