Kate buried her fingers in Abby’s hair, held her head in a way that hurt and healed her in one breath. “I missed you too,” she said. “Did Whit talk to you?”
“About what?” Abby kissed her neck.
“The scouts.”
Abby trailed her lips down Kate’s freckled skin, along the sharp lines of her collarbone and the delicate dip of her throat. She smiled when Kate sighed so heavily that her chest trembled.
“Abby,” she said.
“Mmm.”
“The scouts.”
“How do you know they’re for me?” Abby hugged Kate’s waist and tugged her closer. “You’ve been playing pretty well yourself.”
Kate’s hitting slump had disappeared after they got together, as though being unleashed in her own want stripped her down to that same special place. The one where the game flowed to and from her. Her line drives into the gap stunned teams. She didn’t just sprint, often stretching hits to doubles, but toyed with opponents. After swinging away during her first at bat, Kate tested them on her second. She’d run at the pitcher for a bunt or slap, faking two or three times, before showing her cards, freezing the infield, and chopping a hit or nudging a bunt out of reach.
“Thank you,” Kate said, pulling Abby’s head up. Frail starlight streamed through the window, putting a shimmer in her gaze. “But I think we both know it’s for you. Plus, you’re the one with an extra year of eligibility.”
Abby pulled in a deep breath. She’d started noticing them in March, in their visors and windbreakers. She usually ducked out the side gate, so that they left their businesses cards and inquiries with Coach Whitley. Arizona, Florida, Alabama, Texas. Powerhouse Division I teams eager to capitalize on her comeback, thrusting shiny flyers for master’s degree programs she had no interest in. A full scholarship in exchange for those home runs.
“Why won’t you consider it?”
“Why would I?” Abby scoffed. “I don’t need graduate school. I’m barely going to finish my undergrad this year.”
“Then what about the national team? I saw Skip Zamborelli.”
Of all the scouts that came to court her, Skip’s appearance bothered her the most. Not because she disliked Team USA’s head coach, though he approached with a certain arrogance as he chomped gum in her face, implying her talents were too large for Insley, and that his generous offer was a risk other coaches might not take. No, what bothered her most was the way Kate’s eyes lit up when she spottedhim. As if for a split second, she thought he came for her. It shattered Abby when Kate’s face fell behind his shoulder, just as it left her bitter that schools offered her a free education that she was frankly unqualified for, while Kate would take out thousands of dollars’ worth of loans for law school.
Abby trailed a finger down Kate’s cheek. “Do we have to talk about it right now?”
“Why not?”
“Because I just want to be here,” she whispered.
Kate nuzzled closer, enmeshing their bodies so that they shared the same breath on the same pillow. Abby didn’t want to think about the future, never really cared about one beyond the next day, anyway. She didn’t want to think about anything beyond their secret bubble, in the uncomplicated quiet. Kate kissed her as if reading her thoughts, filling her mouth with sweetness in place of her worry. And when they grew tired, Kate’s lips resting longer and heavier on hers between kisses, eyelids adorably drooping, Abby folded her up against her chest and slept.
Morning always came too soon. Abby was never a morning person to begin with, but sneaking out before the rest of the blue house woke was a worthy sacrifice. Especially since it always followed the best sleep Abby ever had. Lead-limbed, snoring, sheet-imprints-across-your-cheeks slumber that ended with Kate’s gentle caresses and smile.
Abby slipped out of the bedroom like a thief, pecking her lips goodbye, though she’d see her in the library a few hours later, then at practice, then for another late-night rendezvous. Part of her enjoyed the game of sneaking. Dodging around corners, nearly knocking over Jill’s bike in the hallway, holding her breath under the shield of someone singing in the shower. She’d nearly managed another clean break out the back door when a throat cleared behind her.
“What are you doing here?” Mick asked. “Did you sleep here?”
Abby let go of the doorknob, firming her face before the lie. “No, just got here.” She turned back into the kitchen. “Out of coffee. Door was open.”
Mick groaned. “Fucking Shupe. I’m going to change the locks.”
“Don’t do that,” T.K. said, strutting in her miniskirt from the night before. She flung open the refrigerator door, ignoring the Post-it notes that covered it:NOT FOR T.K.“Ugh. You’re out of creamer.”
Kate entered behind her, eyes stretching to saucers when she spotted Abby by the gurgling coffee maker.
“Hi,” she said.
“Morning.” Abby suppressed a smile as Kate sidled up next to her to grab a glass of water. “Out of coffee.”
“Oh. Right.” Kate bit her lower lip.
Mick’s head broke between their shoulders. “I know you think you’re doing a good job hiding it, but I know.”
