I shake with a silent laugh and return my gaze to him.
“Oh, my guy is ready. I’m just sorry you’re looking forward to this kiss, is all. Because when it comes to this spot?” I point down at our feet, then flit my gaze back up to his. “It’s not happening, buddy.”
It might be happening. But I have to wrap my head around all possibilities. And arrogance has gotten me through a lot of ballgames.
“We’ll see about that. Shake on it?” He holds out his hand, and I stare at his palm for a few long seconds, until his head tilts.
I grip his hand with mine, and we shake. As our grasp loosens, his fingertips graze the inside of my palm, then the sideof my hand, leaving me with a thousand electrical shocks that force my hand into a fist the moment I walk away. I squeeze tight, trying to hold on to the butterflies. And then, I march over to Adriel and tell him he better hit for the cycle.
I haven’t logged shit today in terms of stats for anyone other than Adriel and Jayden. I’ll work late tonight and review the film, but right now, all I can focus on is the neck-and-neck tie happening between the two Vargas boys.
Jayden led off with a single down the line, and then Adriel upped the ante with a double. Jayden matched his double but added an RBI. They both homered their last at-bat, so in terms of my book, they’re pretty dead even. And Adriel just struck out, so it’s down to this.
One at bat.
One pitch.
A full count.
Chicago already has this game locked up. We aren’t known for our comebacks this season, and we’re down seven to two. Those two are thanks to Adriel, which I take partial pride in. However, I really wish he knocked out one more.
Jayden calls time and backs out of the box, and I grip the dugout rail and stretch my back, holding my breath. I glance to the family section of the stands, where my dad and his mom are standing with their arms linked. I bet even Adriel is rooting for him to send this ball into the bullpen.
Jayden taps his bat to his cleat, then glances my way. The motherfucker winks.
“Shit,” I mutter.
He steps into the box and rolls his bat, his approach simple, his stance closed. Leaning into his power. Our bullpen has blown a lot of innings this season, so I have zero hope that Jayden won’t get anything other than a meatball right down the center of the plate.
Rather than watch it happen, I shut my eyes and wait for the sound. There’s something beautiful about the crack of a wood bat connecting with a ball in the sweet spot. It’s like striking the right note on a piano or a violin. It reverberates, then reaches into the heart and gives the insides a warm hug.
My heart is being squeezed so tightly right now. Jayden’s swing? The perfect tone. I open my eyes in time to see his ball clear the left-field wall. Jayden’s home run trot isn’t loud. He doesn’t flip his bat, and he doesn’t even drag it out like his brother does, milking every moment. He rounds the bases at a solid pace, his head held high. The only thing remarkable—other than the hit itself—is the way his gaze is trained on me for the entire aftermath.
He walks into the dugout. Eyes on me.
He high fives his teammates. Eyes on me.
He grabs a water cup and downs the entire thing with his eyes open. On me.
All that’s left for me to do is laugh and shake my head, then beg my stomach to keep hold of everything I’ve eaten today. Because right now? My nerves have me wanting to vomit.
Chicago ends up earning two more runs. We were destined to lose today, but I really did think Adriel would lock in and refuse to let his brother best him. A part of me wonders if he went soft so I’d have to take the loss right along with him. But no. Adriel’s ego hasn’t maturedthatmuch in the last month. He doesn’t take losing to his brother lightly. It’s why he went right inside after the loss rather than lingering out here with his mom and brother.
And me.
And a stillverycrowded stadium of onlookers.
I’ve cleaned up everything I can think of in this dugout. It’s clear that I’m killing time.
“Come on, Colby,” Jayden hollers, his hands cupping his mouth as he stands with his mom and my dad. I sort of hate that the two of them are chuckling. We only recently came out about our relationship to his mom, and she practically cried.
I drop my head, then toss the handful of spent water cups, empty seed bags, and gum wrappers that I’ve collected into the trash so I can face the music of a bet I didn’t even make. Dragging my feet, I make my way over to Jayden and our parents.
“Pucker up, Princess,” my dad teases, and I shoot him a sharp glare.
“You’re supposed to never want me to kiss a boy. Ever!” I don’t point out how he was especially against me kissing this one, because I don’t need Jayden’s mom to hear that my father ever had unwarranted negative opinions about her son.
“Yeah, I know. But also, I remember what it’s like being a man so in love that he just wants to shout it from the rooftops.”
