Page 21 of Convincing the Catcher

Her eyes suddenly fill with second thoughts, but before she can say anything else or fight getting in my truck, I close the door and jog up the stairs. Smiling like a fucking fool because I just got one step closer to the catcher.

And that’s saying something because the girl is not easy to get to know.

HARLEY

Stupid six-pack. Stupid wet six-pack. Stupid V-line and stupid towel.

I’m not the girl who is easily thrown off her game. Sure, I don’t have a ton of experience with guys, but overall, I’m a confident woman. But all of that went out the window when Cane freaking Hale came to the door, fresh from the shower, wearing only a towel.

We ride in silence to the pharmacy. Well, he tries to make small talk, but I seem to forget that I have a brain half the time he’s around. It’s annoying. No, it’s infuriating. It’s likely just because he’s being nice enough to help me and it’s screwing with my mind.

Yeah. That’s it. It’s not the six-pack. Or the towel.

Definitely not the V-line. Nope. Not at all.

“Harley?” he says, his voice questioning, like I missed whatever it is he just asked, so I turn toward him, pulling my head out of the land of Cane Hale’s wet six-pack.

“Sorry, what?” I blurt out. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked how often you need to restock your medications,” he says kindly.

“Once a month usually,” I say, cupping my hands together.

He glances at me and then toward the road. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s really badass that you don’t let challenges stop you from playing ball. I mean, I’m sure it can’t be easy to play D1 softball, go to classes, and throw diabetes into the mix.” He shrugs. “Fuck, half the time, I feel like I’m drowning with just school and baseball.”

Part of me doesn’t want to be honest right now. Actually, most of me doesn’t want to. I could just say thank you and move on with my day. But this guy, who hardly knows me, is fronting the bill to keep me healthy. I guess a part of me thinks I owe him something for that.

“When I was a kid, I wasn’t naturally talented when it came to sports. I wasn’t an All-Star. I was smaller than the others—weak, according to most of my coaches. It sucked sometimes. To want something so bad but your body wouldn’t let you have it. So, I worked. And I trained. I got bigger and stronger, and when I finally became the athlete I had always dreamed of being … it felt so damn good to think about all those coaches who’d overlooked me.” I grin, looking down at my hands bashfully. “It felt like a big fuck you to every person who doubted me. Which, by the way, was a lot.”

I sigh. “And then in high school, right when scouts began to come watch me play, I was diagnosed with diabetes. And for a bit—longer than I’d care to admit—I thought it was over.”

I glance at him, and he looks my way. “And then I brushed myself off and decided that from that point on, I’d try to look at it as a positive. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been because I’m so intentional with everything I put in my body. And now, years later, I’m reminded that I can do hard shit. And no one can take that from me.”

As surprised as I am for everything I just spewed, he’s more shocked, I swear. But he covers his astonishment with a smile.

“That’s badass, Catch. Truly.” We pull in front of the pharmacy, and he puts the truck in park. “I understand if you don’t want me to go in with you. I could give you my card, if that’s better.”

I stare at him. “You’d really do that? You’d give some random chick you hardly know your card. Just like that?”

His eyes float between mine, and the corner of his mouth turns up the slightest. “What can I say? Guess I just get a good feeling from you.”

Something inside my chest flutters, but I know it’s not my heart. Hell no. No way. So, I choose to ignore it and give him a slightly awkward nod. “Welp, we’d better get inside before they close.”

We get out of the truck and close our doors, and then we walk up the steps together. He pulls the door open, holding it for me.

“Thanks,” I utter shyly before heading toward the front.

The only woman in line finishes paying and walks past us, and Cliff looks at me and then to Cane.

“I was hoping you’d be back. You must be running low by now?” Cliff says, turning away and walking toward the shelf. “I have all of your things right here.”

“Yep, sure am,” I whisper, stepping up to the counter. The back of my neck is hot, and I don’t know if it’s from shame or just from feeling uncomfortable in this moment. Whatever it is, I don’t love it.

When Cliff returns before me, he slides everything across the counter.

“Did you get your insurance figured out?” His eyes move to Cane again and back to me, undoubtedly confused as to why he’s standing right behind me.

“Um, no. Not yet.” I clear my throat nervously. “My friend here has been kind enough to cover my cost while I figure it out though.”