Page 22 of Convincing the Catcher

He’s even more confused now, but he keeps his expression unchanged and finally smiles politely as he takes Cane’s card when he passes it to him.

“That’s great, Ms. Meadows. I’m glad it all worked out.”

I don’t say anything back, and once we finish paying and head out the door, I stop on the sidewalk because as much as I appreciate his help, it’s also killing me inside that I had no choice but to take it.

I have to now depend on someone else to live my life. And I hate the feeling. So damn much.

“Just so you know, I do make some money from my socials, so the second I get paid, I’ll give you everything I can to pay you back,” rushes from my lips. “And when I can, I’ll pay you back every cent that gets spent.” I hold up today’s receipt. “I plan to keep track of it all.”

He leans against his truck, grinning. “Shucks, Catch. I thought my payment was you being my friend.” He shrugs his shoulders playfully. “You trying to get out of that or something?”

“What?” I say, frowning. “No. No, not at all. But it’s just … being your friend doesn’t cost money.” I hold up my bag. “My monthly prescriptions? They do. A lot of it.”

He scrunches his nose up. “Maybe not money, but I’m sure some people won’t be happy about it. I’m pretty hated at the moment.”

I understand people are upset that he embarrassed NEU by retaliating and causing damage to another campus’s property. I really do get that, and it’s something I’d never do myself. But it isn’t like he hurt someone. He made a mistake—that’s it.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to take my chances then. Won’t I, Baseball Boy?”

That earns me a big grin, and a dimple pops out, making me want to curse because it’s so damn stereotypical. Everything about Cane Hale is. He’s literal perfection to look at.

I just can’t tell him that. It would for sure go to his head.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he drawls before opening the passenger door. “So, since we’re friends … does that mean we can go to dinner?”

Chewing my lip, I take a step toward him before climbing into the truck. “I guess it does. Only nothing fancy. Friends don’t do fancy.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs. “What about the new burger place?” He pauses, panic crossing his face. “Unless you can’t … can you have⁠—”

“Yes, Hale.” I nod. “I’ve been there once, and they have lots of things I can eat.”

His face relaxes, and slowly, before he can close my door, I stop him.

“With this deal though … there can be no romance.” I say the words in a warning. “Well, like, between us, I mean. You can romance whoever you want. Just not me. I’m your friend—fake friend—who does not do romance or boyfriends.”

“Um, okay,” he says, eyeing me over. “You don’t date though? Like, ever?”

I lift a brow, smirking at his clear shock to learn that I don’t chase boys. “Hale, I’ve worked my ass off to make it to this point in my softball career. I’m not about to be distracted now.”

“Fair enough, Catch,” he murmurs before closing my door.

I may not be that keen on being his friend because at the end of the day, the last thing I need in my life right now is a distraction. But the fact that he asked if a burger joint was okay for me to eat at earns him major friend points. Even if I hate to admit it.

TWELVE

HARLEY

Cane parks his truck beside the new burger place just off campus, and I grab my bag from the floor. Before he gets out, he flashes me a boyish grin.

“Ready?”

“Almost,” I reply, knowing that what I’m about to do may freak him out, but if he wants to be my friend—or fake friend—he’s going to have to deal with it. Holding up my insulin and a syringe, I shrug. “I have to give myself an injection first. If it’s going to bother you, you can wait outside the truck. Normally I don’t have to do this each time, but I’ve been trying to … conserve my tubeless insulin delivery system, so this will just take a minute.”

Instantly, he seems caught off guard. Not in a way that says he’s clearly uncomfortable, but more so that he isn’t sure what the correct answer is here. But after a few more seconds, he shakes his head. “I’m good. I’d like to learn how you do it.” He pauses. “If that’s okay, I mean.” He gives me a tiny grin. “You know, since we’re friends and all.”

My eyes lock on his for a moment. I don’t really know what to say back, but it’s refreshing that he isn’t grimacing, looking at the needle in my hand like some people do. There’s no judgment in his eyes, and to be honest, I’m really freaking glad because that gets old.

I push my T-shirt up just over my stomach with my free hand. “I’m going to do four units today,” I say, sort of to myself and a little to him, turning the dial on the syringe four clicks.