Page 24 of Convincing the Catcher

“How did they even meet?” she asks, resting her chin on her knuckles.

“He was volunteering at a hockey clinic that Cash went to.” The corners of my lips turn up as I imagine my little brother showing up at that arena and catching everyone there off guard as the next big thing. “Tripp took notice of his skills, and when my mom picked him up”—I chuckle—“guess he also took notice of her too.”

Her eyes are softened now as she takes in my story. The hardness she always carries, trying to come off as tough, seems to have melted away.

“That’s so cute,” she whispers. “A real-life love story.” She stares at me for a moment before looking down. “Well, I mean, I know he’s your stepdad. I hope you didn’t think I meant your parents’ story wasn’t⁠—”

“It’s okay, Catch,” I say, giving her a small smile. “My dad died years before they met. He and my mom loved each other very much, and while I wish he were still here, I’m thankful she found Tripp.” I pause, chuckling. “Or that Tripp found her, I guess.”

I hold back the information that they got married for insurance reasons because, given the situation we’re in with me paying for her meds, I’d say she may fear I’m trying to repeat history or something.

Her expression is heavy now, even though she’s clearly trying to fight whatever emotion is hitting her.

“Yeah,” she utters, chewing her lip. “That’s really great that she found your stepdad.” Looking around, she glances at the clock. “We should probably get going. I have some schoolwork to finish at home.”

I don’t know what I said that caused her demeanor to change, but she’s uneasy now. And I fucking hate it because we were having a good night. I don’t want to make things worse though, so reluctantly, I nod.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Let’s, uh … let’s go, and I’ll get you home.”

As we slide out from opposite sides of the booth and head for the exit, I’m not even staring at her ass as she walks in front of me. No, I’m too busy trying to figure out what the hell I did to upset her.

THIRTEEN

HARLEY

Cane: Meet me in the second conference room.

I look at the message on my phone, irritated that, like the few other times Cane has texted me since we exchanged numbers, butterflies tickle my stomach. I don’t respond; instead, I just swivel my head toward my friends.

“I, uh, have to run to the bathroom. I’ll meet you all inside,” I say quickly, not waiting for a response before darting away from them and around the corner.

A few days ago, Cane and I agreed that tonight, I’d bid on him in front of everyone, proving a point that we were friends. But I haven’t seen him since then, and to be honest, I’m freaking out a bit.

Guess being a virgin who has never really taken the time to hang out with guys will do that to you though.

Cane, on the other hand, is the opposite. He’s had plenty of hookups and one-night stands. Campus may be big, but it’s also small in the sense that word gets around fast. And word around NEU? He’s fantastic in bed, but he never wants a repeat.

I can’t even imagine how good of a laugh he’d have after finding out that I’m a virgin. And not just a virgin, but, like, a super virgin. I haven’t been to any bases besides one time, when I made out with a guy my senior year of high school.

And he slobbered all over my lips and made me wish I never had to do it again.

Looking around to make sure no one is nearby, I open the door to the second conference room and duck inside, finding Cane, leaning against the table, dressed in a button-down shirt that makes him look good enough to eat.

I mean, if someone were into that type of thing …

His eyes roam the length of my body before moving back to my face, and I freeze, awkwardly standing here, my hands fidgeting.

“Shit, Catch,” he mutters before whistling lowly.

“Wh-what?” I shrug awkwardly, smoothing my forest-green dress, suddenly feeling naked despite it falling halfway to my knees.

“You clean up nice,” he drawls with a knowing grin. “That’s all.” He swallows. “You look really pretty, Harland.”

Nervously tucking a loose wave behind my ear, I clear my throat—even though there’s absolutely nothing to clear.

“Thanks,” I utter, wringing my hands together before glancing at him. “You too.” I don’t understand how I can play in a championship softball game with the score tied and everything on the line and stay calm, yet Cane Hale tells me I look nice, and I’m pretty sure the area between my boobs is now sweaty because I’m so uncomfortable.

He’s just a guy, so why do I forget how to be confident when he’s close by?