Page 25 of Convincing the Catcher

Or when he looks at me the way he is right now?

Almost as if he’s picturing what’s underneath my dress. That’s silly though. I’m sure he isn’t, and why would he? He’s seen plenty of bigger boobs than mine.

More muscles, however? Maybe not. I have that department covered.

After we look at each other in pure silence, I finally peel my eyes away. “Anyway, you texted me to come in here.” I motion toward myself. “Here I am. So, what exactly do you need?”

With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he continues leaning against the table. He shrugs, flashing a smirk. “Well, I mean, I look pretty good tonight, Catch. I wanted you to get a good look at all this sexiness so that when I walk out on that stage in a bit, you won’t be flustered and forget to raise your paddle.”

My first instinct is to blush, but thank the Lord, the side of Harley that the campus knows—the badass, tough-as-nails side—quickly kicks in, and I roll my eyes.

“Cocky much, Baseball Boy?”

Cane pushes himself from the table, taking a few steps toward me.

“I’m just playing around,” he muses. “Truthfully, I had a feeling you’d be wearing a dress, looking like a goddamn angel. So, I guess you could say it was me who would get flustered if I didn’t at least see you beforehand.”

Fire. My cheeks feel like they’re actually on fire.

I’m sure he’s toying with me. Or perhaps he’s just trying to make me feel good about myself. Either way, it makes my hands clammy, and before I can say something stupid—or overtalk because I’m nervous—I jerk my thumb toward the door.

“I, uh, should get going.” I clear my throat—yet again. “You know, before my friends think I’ve been kidnapped or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he drawls. “Me kidnapping you. Not the get going part.”

He’s close now. The closest we’ve ever been, and even though he’s still a foot away, my breath hitches in my throat. He has never been overly flirtatious with me—until right now.

Suddenly, I narrow my eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

His lips turn up. “I had to have something to take the edge of.” He grins playfully. “If not, I would have been too nervous.”

“You?” I frown. “Why would you be nervous?”

He steps again, closing the gap more and staring down at me. Reaching forward, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Because, Catch,” he utters, “in a little bit, I’m about to be seen with the most beautiful and most athletic girl—woman—on campus. People are going to talk. And stare.” He drops his hands down, and as he swallows, his throat bobs. “Just wanted to take the edge off.”

“Take the edge off what?” I whisper, not understanding what he’s even trying to say.

“Knowing that I’ll be seen with someone who is way too good to be associated with me,” he murmurs, and I stand here, frozen as I stare up at him. “So yes, Harland. For that, I needed to drink.”

I feel like I’m under a spell while our eyes bore into one another’s until, at last—and thankfully—someone yells while walking by the door. It startles me enough to pull me out of this trance while he continues to look lost.

“Why do you call me Harland?” I finally blurt out, though it’s only in a whisper. “Everyone calls me Harley.”

“Because I like your name,” he answers instantly, his eyes piercing into my own.

It’s as if I’m hypnotized, but eventually, I take a deep breath and snap out of it.

“I’ll see you there,” I whisper, slowly backing away before I turn and exit the room quickly.

I’ve always found him attractive, sure. But I guess I didn’t ever feel like he thought the same about me. I know I’m a pretty girl, but a lot of guys can’t get past the extreme-athlete part.

Tonight, just now, the way Cane’s eyes roamed my body and face, it was clear as day that he found me attractive too.

And that’s cool and all, except I’ve made it this far in life without having anything to distract me from softball. Now I’m supposed to be friends with a guy who looks at me like that?

I can’t stop asking … What the hell did I get myself into?