Page 28 of Convincing the Catcher

Much, much worse.

HARLEY

We round the final lap, and even though we’re neck and neck, I’m not worried because I’m purposely keeping him beside me. I’d never tell him that I strategically chose the ugly yellow kart because it’s faster than the others. I’m pretty sure that would qualify as cheating, and if I was half a lap in front of him from the start, he would know I pulled a fast one on him.

When the finish line comes into view, even with a helmet on, I can tell he’s all smiles through his eyes.

“Not so cocky now, are you, Catch?” he yells out, keeping his hands wrapped tightly around the black steering wheel.

“Hey, still plenty of track,” I call back, and once we’re only about an eighth of the track out, I know it’s time to cash in for my shitty pizza.

I push my foot down on the gas, and my kart lurches in front of his. I almost wish I had eyes in the back of my head so I could see the look on his face.

See, you don’t make it to a Division 1 college to play sports if you aren’t insanely competitive. My mom used to scold me as a kid because when we would go bowling with my cousins, she said I’d ruin it because I’d turn it into a competition. Which didn’t always work in my favor because I absolutely sucked at bowling. Hence why I refuse to go now.

I don’t have to look back to know I’ve lost him, and I speed across the finish line, throwing my hands in the air only for a split second before returning them to the steering wheel. Pushing on the brakes, I roll to a stop behind the parked cars, and a few seconds later, Cane pulls in beside me.

“I got hustled,” he says, his eyes narrowed as he looks at me. “I had this piece of shit’s gas pedal to the metal and still couldn’t catch you.”

Unbuckling, I slowly push myself to stand and step out of the kart, pulling my gloves off and then my helmet.

“Hey, when I said nothing romantic, I meant nothing romantic, Hale.” I shrug but flash him a playful grin. “There was no way I was letting you win so that we could dance. Friends don’t dance.”

“I saw you dancing with your friends at homecoming this year and last year,” he counters, and right away, the smile on my face dies.

Cane Hale noticed me at homecoming?

And not just this year … last year too.

Shaking it off internally, I shrug. “That’s different. Those are my girlfriends. We don’t wrap our arms around each other or rest our head on one another’s chest.”

“You were going to rest your head on my chest, Catch?” He winks. “Geesh, you really were going to make it romantic, huh?”

“Well, you’re a homecoming creeper,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “Hell, you probably know the dress color of all the other girls you were checking out.”

I expect him to toss something playful back, but instead, once he sets down his helmet and gloves, his eyes hold mine.

“This year, yours was blue. Not a light blue, but more of a navy. And last year? It was gray and kind of sparkly.” His expression grows heavier, but the corner of his lip threatens to tilt up the slightest bit. “And, Catch, I guarantee you that every motherfucker in that room remembers your dress.”

My feet stay rooted where I am as I stare at NEU’s infamous Cane Hale. Since I got to college—actually, my entire life—I’ve kept my head down, scared to lift it because I never wanted distractions to pull me away from the game. And while my head was down, a guy like Cane Hale was watching me.

How the hell does that happen?

Inhaling subtly, I square my shoulders. We have a deal, and that deal involves no romantic feelings evolving between us. I’ve worked too hard to give everything up for a guy like him.

A guy who could ruin my life when he decides he doesn’t like me anymore.

I’m enjoying his company, and I don’t have to bother my mom about my meds.

Unzipping my racing suit, I try to ignore the fact that Cane’s eyes fly to my fingers, and even though his gaze speeds my heart rate up, I quickly turn away and finish taking it off before stepping out of it. When I set my suit on the bench, Cane does the same, and I know I need to push down whatever the hell is going on inside of me right now.

Turning toward him, I pull my hair into a low ponytail. “Come on, Baseball Boy. I owe you some shitty pizza, sprinkled with ass scratchings.” I pat him on the arm. “Keep in mind, I’ve never heard of anyone getting food poisoning here.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” he murmurs, but when he grins, his dimple pops out, and I force myself to look away when my pulse quickens.

As we walk toward the pizza parlor, I gaze around the building—an old mall that has since become an establishment with indoor go-karts, a bar, a pizza place, and an obstacle course, among other things.

But even with everything going on in this building, my eyes land on an older couple as they sway to the music. Though it’s too far away for me to really hear what they’re dancing to, my eyes stay on them a little too long.