Page 62 of Convincing the Catcher

“How’s your mom doing?” I ask, sinking down onto the couch and sitting back.

“She sounds all right,” she says softly. “I think it’s good that my aunt is staying with her a little longer.” She shifts around, her hands fidgeting. “She told me this morning that she was going to get our insurance all figured out. So, hopefully, you won’t have to pay my way much longer.”

“I don’t mind,” I say instantly so she knows I’m not lying. “Besides, I’m sure you haven’t been on socials lately, but it turns out, being friends with Harley Meadows can save any man’s reputation.” I chuckle. “No more hate DMs or comments, so that’s cool.” I say it like I care, but in reality, it was never about social media or what anyone thought of me. “Follower count is back up too.”

“So, I guess you don’t really need my help anymore, huh, Baseball Boy?” She smiles, though I can see the hesitation and maybe disappointment, even when she does her best to hide it.

“Oh, you’re not getting away from me that easily, Catch,” I drawl. “We’re friends now. Like, real friends.”

“Oh, are we now?” She giggles. “That’s good to know. Here I was, thinking you were just faking it so that my followers liked you.”

“Yeah, well, gotta do it for the ’gram, right?” I shrug.

I know she knows I’m kidding because she giggles. I can’t say that she isn’t just my friend and that I fucking love her. She’d probably rush out of here and hightail it as far away from me as she could get.

Harland Meadows has dedicated her entire life to playing softball. In her eyes, she can’t play the game the way she does if she lets me get too close.

And I fucking hate that she thinks that.

Grabbing the remote from the nightstand, she gives me an adorable, crooked smile.

“What do you think, friend? DoorDash when we get hungry and watch Netflix in the meantime?” She jerks her chin toward the other side of the bed. “I’ll even let you on the bed as long as you’re a good boy.”

I’d let you fucking tie me up and call me a good boy any day …

That’s what I wish I could say because the words good boy rolling off her plump red lips makes my mind dizzy, but I shake it off before pushing off the couch and plopping down on the opposite side of the bed as her.

“It’s a deal, Catch.” I nod. “It’s a deal.”

We relax on the bed, each staying on our respective side as she pulls up the Netflix app on the screen. Even if I don’t get to bury my face between her thighs or feed my cock inside of her pussy, it’ll still be a good night.

She may not feel the same, but I’m actually thanking the airline for not having their shit together today so that we’re stuck here. Because until we get back on campus, we can still live in this bubble.

And it’s one I don’t mind staying in a while longer.

Watching the show that Harley chose to play on the TV, I cringe. “Alex is such a dick, but I get it. He kind of reminds me of Hunt before Hunt got with Isla.”

Harley seems to consider that for a second. “I grew up with my mom watching it, and even then, it wasn’t a new show. And I think I’ve rewatched the series, like … five times now? I can’t help but love Alex.” She laughs. “I suppose that’s how Isla felt. Couldn’t stop herself from falling for Hendrix Hunt, even though he’s rough around the edges.”

The sound of her monitor goes off. When she grabs her phone to look at her sugar level, I study her face. I know she’s been living with diabetes for quite some time now, but I’m still worried every single time her monitor beeps. And when it doesn’t beep, I’m scared it’s malfunctioned.

“I’m low,” she says, completely unfazed.

Setting her phone back down, she scoots off the bed and walks over to the small backpack she took off the plane. Bringing it over to the bed, she paws through it before she pulls out a lollipop for herself. I curse silently, praying she doesn’t choose that as her pick-me-up because if I have to watch her lick a lollipop, I might lose my mind.

“Want something?” she asks, completely oblivious to my pain. “I have Skittles and Sour Patch Kids.”

“I’m good,” I say, swallowing when she tosses the bag on the floor and begins to unwrap the pop.

I do my best to look away, but it’s fucking useless, and when she relaxes back and her lips part, I force my eyes elsewhere, thankful as hell when she hits play on the remote.

Let’s be honest though; Grey’s Anatomy can’t distract me from that angel’s tongue.

I shift around, my cock hardening with each second because even though I’m not looking at her, I can see Harley in my mind. My dirty, filthy, awful fucking mind.

Unable to stop myself, I glance over but instantly wish I hadn’t because I can’t stop the groan that comes from my throat. Right away, she looks at me.

“Are you okay?” She frowns, and my eyes float from her lips to her eyes and back.