Page 77 of Saving The Shortstop

“Well, tonight, I’m going to have a few drinks, eat some fried, greasy food, and kick your ass at whatever game you’re playing,” I say, forcing myself to look on the bright side which is … there are prizes to be won.

When I look around arcades, all I see is the likelihood of germs everywhere—because you know people are nasty and they put their fingers in their mouths before touching the controllers. I’m not a germaphobe by any means, but places like this—sort of like bounce houses, trampoline parks, and, worst of all, ball pits—gross me out.

They always smell weird too.

“Hey, Smoke,” my brother drawls as his eyes gaze beside me. I can tell the second his King charm takes over as he grins at Gigi.

She was home, looking a little sad, so I figured I’d bring her with me. She’s far too sweet a girl for my brother, whose preferred type are girls who are downright bitchy. He even admits it.

“Hey, Noah,” she says, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear shyly. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” He winks. “Where’s my birthday hug?”

Rolling my eyes, I take her hand and tug her behind me. “Come on, Gigi, I’ll save you from my brother,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him. “Don’t forget, air hockey, me and you before the night’s over.”

Gigi trails behind me with her eyes forward, and my brother takes the opportunity to point at her and make some face like he’s wounded because I’m stealing her away. I ignore him and just keep walking.

Whenever my brother stops in at The Nest, all the single girls seem to race downstairs to see him. He’s the biggest flirt, and if I’m being honest, a bit of a player, but he really does have a heart of gold. Gigi, though, never really gives him the time of day. She’s not rude or anything, just keeps to herself, which tells me she isn’t interested.

Then again, if I had a dad like the one she does, I probably would too because her entire life has to revolve around softball and being the best pitcher that she can be. Even if she has a perfect game, he pulls her away right after and points out any little thing he thinks she did wrong.

I feel bad for her. My parents always said it was up to me to want it when it came to being the best at softball. And they said if I ever wasn’t having fun anymore, I could always tell them and they’d never be mad.

But softball is always my biggest love, even when I’m not having fun.

“I think there are as many girls here as guys,” Gigi utters when we reach the Skee-Ball machines. “Noah sure has a lot of … female friends, huh?”

“He’s the guy who thinks he’s best friends with everyone,” I answer.

Leaning down, I scan my card against my machine and wave for her to do the same. Since we’re both wildly competitive, this should be fun.

Or it could also be a disaster. When you take two college softball players who are willing to do whatever it takes to win, it may actually be the latter.

“Show me what you’ve got, one,” I say, calling her by her jersey number. “Loser buys the winner some wings and a Slush Puppie.”

“What’s a Slush Puppie?” she asks just as the balls release, and of course, she no longer gives a shit about what I’m sure she’ll be buying me because both of us start rolling the balls toward the circles.

I don’t even have time to think about the level of insanity it is that she doesn’t know what a Slush Puppie is because neither of us wants to give up a single second of time to score. But in the back of my mind, I know it’s actually crazy that she doesn’t know what one is because they’ve been around forever. My grandparents even had them, for Christ’s sake. I forget sometimes that Gigi’s dad tries to keep her basically living under a rock.

We remain tied until the last few, crucial seconds when Gigi scores on the highest circle up top—her underhand pitching skills coming in clutch at kicking my ass when it counts.

Turning toward me, she smiles. “Better luck next time, twenty-two.”

Anytime we’ve played card games, or any sort of challenge with the other girls at The Nest, I think Gigi has won most all of them. And the few she didn’t, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that down. Even though she tried to put on a happy face, we all knew she was going to crack. I don’t think it’s her being a poor sport either; I think she’s just been conditioned to believe that if you don’t win every single time, you suck and are talentless. I’ve heard her old man talk to her enough to know that he’s put that in her brain.

Her smile stays on her face, but her eyes dart behind me. Before I even turn to look, I can feel Dallas moving closer. Within seconds, his dizzying scent hits my nostrils, and I can’t help but take a subtle breath through my nose to get more.

It’s only been a few days, but it feels like longer because he’s been acting so distant. His texts, short and emotionless. And even though I know he’s busy, he could have made time to see me. I know that damn well.

“I’m going to go see some of the girls from the hockey team,” Gigi says, her grin growing wider. “They’re playing pool, and I’ve gotta say, I’m pretty good at it.”

“Of course you are, Geeg,” I utter, giggling.

She walks away, and within seconds, Dallas is standing in front of me.

His dark hair is perfectly messy, just like it always is. His sharp jawline makes me wish I could run my tongue across it, but I refrain because this is my brother’s birthday. Besides, maybe that isn’t what Dallas would want. His eyes have brightened back to normal, as if what was weighing on him has been lifted, and his energy all around seems lighter.

“Hi,” he drawls deeply, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Saw you over here, playing Skee-Ball like it was a championship.”