Page 17 of Praising the Pitcher

They look at each other before back at me and shake their heads.

“Not that good,” Dad says, putting his hand on the tops of our heads. “You both did great though. So whoever the hell you’re showing off for, I hope she keeps coming to the games.”

He drops his hand down, giving me a wink before he turns and walks off toward his other players. I’m not going to tell them they’re right because that’ll just overcomplicate the hell out of everything. So instead, I roll my eyes before I head off the field. But not before I look up in the stands and see the culprit for why I put on such a show.

Gigi’s eyes were already on me, but she attempts to look around like they weren’t before finally coming back to me again. My sister is talking to a friend, so I don’t miss the opportunity to flash her a wink with my biggest grin. And watching her damn near squirm as she fills with nerves feels almost as good as that win just did.

Hell, maybe even better.

And on that, I saunter toward the tunnel to head to the locker room. But since she’s here with my sister, I know damn well they’ll be waiting when I come back out. And I love that.

With my duffle bag over my shoulder and Dallas beside me, we walk outside into the back parking lot. It’s dark out now and cold, and my damp hair immediately feels like it’s freezing into icicles.

The engine to my sister’s Jeep runs, and the headlights shine in our faces, but within seconds, the window is rolling down and she’s hanging out of it.

“Get in, losers. We’re going to dinner!” she calls out, and Dallas looks at me and shrugs.

“What do you think?” he drawls, asking if I’m okay to hang out with them as a couple, I’m sure.

If it was just the two of them, I’d probably say no because who the fuck wants to be a third wheel. But when I see Gigi sitting beside Haven, I nod.

“Why the hell not, lover boy,” I say, turning toward my truck. “Let me just put my bag in my truck.”

Within a few minutes, I’m climbing in the back seat next to Dallas, and my sister is peeling out of the parking lot like the scary fucking driver she is.

“Jesus Christ, Short,” Dallas huffs out, leaning his head against the top of the seat. “How many speeding tickets have you had?”

“Like … two,” she says, pausing. “And like five warnings.” She glances over at Gigi, who’s sitting quietly in the passenger seat. “When you bat your lashes and apologize sweetly, the male brain seems to short-circuit and forget what you did wrong.”

“So you flirt your way out of tickets?” Dallas blurts out, clearly jealous. “Real cute.”

“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.” My sister shrugs but glances at Gigi a little longer this time. “You okay, Geeg?” she asks, keeping her voice more quiet than normal, though I can still hear her. “You’ve been so quiet.”

“I’m good,” she answers instantly, like I knew she would. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. You probably want to go home and go to sleep. I can drop you off. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go out to dinner.”

I watch Gigi, trying to read her body language. Maybe she’s uncomfortable with me being here. We’ve hung out, but this almost seems like a double date even though I know it’s not. Instead of asking to be taken home, her body stiffens.

“No, that’s okay,” she blurts out quickly. “I don’t really want to—” She pauses. “I’d like to go with you guys to get something to eat.”

My sister’s eyes peel from the road just long enough to glance over at her friend and get a read on her. Eventually, she smiles. “Okay, but if you change your mind, you let me know.”

“Will do,” Gigi utters before she looks out the window. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I know when we’re not in this car and I can talk to her alone, I’m going to ask. Maybe it’s not my place, but the thing I’m realizing with her is, she puts on a brave face, and I’m not sure she has anyone she can actually be honest with.

Maybe I shouldn’t be that person for her, but right now … I kind of want to be.

NINE

GIGI

In the bathroom at the restaurant, I cup my hands under the sink and splash cold water over my face. Right when we walked in, my head felt funny and my legs felt weak, so I told Haven I needed the bathroom. Even though I felt like I moved at a snail’s pace, I did my best to push forward so they wouldn’t notice.

For a lot of my life, I’ve been exhausted. I’ve played in softball tournaments on weekends when I was just a kid, having to wake up early for the first game of the day, being the first team at the field, then being the last to leave that night. And then we’d wake up and do it all again the next morning. I’ve had a fever and still had to show up for strength training because my dad said missing it wasn’t an option. I’m no stranger to being overwhelmed with life and in need of a good, long nap. But right now is different. It’s been nearly two weeks of hardly sleeping, and I can barely even form a sentence. At practice today, Coach asked me multiple times if I was all right. She even felt my forehead to see if I was sick.

I’m not okay, but I don’t know how to tell anyone that. It’s never been an option for me not to power through. But I’ve also never been this sleep deprived in my life.

Splashing another pool of cool water on my face, I grab a paper towel and blot my skin dry. In the mirror, I see my eyes are bloodshot, and the bags under them aren’t something I’m used to. I look terrible—and in a few minutes, I have to sit across from the hottest guy on campus, knowing he’s probably looking at the droopy circles under my eyes, judging me. I wish I’d brought some concealer with me. Concealer hides all problems. Well, mostly.