Page 41 of Praising the Pitcher

“Guess you’re giving me a ride home?”

“Looks like it, Smoke,” he drawls, but his eyes never lift to mine, and even though I’m probably crazy, his energy seems … different.

I follow him to his truck wondering one thing …

What the hell did Haven say to him just now?

FIFTEEN

NOAH

Normally, when Gigi mentions maybe she should try sleeping at The Nest, I say no and insist she stays with me. I tell myself it’s because I want her to feel safe, but let’s be honest, I’ve grown fond of her being in my bed. It feels warmer, calmer somehow. But tonight, when she brought it up, I told her maybe it was a good idea. Though she tried to hide the shock on her face, it was obvious she didn’t expect me to say that.

So now, here I am, driving back to my dorm alone—wishing she was beside me, propped up in the passenger seat looking all sweet and innocent, but after what my sister whispered, I know I shouldn’t be going as far as having her in my bed every night of the week. Even if we aren’t fucking, this somehow seems like it means more.

Haven’s words, “Gigi doesn’t just hang out with guys, No. Don’t be another thing she has to recover from,” hit me like a ton of bricks. My intention has never been to hurt her, and that’s why I haven’t so much as kissed her. But my sister is right. For as long as I’ve known Gigi or known of her, I haven’t heard of her ever hanging out with a dude. What if she’s getting the wrong idea? I mean sure, would she be the perfect girlfriend if things got serious? Yeah. But I don’t want a girlfriend. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to trust someone again.

The last girl I put my trust in fucked my best friend. So there’s that.

I pull into a parking spot but don’t rush to open my door. Truth be told, I sort of hate living in the dorms. Especially when I get FOMO and all my teammates and friends are at The Lookout or The Tower. Now I don’t even have a cute little blonde to keep me company.

Before I push the door open, my phone dings and a message in the football team’s group chat comes through from Samson, one of our running backs.

Samson: Did you guys hear? Timmons’s replacement is the dude who transferred here a while back but got injured in a car wreck. Guess he’s finally cleared to play.

The guys go nuts, chatting about the dude who is going to be stepping into the shoes of Tabor Timmons—hopefully without the stalker side of him though.

No matter who he is, it’ll be an upgrade.

That motherfucker has made it so Gigi doesn’t feel safe in her own house. And even though Haven acts tough, I think what happened is still bothering her too. How could it not? He held her at fucking gun point.

So, while I’ll admit the team has settled nicely without him, it’ll be good to have someone step into his place. Because even though Tabor’s a shit human who is absolutely psychotic, he was one hell of a player on the field. Just not sure what my sister ever saw in him, that’s all.

Stuffing my phone into my pocket, I grab my shit from the back of my truck and head into my dorm.

Tonight, my lonely ass room won’t smell like sweet citrus without a certain woman in it.

GIGI

“Hello?” I say, my footsteps creaking on the old wooden floors as I peek my head past my door and into the hallway. I know I heard a weird noise out here. I’m just not sure where it came from.

The house is damn near completely dark, only a little light from the moon shining through the skylight window, and it’s eerily quiet.

“Gigi!” a voice I know belongs to Haven screams. “Help me!”

I run toward her room, only to find her door not only shut but locked too. Fear fills every ounce of my being as I pull on the knob.

“Haven! It’s locked!” I cry, jiggling it roughly as if that’ll suddenly unlock it.

“He’s got a gun!” she wails. “Tabor has a gun!”

He came back for her. And now, she’s locked inside a room with that maniac, and he has a gun.

I rush back to my room, only not to be able to find my phone. How will I call for help?

I’m such an idiot. Obviously one of the other girls is here.

I rush down the hallway, opening each door only to find every room empty. Their beds are made, like they haven’t been here all day.