Page 48 of Praising the Pitcher

“Harley hasn’t left yet,” she says, looking out the window. “Guessing she’s on the phone. I’ll grab a ride home with her. That way you don’t have to drive to the other side of campus.”

“Really, it’s no trouble,” I say, but her hand is already on the door handle before the sentence fully leaves my lips.

She wants to get out of this truck.

She wants to get away from me.

“It’s all good,” she says, plastering on a tiny smile. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“Thanks,” I say, barely able to muster the word out.

She holds her hand up in a faint wave before she pushes the door closed and walks toward Harley’s car, getting away from me as fast as she can.

I don’t take off from the parking lot. Instead, I wait for them to leave and then smack my hand against my steering wheel, cursing myself for making everything change between us.

The truth is, if she wasn’t friends with my sister, and I was in a place in my life where I wanted a girlfriend, I’d pursue her in a fucking heartbeat. The reality is though, she is friends with Haven. Best friends. And I’m not in a place in my life where I could be what she needs. Because as much as I hate to admit it, my ex fucked my head up. I have trust issues, and I know without a shadow of a doubt those issues would poison any new relationship I have, making it toxic and unhealthy.

I refuse to be the jealous boyfriend women dread and parents warn them about. So it’s simple … I can’t be a boyfriend at all.

EIGHTEEN

GIGI

“You ready?” Haven says, popping into my room, and I nod.

“Lilly is going to ride with us, but the others are going with their boyfriends.” She rolls her eyes. “Wish I could go with mine.”

I narrow my eyes. “But … yours is playing in the game tonight …” I say slowly and she groans.

“Don’t remind me. I’m already a wreck.” She sighs before she reaches into her pocket. “Oh I, uh, have something for you.” She walks to me, holding out a phone, like she expects me to take it.

“What is that?” I utter, nerves prickling the back of my neck because I hate that she felt bad enough for me to go get me a phone.

Or worse … did her brother do this?

No. That would be weird.

“A phone, you dumbass,” she deadpans. “I couldn’t stand not being able to reach you. I had to do it. And since your dad actually, truly, shut yours off, I was able to snag your old number.” She shoves it toward me. “Go on. Take it.”

“Haven …” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t even say it. How many pairs of shoes have you given me from your dad’s company?” She lifts a brow. “Too many to count. Those shoes aren’t cheap.”

It’s true, they aren’t. But since my dad is the owner of a huge shoe company, obviously I wasn’t paying for them.

Reluctantly, and shamefully, I take the phone and stand up to hug her.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Really.”

She gives my ass a swat—in true softball player form—and grins. “You’re welcome. Now get your shoes on and grab your jacket. It’s fucking cold out tonight, and I want to get to the stadium to blow my sexy boyfriend a good luck kiss.”

I laugh lightly and nod. “All right. I’m going. I’m going.”

As I tuck the phone into my pocket, I’m so grateful I have friends who care that much to do this for me. But even though I know it wasn’t him, I can’t stop the thought that keeps popping into my head, begging the question …

Was it really Haven who did this? Or is she covering for someone else?

Someone with ocean-blue eyes, gorgeous dark hair, and a stupidly chiseled jawline …