Page 49 of Praising the Pitcher

I swear half the stadium is filled with students at NEU, all wearing the blue colors, showing our support for the football team during their first playoff game. And since they’re seeded higher, they got to be the home team. If there’s anything NEU gets an A plus in, it’s school spirit.

I gaze around at all the different fans wearing jerseys, some even having their faces painted. I fight back the urge to roll my eyes when a few chicks a couple rows down have King on their backs with his number on their cheeks. The daggers I’m shooting them are still probably nothing compared to the ones the girls a few seats over will be getting from Haven when she sees their little spectacle for Dallas.

It’s only a matter of time before she sees it …

Our group has about ten of us. Some of us like Lilly, Haven, Harley, Savannah, and a few others live at The Nest, and then there are some who don’t. And of course, Harley’s boyfriend, Cane, because where she goes, he goes. Beside him, all the way at the end of our row, is his brother, Cash.

It’s honestly a little annoying how handsome those two are. And their stepdad is hockey royalty, going down as New England’s most beloved goalie ever for the Bay Sharks.

Cane worships the ground Harley walks on, though before they met, he did have a bit of a reputation around campus. Sort of similar to Noah’s, though not as big of a flirt from what I can tell. His brother, on the other hand, is a mystery. No one can figure him out because aside from hockey and hanging out with some friends, he keeps to himself. But from what I hear, he’s an incredibly good guy.

Why can’t I have a crush on someone like that instead of the flirty shithead who’s out on the field right now, probably eating up all the attention being on him?

I turn toward Haven, looking her over. “You seem tense,” I say, but it’s sort of a question because it’s also freezing out tonight, so maybe her body is just frozen from that.

“No shit,” she utters, side-eyeing me. “They need to win this game. If they don’t, they’re out.” She blows out a frosty breath, sending a puff of smoke into the cold air. “I hope D has his head on straight. Noah too.”

In the pit of my stomach, there’s a slight ache. I saw him a few days ago, and even though I assured him everything was good, he seemed different. He’s always that happy go lucky dude, strutting around with a shit-eating grin on his face. He wasn’t like that when we talked. Instead, he seemed down.

And I wasn’t even a good enough friend to ask why. I guess I assumed there was nothing I could do to make him better because I’m me and he’s him. Now, I wish I would have been warmer. His sister is right—there’s a lot riding on this game, and they all need to have their minds right.

I stare out at the field, my eyes locking on a certain player with the name King stretched across his back. Lucky for me, his sister is far too worked up to notice my staring. But when I catch another player beside him, one I don’t recognize at all, I’m thrown off. Because this man I don’t know … well, he seems to be staring right in my direction. And just when I think I’m wrong, he jerks his chin up toward us, throwing up a hand to wave, though I know it must be directed to someone else near me.

It all gets even weirder when Noah turns toward him, and even with a helmet on, I can see his sharp glare as his shoulders tense.

What the hell is going on tonight?

NOAH

“Who are you waving to, Baker?” I say, hating the fact that he’s looking right up toward where Gigi sits. I’m hoping he says my sister. She’s happily with Dallas anyway, so what would it matter if this new guy thinks he’s got a shot.

“Dude, that’s Gigi Jacobs,” his southern accent drawls slowly, his stupid gaze still on the stands.

My fists involuntarily ball up, and my back teeth grind as this motherfucker lets her name roll off his lips like he knows her. I know I’m being unreasonable, but I can’t help it.

“Yeah?” The word is cold and sharp. “And?”

He finally pulls his grubby gaze from Smoke and looks at me, disbelief covering his face like a blanket. “And?” He practically gasps. “She’s a total badass. I’m a huge fucking fan of hers.”

I try to relax, telling myself maybe he’s only a fan of her pitching and isn’t trying to creep on her or some shit. Not like I’d have any say if he was though. That reasoning goes out the door when he adds onto it.

“She’s even prettier in person,” he utters, turning back toward her. “How can someone be that talented and look that good?” He sighs, shaking his head. “It should be illegal really.”

The reaction going on inside me isn’t warranted. I shouldn’t be imagining bashing his face off my fist over and over simply for him complimenting a girl I have no right to be jealous over. And yet, that’s exactly what’s going on, and I feel my entire body stiffen like a goddamn board.

“Shouldn’t you worry less about the women in the stands and more about the game we’re about to play?” I say, though it almost comes out as a growl even though I fight it.

That brings his attention back to me, and he smirks, smacking my shoulder lightly.

“Don’t you worry about me, King. Worry about making your daddy proud.” With a wink, he jogs backward.

Never taking his eyes off the only girl here who has single-handily made me lose my edge.

And she doesn’t even have a clue.

“King, what the fuck are you doing out there?” my dad says, pulling his hat off. It takes a lot to get him mad, and even then, he usually tries not to completely humiliate his players.

Right now though … he’s had enough of my shit. And to be honest, I don’t blame him.