Page 6 of Praising the Pitcher

Gigi follows behind her, only looking back once, but it’s enough for me to eat up that adorably shy look on her face. I’m pretty sure the girl has spent so much of her life chasing her dreams of being the best college pitcher that she’s never had time to date. Or maybe she just doesn’t care to, who knows.

“There’s the birthday boy,” a sultry voice coos from behind me, and when I turn around, pulling my eyes from where my sister and her hot friend disappeared to, I’m met with a familiar pair of tits straining against a tiny white crop top. It’s November in Massachusetts, making it not exactly crop top weather, but she looks good. Really good. So why wouldn’t she wear it?

Lifting my eyes to Teagan’s face, I flash her a smile.

“Thanks, Teag,” I say, throwing an arm around her for a quick hug before stepping back. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, handsome,” she says, eyeing me over. “I was happy to get the invite.”

I don’t bother telling her I didn’t invite anyone here. My friends did that. I just told them I wanted to have my birthday at the arcade and they said say less. Well, after they made fun of me and asked if I was twelve years old.

“Course, babe,” I drawl, knowing I fucked up calling her that because she catches feelings way too fast. When we hooked up for the first time, she swore she understood I don’t do commitments. But after the third time we hooked up, she lingered around too long, and I knew she was thinking it was more than it was. Since then, I’ve kept my distance.

When she moves a step closer, looking up at me all doe-eyed, I sigh in relief when Hendrix and Jameson walk over, giving me the perfect excuse to turn toward them and nonchalantly bow out of whatever conversation she was hoping we could have. Because the problem with me is, I’m too nice. Some would even say I’m a bit of a people pleaser.

The last thing I ever want to do is hurt a woman’s feelings. I fucking love women. They’re beautiful, funny, witty, and much smarter than men. But after being burned this past spring by one, I’m not looking to catch feelings, that’s for fucking sure.

“Happy birthday, ball boy,” Hendrix says with a slight grin, smacking his hand on my shoulder. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been to an arcade.”

“I was here last week,” Jameson chimes in, and I know he’s not kidding. “Had sex in the photo booth, and I gotta say, I love arcades even more now.”

“Dude, you’re nasty,” Hendrix utters, shaking his head.

“Photo booth, huh?” I look across the room at it. “Remind me never to go in there since your ass has touched the seat.”

Jameson and Hendrix are both on the hockey team, and they live in The Tower with my best friend, Dallas, and a bunch of other male athletes from NEU. Next year, I’ll be living there too. Right now though, because I’m a freshman, I’m stuck in the damn dorms.

As Jameson dives into a long story about how claw machines are actually rip-offs and how they work, my eyes find the back of the building where they have a self-serve Slush Puppie machine, and of course, my sister is there, fixing herself one in the biggest cups they have.

But it’s the cute blonde beside her who keeps my gaze there a little too long, and I can honestly say I’ve never watched someone look so confused about a damn Slush Puppie machine in my life. And when Haven walks off, leaving her alone, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from going over anyway.

Flirting with someone as sweet and innocent as Gigi is harmless. I would never do anything more than that.

Even if I wanted to …

GIGI

Noah King is someone who makes my hands sweaty when he gets too close to me. So, as I walk toward a group of girls I’m familiar with, Slush Puppie in hand, my heart speeds up when I see him heading right toward me. I’m thankful the cup is cold. It’s better to have just one sweaty hand and not two.

Bringing the straw to my lips, I take a sip, avoiding eye contact with him and hoping he’ll just pass through. When his sister is beside me, it’s not so bad when he talks because I have her as a buffer. I’m not equipped to talk to him one-on-one. I’m quite certain I would melt into a puddle at his feet actually.

The slightly tart blue substance hits my tongue, and I’m not sure if I hate it or love it. Haven acted like I’m the only twenty-year-old who has never experienced a Slush Puppie until today. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I grew up drinking protein smoothies and having a chef at my house each day to prepare only the healthiest meals. Sadly, these types of treats weren’t included, and my dad told me time and time again that what I put in my body would have a direct effect on my performance on the mound.

“You act like you’ve never had a Slush Puppie before, Smoke,” Noah says slowly, stopping right in front of me. Awkwardly, I continue sucking down the cold liquid because it beats the hell out of trying to talk and making an idiot of myself.

How can I be one of the most composed pitchers in college softball right now, and yet, my best friend’s brother so much as says hi, and I almost trip over my own two feet?

All I know is softball. I don’t know how to talk to guys. Especially not ones like Noah freaking King.

I feel his eyes on my mouth as I keep the straw between my lips. My cheeks heat, and I quickly pull back and wipe my sleeve across my face.

“Well, up until a few minutes ago, I hadn’t,” I say with a shrug.

“Ugh, are you fucking with me?” he blurts out. His eyes are wide, and his head jerks in shock, instantly making me wish I hadn’t said that. Yet again, I’ll have to have another conversation about how sheltered I am.

I’m slow to respond, but luckily, he carries on the conversation by himself, looking at the top of my cup through the clear lid. “And you chose blue?” He frowns. “Please tell me you at least tried the other flavors and didn’t just assume blue was the best choice because Haven told you that.”

I bite my lip, shrugging shyly. “I mean … I like the color blue. So, I just … went with blue.”