Page 69 of Praising the Pitcher

Haven rushes over and grabs my arm, her body practically bouncing with excitement. “Come on! It’s almost time,” she whispers excitedly. “I hope I get to go last.”

Even though I kind of know what a Yankee Swap is, I don’t know the rules when it comes to choosing first or last. And even though I’m a pitcher who spends half of each softball game being in the center of the field, controlling each pitch, I loathe that I’m going to have to walk up and choose a gift.

In front of everyone.

I swallow hard, the skin on the back of my neck prickling just thinking about it. Despite being a pitcher, I actually don’t love being the center of attention. On the mound, it’s different. I tune out the yelling and the gazes cast my way. I ignore the groans when I walk a batter in times when we really need an out. And when the game is on the line and someone hits a home run off me, and the stands are pissed, I can even tune that out too. But right now, being here with all these people … I’m not tuning out shit.

And I definitely can’t stop the feeling of a certain football player’s eyes on me either.

The first few contestants step up to choose their gift from under the tree. Trent starts us off, unwrapping a heated blanket and a gift card to the local steak house. He takes out his wallet and tucks the gift card inside before he tosses the blanket into his wife’s lap.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything, Sunshine,” he says in a grumpy tone I’m coming to realize is just how he sounds, but he winks, making their teenage daughter Gracelynn roll her eyes.

“Dad, you know I asked for a heated blanket for Christmas, right?” she says, lifting a brow. “Since I’m your favorite, you should have given it to me.”

“Your mom is my favorite; take it up with her.” Trent shrugs, and I have no doubt this man always puts his wife first. Since they’ve been here, I’ve watched him walk up behind her and kiss her neck or cheek I don’t even know how many times. “Besides, maybe Santa brought you one of your own.”

Gracelynn’s eyes light up and she smiles. Not because she still believes in the magic of Santa—I’m sure she doesn’t—but because that gave her hope she’d be getting her own. Being around the Cade family tonight showed me one thing: That man really, really loves his wife.

Next, Lane finds himself with the biggest pack of toilet paper I’ve maybe ever seen and a gift card to the hardware store. He holds it up proudly. “Well, since my wife hates buying TP, I guess this is fitting. Right, babe?”

Memphis rolls her eyes but laughs, and then, it’s my turn. Despite my hands clamming up and my inability to stop gnawing on my bottom lip, I walk toward the tree, sweeping my gaze across the array of gifts.

My eyes stop on the one I’ve been eyeing over all night. A small box, wrapped in the cutest light blue wrapping paper with the sweetest books, glasses, and bookmarks scattered on it. One of the women must have brought this one—it’s too cute to be anyone else. And I know it wasn’t Haven because she doesn’t even like to read.

Nervously, I make my decision and reach for the box, feeling everyone’s eyes on me as I make my way back to my seat beside my best friend. When my eyes sweep over Haven’s face, she suddenly looks uneasy, though when she catches me staring, she plasters on a smile.

A fake one, I should add.

“The wrapping paper is so cute I don’t even want to tear it,” I mutter to Haven, knowing I’m being unreasonable and that isn’t an option. Of course I have to rip it. It’s wrapping paper, for crying out loud. That’s what it’s meant for.

Finally tearing it open, I stare at a small box with no clue as to what’s inside, but I do, however, feel every eye in the room on me. And I hate it.

I untuck the folds, peeling open the top, but when I look down into it, the smile on my face disappears the second my eyes take in what I’m holding, and even though everyone in the room is staring, I’m frozen, unable to form any kind of reaction as I look at a snow globe, of all things.

To top it all off and make matters worse, my eyes catch the small, delicate tag, and I read two words that make my chest ache.

Love, Santa.

That son of a bitch.

Noah took something I told him—something so deep and so sacred—and now is using it to toy with me, the girl he just got done telling last night to go out with another guy after first being pissed off we were even talking. My eyes don’t dart up and find his; in fact, I pretend he isn’t even in the room because that’s what he deserves.

Even if in his mind he did this to be sweet, it’s the opposite. It’s cruel. It sends me mixed signals, and I’m already confused enough as it is.

Now I know why his sister originally told me to be careful. Because without even meaning to, her brother can screw with a girl’s heart and confuse her head too.

“What is it?” Haven whispers, sliding a little closer and peeking over my shoulder.

She can see it now, but she wouldn’t understand why it’s bringing this sort of reaction from me. No one would.

Well, no one other than the guy across the room. The handsome, charismatic man who covers his devilish ways with that grin he’s always flashing to others.

I blink a few times, knowing I need to pull it together—at least until I find Noah alone and can ream him a new asshole. I don’t even dare to lift my gaze, afraid that it’ll catch his and I won’t be able to stop myself from making a scene screaming.

Or worse, crying. Because right now, that’s all I want to do.

I pretend I’m on the mound where I could either win the game for my team or lose it. I straighten my spine, take a deep breath, and let it out—letting the pressure, the feelings, the emotions all out before slowly, I pull the snow globe out of the box, holding it up for the room to see.