Unfortunately, Girard had also decided to change seats, likely to accommodate the new players on the roster, and I could now easily stare at him from this vantage point, something I didn’t want to do but couldn’t seem to help. It had only been a couple of months since we saw each other, and obviously Girard still looked the same, but today I noted the scruff on his jaw and wondered if it would feel rough against my hand. Or maybe my lips…
“Everyone have a good holiday?” Coach Crawford asked in a booming voice, interrupting my straying thoughts before my ridiculous fantasies about my teammate got the best of me. The coach’s question had the effect of a bucket of cold water over my head, dousing any remnants of a flame.
Fuck the holidays. Mine had, of course, been shitty, but no way was I going to admit that. What did they really mean anyway? Getting together with family you barely liked?
Dad had called to say he was spending the break with Nina, the new woman he was dating. She was nice enough—they always were—and because he’d been trying to impress her, he’d acted more interested in my life during the short phone call. I could barely stomach the overly sweet sound of his voice as he pretended to give a damn about my college baseball career.
So I’d spent Christmas at the apartment while my roommates, Hollister and Donovan, celebrated with their families. I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me, so I pretended to have plans as well. I considered ordering Chinese takeout, then meeting a girl I regularly hooked up with when she was home on break. But I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to get it up, all because of the guy sitting across the room right now. The same one who had trouble looking me in the eye and made my stomach feel all funny.
Instead, I’d reached out to Jasmine, thinking she might’ve been having a crappy holiday as well. We’d spent part of the day baking cookies—something I hadn’t done since I was a kid with my mom—and after we’d stuffed ourselves silly, went to the movies. It was the perfect way to pass the time and get my mind off everything. Besides, Jasmine had her own woes because of her mom’s addiction, and she’d used me as a sounding board, which I didn’t mind. I’d confided in her before about my stepdad, but never about Girard. She probably suspected, but she didn’t press me on it, and maybe one day I’d actually get it all out instead of letting it eat me alive.
“We spent part of the holidays with my annoying family,” Kellan said tongue-in-cheek to his dad before throwing Donovan a sappy look. According to Donovan, they’d gone to his family’s house first before heading to Kellan’s and meeting the rest of the relatives.
“Watch yourself,” Coach replied with a mock scowl, and everyone snickered. Ugh, was this what I would have to put up with all season from these two lovebirds? Gross.
Fortunately, those weren’t the kind of thoughts I was having about Girard. Only fucked-up sexual ones, like that day in the shower. Christ, now my jeans were growing uncomfortable again.
“We had a big family dinner, and surprisingly, not in a bowling alley,” Girard said with a wide grin that was so mesmerizing, I cursed under my breath.
Did all these guys have great home lives? Of course I knew that couldn’t be true, but sometimes it sure felt like it.
When Girard met my gaze, I looked away. Fucking hell. One more season of this thing between us and I’d finally be rid of him. Too bad I had to interact with him several days a week for the next few months, since there was no way I could avoid the Pirates’ starting catcher. When I wasn’t pitching, I still had practices with him, and even more unfortunate was the fact that we had to have a certain level of chemistry to pull off wins. I’d fought that chemistry all last year, sometimes to my detriment.
Girard lifted his hand to his shaggy brown hair and brushed his fingers through it, and I zeroed in on his long fingers, vividly remembering how he’d touched me at the bowling alley during the fundraiser last year—firm yet delicate, like I was a piece of his grandmother’s fine china. Harmless but fucking intimate at the same time. Damn, I’d nearly melted from the inside. Over an innocent touch. A touch I hadn’t even known I was desperate for. Now I just sounded pathetic. Desperate for someone to touch me? Or just him? I honestly didn’t know.
But instead of showing him—or anyone else—my vulnerability, my weakness, I got angry and shrugged him off, which resulted in a bloody nose for him. It was an accident, and I certainly didn’t think my elbow could do that much damage, but fuck, it was awful watching him bleed all over the floor.
The result of my actions made me feel so guilty that I tried to make it up to him—in my own way—on the field. And maybe that was why we’d been pretty successful in regionals. We’d gone further than other Easton U teams had in nearly a decade, so that was pretty cool. And who knew what this year might hold.
If only I could relax and play it cool.
But every time Girard was around, I tensed up, as if he’d be able to see exactly what I was feeling from my body language alone, and I couldn’t have that. Not after the shower incident.
I forced myself to unwind my shoulders and stretch my legs beneath the table because if this was how I was acting the very first team meeting, I was in for a long haul. Maybe Girard and I could even get to where we were at regionals last year—friendly but keeping our distance.
Coach Crawford walked to the door and propped it open to allow a breeze to flow inside, since it was getting a bit humid with all our bodies stuffed together. Some guys had even discarded their hoodies and jackets. The beginning of the season was usually chilly and sometimes rainy, which was why our first games were generally played against Southern schools. By March, the weather would improve, and that was probably why it had always been my favorite time of year. How could you beat spring and the opening of baseball? Listen to me being all nostalgic, but knowing there were precious few months left of a sport I’d played for years… I pushed aside the nauseating uncertainty I felt in my stomach every time I considered my future.
“Let’s officially welcome our new hot-shot pitcher—Vickers,” Coach said, patting a guy in the front row on the shoulder. The newb raised his hand in a wave as his freckles became more prominent on his rosy cheeks. I’d heard from the other pitchers that he was a sophomore scouted from a junior college and had a killer fastball. Normally, I’d have a nickname all ready for him, but I couldn’t find it in me right then.
The players, along with the new outfielders Coach introduced, sent welcoming words his way, and I mumbled in agreement. I needed to get back on my game, which might take me a practice or two. I’d prefer to glide into my final season in a smoother fashion. Head down, work hard. Avoid Girard and any other distractions as much as possible.
And yet, I couldn’t help speculating whether Girard would click better with the newb than with me. Maybe Vickers would even take my place on the roster if he was that good. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. Christ, I was so mixed up where Girard was concerned.
“And now, Kellan has some announcements.”
Coach motioned to move the meeting along. He was tough but fair, and the fact that he’d immediately accepted his son and Donovan was admirable. He’d originally axed his son from the team because he’d violated his rules, but then the players voted unanimously to keep him. I briefly considered not voting just to be a dick—you know, my usual schtick. But I recognized Kellan’s value, and he did keep us organized and supplied the best snacks, even if Donovan got special treatment.