She gives me a dramatic eye-roll but doesn’t budge, causing me to let out a long sigh.
“Mills, stop being so stubborn and come sit down. I’m not going to bite.”
She gives me a brief once-over. I see the moment she capitulates, and she finally climbs into bed, leaving at least a foot between us. Wow, I’m not sure she could be more obvious if she was wearing a porcupine-shielded costume with sign saying don’t touch me.
Noted . . . no touching. I learned that from our experience in the dining hall.
This girl, seriously, she’s confusing as fuck, because I swear, there are times where I catch her looking at me, when I see interest in her eyes, and then there are days like today where she’s so damn skittish, I can barely get close to her.
Am I crazy for even attempting to get close to this girl? Maybe. I’m sure there are guys who wouldn’t even give her a second thought at this point, but I’m not one of those guys. Milly’s interesting, different, and possibly dangerous to my heart. I can feel it deep down. She was brought into my life for a reason and not just to help my swing, but something so much more than that. My dad showed me how to respect women. He could have dated when I was growing up, but I knew he still loved Mom so much. He’s a handsome and kind man, so he should have found someone easily, but he held on to my mom for so long. It taught me that when you find something you feel so connected to, you don’t let it go. He taught me perseverance.
So, here I am, trying to decipher our something else. I need to convince her what our something else is. Hands rested in her lap, her shoulders tense, and her gaze forward, she stares at the little TV in front of us where reruns of Friends play. It’s kismet; we both like Friends.
Then again, who doesn’t like Friends?
Wanting her to loosen up, I say, “So, big Cory Potter fan, huh?”
“Yeah,” she mutters, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen.
Ohhh-kay.
Sometimes I can’t get this girl to stop talking, and other times it’s like I need a tire jack to crank her mouth open to force her to speak to me. Huh, that’s not such a bad idea. Now where can I find a tire jack? *Mentally taps chin*
Maybe I’ll take a different approach, one that I’m sure will strike a chord.
“Did you catch the Storm game the other night? Potter couldn’t hit a high fastball if it was soft tossed to him.”
Her head whips to mine as if I insulted her, not Potter. “He was having an off night.” Her defense is kind of comical. Yup, a true superfan. I wonder if she has a crush on him. He is the heartthrob of the Storm . . . so I’ve heard.
“It’s like every three games he has an off night. He’s good and then he completely bombs. I have no idea how he got such a baller contract when his play isn’t steady. It’s so up and down. Don’t you think?” I ask, laying out the bait.
I don’t necessarily agree with what I just said, but she turns toward me on the bed, a pinch to her brow and a fearsome fire simmering beneath. Yup, she’s a superfan all right.
“His play isn’t steady? Are you serious? He’s the second-best first baseman in the American league, only falling short to Trevor Alpine, who is a phenom with a glove in his hand. Cory leads his team in batting average, slugging percentage, RBIs, and he even has a few stolen bases despite his larger stature. He’s been a starter in the All-Star Game for the past three years, and is easily a fan favorite. He has a baller contract because he’s amazing on and off the field.”
Yup, the fire is raging.
“Not to mention,” she continues, barely getting a breath in, “he does so much outside of the stadium. He volunteers, helps run clinics for the youth—boys and girls because he’s a huge proponent for equal opportunity—and he constantly donates large sums of his paycheck to those in need. He’s what every baseball player should strive to be.”
A sly smile falls over my lips. “Looks like someone has a bit of a crush on Cory Potter.”
A look of disgust immediately crosses her face.
Did she just sneer and snort at the same time?
Okay, wasn’t expecting that. I’m secure enough in my manhood to admit when a guy is good-looking, and Cory Potter has an amazing jawline that catches all angles of the camera. I’ve never met a girl to have this look on their face when Potter is mentioned.
“I think you’re the first person to balk at the idea of crushing on Cory Potter. Is his impeccable jawline and manly muscles not your type?”
“He’s not my type because he’s my brother.”
Eh . . . what?
Did I just hear that right?
I blink a few times, realizing that my mouth is hanging open.
“Did you just say Cory Potter is your brother?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Wait . . . are you serious?” Everything she’s told me starts clicking in my head. “So . . . the Potter brothers who run the D1 facility, those are your brothers too?” She nods. “Holy shit,” I breathe out. Milly isn’t just incredibly intelligent when it comes to baseball. She comes from a baseball dynasty. The Potters are well-known in the baseball circuit and Illinois in general. All three brothers excelled at baseball, Rian and Sean opting to open a business when Cory went all the way. And I know why . . . because of the girl sitting next to me.
“So, before you go trashing Cory, I want you—”
“Mills, I was only kidding.” I place my hand on her leg and her eyes immediately fall to the connection. “I was trying to get a reaction out of you, loosen you up to talk to me. I saw you had Cory Potter things all over your room so I thought that was an easy target. Honestly, your brother is one of the guys I idolize.” I pause and think about it. “And that’s why you don’t tell people who he is, huh? Because he’s so loved.”
She picks at a piece of lint on the bed and nods. “Yeah, I don’t want fake people around me, you know? It’s why I never told you my last name, and it’s why I keep people at a distance.”
“Like me,” I say, taking the moment to grow serious with her. “You keep me at a far distance.”
“That’s not true.”
“Milly.” I give her a get real look. “It took me a whole lot of convincing you to hop into this bed. And there have been many times where you’ve just taken off without another word. Getting to know you hasn’t been easy.”
Her head turns to the side as she chews on her bottom lip. Hell, what I wouldn’t give to nibble on that lip, to take off those glasses, unleash her hair, and roll her onto the cushiness of her mattress and play around with her mouth, explore it in every way I’ve thought of since I’ve met her.
“Milly, look at me.”
Her beautifully confused eyes meet mine, and I swear my breath escapes me as I take in the vulnerability in her expression. She’s scared and nervous, but there are goose bumps prickling her skin, and in this moment, Friends playing in the background, I have a second of clarity. Of understanding.
Her talkative moments.
Her smiles and laughs.
Her goose bumps when I’m near.
Her stuttering when she’s nervous.
Her need to flee when I get too close.
Her hesitation . . .
Holy shit.