Jock Row
Page 57“And…that’s it. I’m telling you this because if I can convince her to come back to school, I’ll bringing her by tonight. I don’t want to be fucking embarrassed, and I don’t expect her to be hassled.”
“No man, of course not.”
“Not by Ben, not by Derek—not by anybody.”
Eager to please, he nods emphatically. “Got it.”
I give him a sidelong glance. “You know you guys aren’t supposed to be having any more parties, right?”
“Yeah—this one was Tag’s fucking idea.”
“Well if you get us in trouble, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
“I know, Rowdy, we’ve already had this conversation.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
“We’re clear. And they got clearance from Coach.”
Well shit, if Coach knows about the party…
I relax my shoulders, sinking farther into the couch.
The front door opens and the team’s catcher, Dante Amado, walks through with a girl on his arm. Dark hair and even darker eyes, she trails behind him, holding his hand.
I recognize that look; it’s the same one I’ve seen on Scarlett a dozen times: uncertainty, hesitation, dread.
I don’t blame her—she’s walking into a den of wolves, but if she’s with Amado, she’s probably not a groupie, and he’ll look out for her.
As they pause in the entry to the living room, Sheffield gives them both a short wave.
“Hi.”
Dante jerks his head to the side. “Guys, you remember Amelia.”
We’re both openly staring—it’s hard not to. Dante has never brought a girl around, not while I was living here, and I would have heard about it if he had recently—our goddamn friends are nosey as hell. Curious as a group of unruly toddlers.
Sheffield sprawls in the center of the couch, remote control in his hands, pausing the game. Looks the girl over from head to toe then back up again, wrinkling his forehead.
“I thought you said her name was Lucy.”
They make a really good-looking couple.
“Shit, sorry.”
Dante’s arms slides around his date’s waist. “Anyway, we’ll be in my room. Don’t bother us.”
We watch the pair walk out of the room, and I unlock my phone.
Scarlett: What will I tell my boss?
Me: I forgot you have to work; I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m just being selfish.
Scarlett: There you go again, using semicolons in your text messages. You know I can’t resist good grammer. Gramar? Grammar? CRAP, HOW IS IT SPELLED?
Me: No one knows!!!!
Scarlett: lol. So—a party tonight, huh? And you want me there?
Me: It’s not a big deal, babe—not if you need to work.
Scarlett: You’re okay going alone?
Me: Me? Yeah. I mean, I miss you, but what’s a few more nights of jerking off in my cold, dark bedroom? It has a lock and all the porn I need.
Scarlett: Same.
Me: I hope you’re thinking of me when you diddle yourself.
Scarlett: Please don’t ever says diddle again. It just made me die inside.
Me: lol, sorry.
Scarlett: You really want to come stay with me this week? I have tampons in my bathroom, and I’d have to empty all the psycho meds out of my medicine cabinet.
Me: Trust me, I looked in your medicine cabinet the first time I came over. I had to see what level of crazy I was dealing with.
Scarlett: I don’t even want to know…
Me: You really don’t.
Me: Does this mean you’re coming back?
Scarlett: On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad do you miss me?
Me: Elevnty.
Scarlett: Well then, what other choice do I have?
***
“You know what? Instead of this party, how about we go on an actual date? Like to dinner, or…I don’t know, to the movies.” She’s trying to change the subject, trying to change my mind about the party.
I take a left at the stop sign, turning onto Jock Row.
“I want my friends to get to know you—once you’re in, Scar, you’re in. They’ll look out for you the way they look out for me. Don’t be scared, babe—they’re going to love you.”
She scoffs, staring out the window. “Stop, they will not.”
“You’re right—I’m probably going to spend the entire night pissed off, because chances are, they’re going to try to bang you.”
I pull up to the baseball house, park my truck in the driveway. It’s cold—frigidly so—but Scarlett wore a black, off-the-shoulder top, so different from any outfit I’ve ever seen her in, I’m wondering if anyone will even recognize her tonight.
“Are you sure they’re not going to be…you know…” She waves a dainty hand in the air, unable to finish her sentence. Not wanting to be rude.
“Dicks?” I pull her in close. “I’m the fucking captain of this baseball team,” I remind her. “I say whether or not they get to act like pricks.”
A few of them will probably act like pricks, guaranteed.
They’re jocks—it’s in their friggin’ DNA.
We’re walking toward the house, hands clasped together, and I have to slow my pace so Scarlett can walk in her heels. They’re tall wedges, so she’s a good four inches taller now—easier to kiss on the mouth—and her eyes are rimmed in dark liner. Lashes a million miles long, covered in black mascara.
Long hair down, big silver hoops flirting with the skin on her neck.
How the fuck did I get so damn lucky?
Seriously.
And before I start spouting off about fate and all that other lovey-dovey bullshit, I reach for her hand, help her climb the stairs of the porch, steam from our collective breaths fogging up the night air.
Her mouth twists as she looks around. “We had some really good times out here on this porch. It’s like our spot.”
“I’ll buy this house some day, rip the porch off, and bring it with us when we have our own place.” Our house. Our porch. Enough kids for a little league team.
Her eyes get wide at my mention of our future.
Shit. Too soon?
I want to eat her up, starting with her pretty petite fingers; she has her nails painted bright blue. Then I want to kiss the tip of her pert nose—it gets more pink the longer we stand out here, stalling.
I wiggle my fingers in her direction. “Stick your gloves in my pocket and take my hand.”
She hesitates, slowly sliding off her black mittens one at a time and handing them to me. I shove them in the back pocket of my jeans and reach down to take her hand, lacing our fingers.
We both shiver.
“I’ve got you—I won’t leave your side.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes. “What exactly do you think is going to happen?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to wander off and steal shit from the fridge.”
“I did not steal from the fridge!” She huffs. “It was unlocked.”
So damn gorgeous, even in a snit.
I twist my torso, leaning down, planting a firm kiss in the middle of her pursed mouth.
“Let’s go.”
Scarlett
From the moment we step into the house, Rowdy is greeted like a celebrity. People shout his name, and it’s loud and distracting and obnoxious, if I’m being honest. I know none of the people approaching him, smacking him on the back like the lost messiah that’s finally come home. Girls touching him even though he’s holding steady to my hand.
To be fair, guys are touching him too—but it’s not the same thing.
He squeezes my hand before letting go, slides it around the curve of my waist, wrapping his arm around me. Pulls me in close. Tucks his massive palm into the back pocket of my jeans like a bad advertisement for an eighties rom-com.