Switch Hitter

Whatever.

It hardly matters; my life is mapped out for me, and there’s no getting off the path I’m already treading on.

“So where would you want to live?” Lucy prods again, still wanting an answer. “If you could choose.”

“I don’t know. I’m never thought about it.”

“Well I have—I love the Midwest. I love the change of seasons. I’ve always wanted to live where I could ski in the winter and enjoy the sun in the summer, you know?”

“You love the Midwest? Are you nuts?” I hate everything about it—the rain, the hot, muggy summers. The cold—every damn winter I come close to freezing my balls off.

“You just said you wanted to move to Colorado to play for the Rockies!”

I laugh. “For work!”

Lucy shrugs. “No take-backs.”

The server chooses that moment to appear with our appetizer salads: two plates of fussy lettuce, one tomato, and two cucumbers each. Rabbit food. Irritated at the small portion, I poke at the plate with the tines of my fork.

A soft chuckle has my ears twitching.

“¿Qué es tan gracioso?” What’s so funny? I want to know.

Another laugh. “You. You’re pouting because the salad is so small.”

“So?” I grunt, stabbing some lettuce with my fork and shoving it in my gullet—and just like that, half of it is gone.

“Are you mad because there’s nothing on the plate?”

My answer is a scoff.

“How about I give you whatever I don’t finish?”

This perks me up considerably. “Are you planning on not finishing the salad?”

“No, but I figured the offer would cheer you up.”

It does.

I’m starving, ravenous, and her offer to let me finish her plate? Fucking adorable.

“Hey Lucy?”

“Hmm?”

“Know what I’m going to do?”

“What?”

“I’m going to date the shit out of you.”

Chapter Seven

Amelia

I’m going to date the shit out of you.

That is not good, and now my pits are sweating.

Dante isn’t just eyeballing my salad like he hasn’t eaten in days; he’s staring at me the same way, like he’s trying to figure out what’s different about me all at the same time.

Lucy and I are night and day.

Most people still can’t tell the difference, including our parents, so Dante’s intensity is throwing me off like a curveball. It’s unexpected in the best possible way.

No one has ever been able to tell us apart.

Dash is the opposite of everything I was expecting.

It’s making me…

Jealous.

I’m jealous of my sister.

I knew he’d be handsome, but I didn’t realize he’d be serious, or intuitive. He’s direct and open, and the longer we sit here, the chattier he’s becoming.

I like it.

I like him.

I’m attracted to him, too, which is terrible, because Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.

Because I’m here to break up with him, not charm him into another date. Jesus, I’m so bad at this.

When the server brings our entrées, I feel Dante watching me, tracking the movements when I lift my knife. Cut a small piece of steak. Pop it in my mouth and chew.

I’m afraid to look him in the eye, so I stare at the wall behind him. The curtains. The older couple at the table behind us.

Cut another piece, take another bite.

It’s hard work ignoring him.

He’s big and intimidating and sexy.

His gray shirtsleeves are pushed up to his elbows, muscular forearms flexing when he cuts the meat on his plate.

“So what else do you do when you’re not studying fashion?” he enquires. “What do you do for fun?”

I try to channel my sister; these answers are easy. “I like listening to music.”

Oh God, that sounded so lame.

“Listening to music in your free time? What do you do, lie on the bed and stare up at the ceiling?”

A laugh escapes my lips. “Something like that. Um, let me think, what else do I like to do…”

Lucy likes: traveling. Shopping. Getting her nails done. Going for coffee with her sorority sisters.

It sounds so shallow, I’m embarrassed to let the words pass my lips. Shopping and nails and coffee? Ugh.

“I love the stars, and I do a lot of hiking.”

Lucy is going to kill me.

First I slip and start speaking Spanish, and now I’ve gone and told him I love astronomy. Lucy hates it outside, hates the wind and cold weather and snow.

If Dante takes her into the woods, she will throw a conniption fit.

“You know that set of bluffs you can hike to? The one past Coleman Hall?” There’s a road you can take that winds around a huge hill, up and up; once you reach a certain point, you can park your car and climb the rest of the way up to a scenic point that overlooks the entire city. “I like going up there when it’s overcast.”

Panoramic views so far, you can see into the next state.

“Hiking?”

I avoid his intense gaze by pushing a mushroom into the steak sauce on my plate then popping it into my mouth.

“Yes. I, uh, went out west for spring break last year to Idaho and hiked a bunch of trails. Really anywhere with a view.” I love it that much.

“I was in Montana for spring break.”

“Doing what?”

“Snowboarding.” He pauses. “Do you…” His voice trails off in a question.

“I ski.” Lucy and I both do, something our parents insisted we learn. It’s something I love, but my twin would rather parade around the chalet in cute ski clothes, flirting with the ski patrol and instructors that periodically come through.

“Why does that surprise me?” he asks, sitting back to study me.

“I don’t know. Why does it?”

He quirks a heavy brow. “You seem more like the chalet kind of girl.”

Ding ding ding! He certainly has my twin pegged better than most.

“You really shouldn’t judge me by my appearance, and I’ll try to do the same.”

“You haven’t judged me by mine?”

I give my head a little shake. “Honestly? Yes. I might have, just a little bit?” I hold out my thumb and pointer finger to illustrate the teeny tiny bit I judged him.

Physical appearances are the way Lucy chooses all her boyfriends. She spends hours on her hair and makeup to go out on the weekends, spends free time at the mall when she’s not in class.

“Is that so?”

“Just a little.” Change the subject. “Besides baseball, what is it you do for fun? What are your hobbies?”

“I work out a lot.”

I crinkle my nose. “That’s your hobby? Working out?”

He narrows his dark eyes. “Sí.”

“Anything else? Do you like to read, or watch movies, or, I don’t know…” I think for a moment. “Go to the county fair in the summer?”

His expression is as blank as his tone. “The county fair.”

“Rides, games, cotton candy…”

“As a matter of fact”—the corner of his mouth curls—“I did go to the state fair this summer.”

“Same. I’m freakishly good at the ring toss.”

This information must surprise him because he laughs. “What else are you good at?”

He’s purposely laying down the groundwork for an innuendo, but I ignore it. Best not to go down that path.

“Darts,” I deadpan.

“Darts?”

“Yeah, like in a smoky bar. The more beer I’ve had, the better I am.”

“I would pay to see that.”

“It’s a sight. It’s like”—I wave around a fork with a chunk of steak on it—“my stupid human trick.”

“Wanna show me? I’ll take you to Mad Dog Jacks and we’ll play darts.”

Mad Dog Jacks used to be a biker bar, but for whatever reason, the college kids in town have decided it’s the perfect hangout on the weekends. Part dive, part…well, the place is a complete shithole no matter which way you look at it.