8. Baylor

CHAPTER EIGHT

BAYLOR

“Is this really necessary?”

Marcus shot me a dubious glare. “Austin’s team just won, largely due to his arm and talent, and this is where his team chose to celebrate.”

“Yeah, his team, not yours, and not mine. I threw their coach out of the game.”

“Yeah, we should probably get our own table,” he smirked.

Talk about awkward, and that was before we walked in. Every head turned to us. Well, to me. These guys were not my biggest fans tonight.

One set of eyes fell heavier than the rest. Deep blue eyes, the color of the ocean. I couldn’t shake them. Casey watched me constantly, as if he were personally offended by my presence, that I dared enter his elite sphere.

He could kiss my fucking a?—

“Do you know what you’re ordering?”

“Just get me a burger, fries, and a soda. I’m gonna hit the bathroom.”

Anything to avoid the oppressive weight of his stare. I stood at the sink, cold water rinsing the soap from my fingers, when the door opened and slammed shut. It wasn’t until I heard a distinct click of the lock that I looked up.

“Did you come to rain on my parade? It wasn’t enough to throw me out of the game? You had to ruin my team’s celebration as well?”

Casey’s glare was hot enough to burn a hole through the back of my head.

I met his hostile eyes in the mirror. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for Marcus, who’s here for Austin. Not everything is about you, Collins.”

“When it comes to you, I’m starting to think it’s always about me.” He slowly closed the distance between us, coming closer with each step.

I turned to face him, bracing for a fight. “It’s not personal. I call them like I see them.”

“You couldn’t call a fucking taxi,” he burned angrily.

Completely lacking self-preservation, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was actually funny. He looked so pissed off and grumpy and… so Casey . “Lighten up, Collins. I would have to care for it to be personal, and I couldn’t care less about you.”

Total fucking lie.

The toes of his cleats bumped against mine as he got right up in my face. God, he was so close, close enough to kiss. “You are undoubtedly the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

Just before he stormed out of the bathroom, making a dramatic exit, I said happily, “Call me!”

Casey let the bathroom door slam shut. I breathed a heavy sigh and returned to the mirror, studying my reflection.

Why did I care so much what the man thought of me?

My food was growing cold by the time I rejoined Marcus. The boys at the table across the way were growing rowdy, focused on each other instead of me, except Casey . He continued to stare. I was beginning to feel as grumpy and petulant as he’d acted. Why was he so fixated on me? Casey was intent on making me as miserable as he was. I slumped in my chair and returned his glare as he slurped from his straw, his eyes burning me alive with contempt.

Yeah, fuck him. I could angry-eat as well!

Grabbing a long fry from my plate, I popped it between my lips and snapped off small bites as I stared back, pretending it was his…

“Did those fries piss you off?” Marcus joked, trying to lighten my mood.

“Too salty,” I lied. Casey jabbed his straw into his mostly empty glass, stabbing cubes of ice like they were my head. I picked up the pickle spear beside my burger and licked a stripe down its length, relishing the sour tang. Casey knocked over his glass, apologizing profusely to his assistant coach seated beside him. I laughed too loudly, drawing Marcus’s attention.

He followed my line of sight to Casey. “If you’re finished face-fucking that pickle, we can take this to go.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I agreed. I needed to get out of there before I embarrassed myself like he had.

My new home, an apartment on the fourth floor of a newer mid-rise building, was decorated in shades of beige and cream with warmer accents on the bedding and drapes, but it still lacked the warmth and personality of Marcus and Austin’s home. Maybe that was why I preferred to spend more time there than here. They also had better food—home-cooked and healthy. After a hot shower, I crawled into bed and turned on Sports Center for background noise. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and started to scroll through social media.

It was the red and gray that first caught my eye—the Muskrats’ team colors. I recognized Austin and a few of his teammates being interviewed in the locker room. Muting the TV, I turned up my phone’s volume to listen.

“Austin Healey, star pitcher for the Muskrats. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

He grinned charmingly. “Chocolate with peanut butter,” he answered easily.

“Nice. Jairo Garcia, what position do you play?”

“Shortstop. ”

“What are you majoring in?” the reporter asked.

“Business management.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Do you know that red one with the bubblegum flavors in it? I think they call it superhero,” he laughed.

I started to fast forward through the interview, not really caring what kind of ice cream they were into until a familiar face caught my attention and made me stop scrolling. That rugged-cut face, clean-shaven, and the bluest eyes. A face I couldn’t get off my mind, no matter how much I tried.

Well, well, well, what do we have here?

“Coach, you’re an alumnus of this school, aren’t you?”

“I sure am. Go Muskrats.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Rum raisin.”

“Thanks, Coach. Good luck tonight.”

Rum Raisin, good to know.

I saved the account to my favorites list. Hopefully, there will be more videos to come. Switching off the TV, I laid my phone down and turned on my side, pulling the covers up to my neck. As I drifted off to sleep, thoughts of food filled my dreams. Ripe blueberries the color of his eyes, pale peaches that reminded me of his juicy lips, plump, sweet raisins, and smooth ice cream flavored with vanilla and rum.

Casey Collins was a delicious snack that I wanted to feast on, like an endless buffet.

Just before I got to the good part, the part where the flavors burst over my tongue, creating an overwhelming rush of pleasure throughout my body akin to orgasm, my phone beeped with an incoming message. I startled, shaking awake, and grabbed for it.

Caller Unknown:

I didn’t realize you had such a hard-on for pickles. Your attitude makes me think you have one shoved up your ass, since, you know, they’re sour, like you.

Who in the fuck would send me a message like that? I don’t have a hard-on for pickles, nor do I have one shoved up my ass! Why would…

Casey?

It had to be him. Had to be. Nobody else hated me enough to harass me by text past midnight. Actually, I was sure that wasn’t true. Plenty of people hated me enough to do that, but they probably didn’t have my number. How did he?

Collins? How did you get my number?

Unknown Caller:

Does this mean you’re not denying you have a pickle up your ass?

Fucking jackass.

We’re putting a pin in that for now. Who is this? How did you get my number?

Unknown Caller:

I should make you sweat a little longer. How many people do you discuss shoving things up your ass with? Christ! I’m not even a little bit surprised. You gave me your number. Don’t you remember? You really are senile, just like I told you on the field.

When in the hell did I give him my number? Besides, when we met.

You saved my number all this time and never used it?

If only he had called me weeks ago, we could have saved ourselves all this bullshit!

Unknown Caller:

I might have just come across it.

Accidentally.

Bullshit! More like I’d finally pissed him off enough to use it.

What you’re saying and not saying reveals so much.

Unknown Caller:

I don’t sit around thinking of you!

It’s past midnight, so you obviously do. It’s OK, I get it. I’m hard to forget.

Unknown Caller:

What you are is a fucking jackass. You certainly looked like one at the diner tonight.

Sounds like you couldn’t take your eyes off me.

Unknown Caller:

That’s funny, because you were staring at me every time I checked.

So you admit you were looking!

Unknown Caller:

This conversation is ridiculous and going nowhere, much like your career.

I saved his number under Colin, the name he gave me when we first met. Then I gathered my courage and hit the call button.

It rang three times before disconnecting. Another text popped up.

Colin:

I’m not answering, so don’t bother calling back! Good night.

Until next time…

He was seething; I just knew it. Deep down in my soul, I was positive I’d pissed him off good and well. He deserved nothing less. I hoped he stayed awake all night thinking of me. I hoped he typed out ten different texts that he didn’t have the balls to send. Tomorrow morning, I hoped he regretted everything he said and spent the entire day second-guessing himself.