Chapter 9

CHAPTER

NINE

T he harsh buzz of my phone cut through my sleep, interrupting the dream I'd been having where Charlie and I were kissing on the pitcher's mound. There was also a lion there, which probably wasn't relevant. The kissing was definitely the best part.

It felt like I'd barely slept. We'd ended up staying out until almost midnight, despite me knowing it was a dumb move. I didn't regret it, but I still struggled to wake up enough to open my eyes and find my phone.

Who the hell was trying to reach me this early anyway?

"Lo?" I mumbled into my phone, at about the same moment as I noticed two important details. One was that Ethan wasn't in the room. The second was that it was light outside. Unless Ethan had been abducted by aliens in the middle of the night and that was their glowing spaceship outside, I suddenly knew this wasn't a phone call I was going to enjoy.

"Bro," Nash said. "Where the fuck are you? Coach is pissed !"

"Whatimesit?"

"It's like seven," Nash said. "I've called you three times!"

"Shit." I sat upright. "My alarm never went off!"

Except, I had vague memories of the alarm sounding, and Ethan bitching about it, just like he did every morning, and of me hitting the stop button with every intention of getting up and then just… not . It must have seemed like a good idea at the time. Or maybe I'd meant to hit snooze. Who knew? Past me was pretty light on sharing any details.

"Bro?"

"I'm on my way." I ended the call and scrambled out of bed, grabbing the closest pair of shorts and a shirt and pulling them on. I stopped in the bathroom for long enough to take a leak and splash some water on my face, shoving a baseball cap over my hair. Then I clattered downstairs, shoes still in one hand, and ran out the door.

There was a banana on the passenger seat of my truck, and I ate it one-handed as I drove to the gym. Usually, I jogged across campus and called that my warm-up, but today's warm-up consisted of sheer adrenaline. My heart was sure as hell racing, anyway.

"Don't think you can skip gym sessions ." Coach Larson's words from the first day of the semester echoed in my brain. "This isn't just a game now. This isn't just a sport. This is your goddamn job ."

When I got to Lassiter's baseball facility, I parked the truck and stopped to put my shoes on before I took a deep breath and headed for the side door. I'd been hoping to, I dunno, slip in unnoticed, but that turned out to be as unlikely a dream as the one about the lion.

In the gym, the few guys who hadn't already cleared out to the showers and the locker room were finishing up. One of the trainers gave me a stare, and I opened my mouth to apologize. He held up a hand and pointed to the other side of the gym. Lurking by the leg presses, and looking angry enough that he might pick one up and throw it, was Coach Larson.

"North," he barked. "With me."

Dean, who was on the treadmill, winced and almost fell off.

I followed Coach outside, and then down the corridor and up the stairs.

Coach Larson's office was full of framed photographs, trophies, and pennants. Most of them were from other universities. The baseball program at Lassiter wasn't new, but it wasn't until the last twenty years that the university had been putting any decent money toward it. Coach Larson was one of their most recent hires. He was expected to do great things at Lassiter, which would admittedly be difficult if none of us turned up at the gym.

Coach's desk chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. Then, folding his beefy arms across his chest, he said, in a growl, "What's the one thing I ask for, North?"

"Uh," I said. I was terrible at pop quizzes. "Commitment?"

"Commitment," he repeated. "And what do you think today's no-show tells me about your commitment to this squad?"

Whatever answer I gave was only going to be digging my own grave. "Um, that I don't have any?"

"I've been doing this job a while, North," Coach said. "Since before you were born. I've heard all the excuses in the world. So, which one was it? Your grandma's sick? Your dog died? You got your girlfriend preg—scratch that. And you know what I never get?"

I shook my head. "No, sir."

"The truth," he said. "‘Sorry, Coach Larson, but I got drunk with my buddies, and I've been riding the porcelain bus all night!'"

"That's... that's not what happened, Coach."

Coach leaned forward in his chair, peering at me before sitting back. "No, I don't think so either. You don't look hungover. It wasn't frat boy shit again, was it?"

It was, but not in the way he was thinking.

"No," I said. "I slept through my alarm, that's all. I was up late, um."

Don't say getting off. Don't say getting off.

"I was studying."

It was lame, but it was a whole lot better than telling him, "I slept through my alarm because I was out until midnight defiling the dugout with my not-boyfriend."

Coach grunted.

I squirmed in my chair and willed myself to stay quiet. I'd seen enough movies. I knew how this went. Coach would stare me down and say nothing, and I'd be so desperate to fill the silence the next thing that happened would be me sharing more than he ever wanted to know about new and exciting ways to ruin tzatziki.

The silence stretched between us until he said, "Jesus Christ. This might actually be the first time I've believed that one."

Holy shit! Really? I tried not to let my disbelief show on my face.

Coach glanced at his watch. "When's your first class?"

"Eleven, Coach. Statistics."

He stood and waved me out of my chair. "Tie your damn laces and then hit the gym."

"Yes, Coach."

"And North?" His glare could have set me on fire. "Don't be late again."

"No, Coach."

I wasn't going to mess up again, even though it would mean no more late nights. Charlie would get it though, right?

I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach as I crouched down to tie my laces.

Yeah, I sure hoped Charlie would get it.

There was no study group after training that evening because it was Wednesday. Nash said that he and Awa were meeting up in the library to go over some study questions, but what was the point of going if Charlie wasn't going to be there?

Uh, your grades , Tanner?

I wasn't sure if that internal voice belonged to me or Charlie .

And yes, my grades were important, but talking to Charlie was more important.

Charlie worked at Hole Foods, the donut place close to campus, on Wednesday evenings. I'd been there once in the first week of semester, but I stayed away ever since for the sake of my sanity and my diet. But here I was, pulling up outside the store because it turned out there was something— someone —inside even more tempting than salted caramel bear claws.

The store was busy when I arrived, so I waited in my truck. I watched as Charlie, wearing his violently pink shirt and matching hat, bagged donuts and took payment and moved around behind the counter with ease. He laughed and smiled, acting like there was no place he'd rather be. Those improv classes must have been awesome because there was no way most people would be able to fake that attitude on minimum wage.

Once the after-supper rush had died down, I waited until there were no other customers before hopping out of my truck. The bell over the door jangled merrily as I went inside, and Charlie lifted his head, his customer service smile fixed in place. When he saw it was me though, his face lit up with a real one, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Hey."

At the affection in his voice, my insides went all soft and melty, sort of like the drizzled frosting on the donuts in the glass cases lining the counter. "Hey."

He glanced over his shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

I shuffled my feet, and the soles of my sneakers squeaked on the shiny floor. "Um."

One day I'd open the dictionary to the word "um" and find my picture next to it.

Charlie gestured to the racks of donuts in the case on the counter. "Want a donut hole?"

Fuck yes, I wanted a donut hole. But in the last twenty-four hours I'd eaten junk food, missed practice, and had my dick sucked, and two of those three things needed to not happen again.

That last one could stay, though.

I shook my head. "I'd better not. I'm already in enough trouble with Coach. That's, uh, that's why I'm here."

Charlie's eyes went wide, and he leaned forward. "He didn't find jizz in the dugout, did he?"

I laughed despite myself. "Nothing like that."

Charlie's nose scrunched in confusion. "Then what?"

"I, uh. I missed training this morning. I slept through my alarm. And I can't risk it happening again. The weights session Coach put me through to make up for being late was brutal. " I rolled my shoulders reflexively, wincing at the dull ache. "So, um—" there I went again, the Merriam Webster poster boy for awkwardness— "I can't stay out late anymore."

I stared down at my shoes, feeling about six. "Sorry, my mom says we can't play until my homework's done."

Not that Mom had ever bothered to check my homework. She'd been too busy bailing Colt out of whatever hole he'd dug himself into. Even as a kid he'd been an asshole.

"Hey, Tan?" Charlie's voice was soft.

I looked up.

"I understand, okay? Baseball's your dream. And you can't let fooling around with some random guy get in the way of that." He gave me a smile that was a bit wobbly around the edges.

"No! You're not some random guy! You're Charlie !"

The bell above the door rang as it opened, and a woman and a kid moved up to the counter.

"Just..." Charlie bit his lip. "Just wait here, please?"

I stared at the floor while the kid had a minor meltdown over not being able to choose which donut he wanted. To be fair, they all looked pretty fucking amazing. He finally settled on something with sprinkles on top, and Charlie rang up the order, and the kid's mother paid. Then he moved down the counter to me again.

"This isn't about baseball," I said. "This is kind of a whole college experience. I'm on a baseball scholarship, so I can't afford to mess that up. Like, I've only been here a few weeks, and I'm already struggling in classes and fucking up my time management. And you're helping with the classes thing, but, uh..."

"But not the time management," he said softly.

"Yeah." I felt like shit for saying it. "I mean, it's all on me, not on you. Just... just, it's really hard to fit in everything I need to."

"And I'm the only thing you can shuffle," Charlie said.

My throat hurt, and my eyes felt hot. "Yeah."

Charlie smiled at me and reached across the counter. He put his hands on mine. "I get it, Tanner. Freshman year is a big adjustment. We'll figure something out, I mean, if you still want to, and?—"

"I do!" I blurted out. "I swear to God, I'm not trying to break up or nothing!"

He let out a breath. "Good. That's good."

"This would be so much easier if we could just date," I said, my stomach twisting. "Like, Briar and his boyfriend are both studying their asses off, but at least they can have lunch together."

For a second, I thought that Charlie was going to agree, but then he pulled his hands back. "We can't. I told you that."

"No, I get it. I'm a Kappa-let."

Charlie's mouth twitched. "Something like that."

The bell over the door rang, and Charlie stiffened. "So I'll text you about tutoring," he said and turned and walked away.

What the hell?

"Hey, Tanner." Ethan flashed me a grin as he joined me at the counter.

"Oh, hey," I said.

He held out his hand for a fist bump, so I gave him one.

"You getting donuts? Fuck the sports diet, right?'"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm just grabbing, um"—I scanned the counter— "a water?"

The words were barely out of my mouth before Charlie was there in front of me, holding out a bottle. He was wearing his customer service smile, but it was brittle around the edges.

"Oh," I said. "Um. Okay. I'll see you around." I shoved a bill at Charlie and turned away before he could offer me change.

"See ya, bro," Ethan said, and slapped me heartily on the back. I clutched my water—I hadn't even wanted water—and headed unsteadily for the doors, just in time to hear Ethan say, "So, what's good here?" before I stepped out onto the street.

The traffic noise outside drowned out Charlie's response, and then the door swung slowly shut behind me.

Had that gone well?

I didn't know if that had gone well or not.

Like, all I was sure about was that I'd just paid five dollars for a bottled water, which wasn't really relevant.

Charlie had said he'd text me though. So that was something, right?

When I got back to campus and parked outside Kappa Beta Rho, my phone buzzed with a text. I'd assumed it would be from Charlie, but it was from Nash instead.

Hey, Awa had to bail. Want to come watch Romeo + Juliet with me?

I checked the time. It was early enough that I could watch a movie and catch up on my missed sleep from the last two nights. And it totally counted as study, right?

Are you just watching so you can fanboy over Romeo?

Eh. Not really my type. I have plain popcorn and trail mix for snacks.

And I had a bottle of water.

Wild times all round.

I left my truck where I'd parked and backtracked on foot down Fraternity Row to Gamma Kappa. Gamma Kappa were our closest neighbors, both in proximity and in general vibes. Like us, they weren't one of those fraternities all focused on academics and community service. Like, okay, we both said we were... but we weren't. We bought the candy the other fraternities sold when they had charity drives, and that was about it.

Gamma Kappa was a big old house, the same as all the others on Fraternity Row. There were beer cans kicked into the bushes that lined the path that led to the front porch and a couple of giant drums with "recycling" scrawled on the side in Sharpie, filled with more cans. There was a porch swing out the front with a life-sized cutout of The Bride from Kill Bill folded into it so it looked like she was sitting there. A string of paper black cats and cauldrons hung in limp tatters from the porch railing, and a deflated blow-up ghost stared blankly at me from beside the steps, a reminder of the Halloween party that the Gammas had held the previous week.

The front door was open, so I walked right in.

Nash's room was on the second floor, right next to the stairs and right across from the bathroom. He'd told me once that he needed earplugs to sleep because otherwise he'd be awake all night listening to guys trample up and down the stairs and the old plumbing rattling every time someone flushed the toilet. Apart from its location, his room was pretty nice. It was bigger than the one I shared with Ethan, with a weirdly shaped alcove at one end that probably had something to do with the stairs on the other side of the wall. Nash and his roommate had thrown a couple beanbags in there and set up a tiny gaming den.

When I got there, Nash was sprawled in a beanbag looking suspiciously damp-eyed as he watched a TikTok about a duck getting a prosthetic leg fitted.

"Hey," he said and cleared his throat. "So, let's watch this thing. I'm hoping it'll make more sense when I listen to it, instead of just staring at the words."

"Same," I said, and squished my ass down into the bean bag next to his. He started the movie. It was very loud and also very bright and nothing much like how I'd imagined Romeo and Juliet looking. I guess that plus sign in the title of the movie version made all the difference.

"What do you mean he's not your type?" I asked Nash as depressed fuckboy Romeo stared soulfully out to sea from the ruined theater thing. "The nineties was peak Leo, man."

"Eh." Nash shrugged, and the beans in his beanbag rustled. "College boys don't do it for me."

"Says the college boy."

He shrugged again. "That's like saying you're automatically interested in ball players because you're a ball player. But you haven't asked me out yet."

I froze. Oh shit, was that what this was? Did Nash think we were on a date?

But then he grinned at me and said, "It's cool. You're not my type either."

"What is your type then?" I asked.

Nash let out a long breath. "Just... I dunno. Someone who knows what he's doing, I guess."

Well, yeah, Nash definitely didn't think we were on a date then because there was no way in hell that I knew what I was doing. About most things, probably, but especially about dating. Not that me and Charlie were even dating. Charlie had made it pretty clear he didn't want to be my boyfriend, so what were we doing exactly? Were we friends with benefits, except secret friends with benefits? Was that even a thing? I had no clue, except I wanted to keep doing it.

We ate sad plain popcorn while we watched Romeo make terrible decisions and Juliet go along for the ride. Was that a valid interpretation? I wondered what Charlie would say.

I sent him a text.

Is Romeo dumber than Juliet?

I think that Juliet is smarter, but they're both very impulsive.

Maybe it didn't matter who was smarter. The point wasn't that they were stupid, it was that feuds were stupid.

"Hey, do the Gamma Kappas have like a rival fraternity?"

Nash tossed some popcorn in his mouth. "Nope. That's dumb."

It was dumb. That whole fraternity war thing was pointless. Charlie was a smart guy, so why did he treat it like it mattered? It wasn't like I was going to murder Marty and then get banished, only to mistake Charlie's faked death for his actual death, then kill myself, right? Only to have Charlie wake up, realize what I'd done, then kill himself for real.

Spoiler alert.

I mean, yeah, I was Romeo in this situation because he was definitely the stupider one, but neither of us were that stupid.

I exchanged a couple more texts with Charlie, wishing I was watching this movie with him and not Nash.

"They're such dumbasses," I said, when Clare Danes was sobbing in her coffin. I tried to pretend I wasn't feeling it, but I had to look at a corner of the screen instead of her face.

"Uh huh." Nash sounded a little stuffy, like he was seeing another duck getting a prosthetic leg. "Just so dumb."

Charlie sent me another text:

Why all the Romeo and Juliet questions tonight?

Me and Nash are watching it.

A little row of dots told me he was busy typing. They went on for a while, but all I got in the end was:

Cool.

On the television, a shot rang out, and I pretended not to flinch.

"Huh," Nash said and then cleared his throat. "That was..." He cleared his throat again. "Who are you texting?"

"My brother," I said, because that was the first thing that came to my mind. Luckily Nash didn't know that Colt would have to be on fire before I texted him. And then I'd probably only send him a laughing face emoji.

Nash turned the television off and stretched, the beans in the beanbag rustling and squeaking. "Hey, do you wanna go out back and throw a ball around? I really miss just throwing a fucking ball."

I got that. Baseball at college level was serious business, sure—my aching muscles reminded me of that daily—but playing was also meant to be fun. Otherwise, why even bother?

I checked the time. It was still early enough that we'd get plenty of sleep before tomorrow.

"Yeah," I said. "Let's do it."

And, like a pair of little kids, we headed out back to play.