Chapter 10

The melodic sound of her laughter filled the bus for the majority of our ride. And dumbass Billings is the cause of her happiness. I hate it. Anger has been coursing through my bloodstream, and my gaze has been shooting him daggers in the back of his head this entire ride.

My mind is supposed to be getting focused on the games ahead, but instead, it's been focusing on the soft melody of her voice. Thank god she finally fell asleep half an hour ago, but not before she had to get up and walk down the aisle to the on-board bathroom. The smell of lilies, sandalwood, and wildflowers evaded my senses. The smell is contagious. It's addicting. It brings me back to hot summer days, lounging under a shade tree next to the lake, and fresh gelato.

Fuck me.

"Bro." Hudson nudges my shoulder, breaking me from my stare down with the back of Billings's head. "You're going to bore a hole in the back of his head."

"Why is she here?" I grumble under my breath.

"Is this going to be a problem? Because if it's going to be a problem, then I'm going to Weber to get her off this bus. We don't need a distraction in the dugout this season."

There's a small part of me that wants him to go to Coach. To alleviate the problem. But I couldn't do that to her. I've done enough to her.

The bus driver hits a pothole as he turns down a tight road causing everyone to grumble at the jerky motion. After a few more turns, he guides us through the overhang of the hotel we'll be calling home for the next two nights. Once we're parked, all the guys stand in our seats and stretch out our stiff muscles.

Today was a travel day which means no game, but we'll still head to the field for a short practice. Coach will have us go through some light drills, stretching, batting practice, and I'll do some throwing to make sure my arm is ready for the game.

I'm ready to hit the field. To feel the dirt under my cleats. To feel the way the laces graze against my calloused hands. To focus on nothing but my catcher's glove in front of me. For nine innings, I can completely shut the world out and focus on pitch after pitch.

No thoughts of my dad.

No thoughts of my future.

No thoughts of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who smells like wildflowers.

Reaching for my backpack, I sling it over my shoulder as I follow Hudson down the aisle. I will myself not to seek out Chloe, but apparently I'm weak when it comes to her. My eyes cast down, and that's when I see her head resting on Billings's shoulder, the two of them looking awfully comfortable together. My hands fist at my side as I grind down on my molars, and I swear I can hear one of them crack. I feel my eyes narrow into slits as I glare down at my roommate, teammate, and friend, and if looks could kill, there'd be a heap of dirt where Billings sat.

Get a fucking grip.

This isn't me. I'm not the jealous type. Hell, I don't even want a girlfriend. Baseball is my only love, but I can't explain this feeling. Why am I feeling so possessive over her?

Stepping off the bus, I head straight for the hotel lobby to get my room assignment. The equipment team will make sure that all of our bags get distributed to the correct rooms. Our room assignments are always the same—selected based on alphabetical order by last name. Which means Hud and I are always placed together. We both have our quirks and pregame rituals that we both respect.

For this trip, we are staying at an above-average hotel. The lobby is bright and welcoming. There is a sea of people wearing powder blue and red—a mixture of the team and fans starting to trickle in.

That's one thing I love about playing for Central Texas, we always run into fans no matter where we play.

Two dark wood reception counters contrast against the bright white ceiling and bright orange and black walls. Past the reception area is a common area with small leather couches and chairs. A few TVs are scattered throughout the space. Next to the seating area is the hotel restaurant with a coffee area, bar, and dining tables.

Making my way through the crowd, heads start to whip in my direction. I wouldn't say I am the most popular player on the team, but as far as pitchers go, I'm pretty well-known. Which means I'm recognized pretty often. Today I'm not in the mood to deal with fans and cleat chasers, though. Unfortunately, I spotted the group of girls in their cutoff denim shorts and their skin-tight CTU tees which means my chances of slipping by the crowd are slim to none.

But just as I'm about to jump in line to get my key card, I hear my name called in a familiar voice. Turning, I spot Hudson over the crowd. He gives me a head nod as he holds up a white envelope.

Our key cards. Thank fuck.

Bypassing everyone, I sneak off to the elevators.

"This is getting insane," I grumble to Hudson. The elevator chimes, and the door slides open. The two of us step inside. Hudson hits the ‘five' and the ‘door close' button at the same time. Neither one of us wants to be stuck in the elevator with cleat chasers, not before the game at least.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket as we step out onto our floor. But I ignore it. I have an inkling that it's my dad, and he's the last person I want to talk to right now. He'll keep calling, and I'll deal with it later. Right now, I just want to get settled in our room until practice.

I need time to get a sleeping blonde out of my head.

And get rid of the green monster who wishes it was my shoulder she was leaning on.

This evening's practice was about two hours. Enough time for us to review our game plan for tomorrow. Louisiana State is a big team to play against this early in the season. This means we need to come out with our bats swinging, and I need to be ready to throw strikes.

Hudson hits the shower first while I order food for us. Technically, we are supposed to be on a strict diet, but we've managed to talk Coach into letting us have our pregame dinner of pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom pizza with a salad—of course—per Coach's instruction. During our time together playing summer ball before our freshman year, Hud and I started eating this before games, and it's become a ritual. The one time we didn't get pizza we both had the shittiest games of our careers. Since that game, Coach has made an exception for us.

What can I say? Baseball players are a superstitious bunch, and we each have our weird rituals we do before games.

Twenty minutes later, I'm freshly showered and answering the door to the pizza delivery guy. Hudson set up his Xbox on the hotel TV, and the two of us are about to bash on some pizza while killing zombies.

The warm pizza smells amazing and immediately my mouth is watering. Grabbing a slice, I plop down on my bed where my controller waits for me.

"Did you order two pizzas?" Hud asks, lifting the lid and pulling out a slice.

"Nope, must've been a mistake."

"Wanna see who's next door? Maybe they want it."

Jumping up from my spot, I head over to the door of the adjoining room. Rapping my knuckles gently on the wood, I wait for one of the guys to answer. After a minute without an answer, I knock louder.

Within a couple of seconds, I hear the lock flip, and the door swings open. And I'm struck speechless with my jaw on the floor.

Chloe stands across from me toweling her wet hair. Her face is wild and crazed, frustration laces her flawless, makeup-free face.

God, she's perfect.

I don't miss how her eyes travel over my body taking in my near-naked body as I stand before her. I watch her breath hitch as she realizes I'm not wearing much clothing, just a pair of loose boxers. If I'm not careful, I'll be sporting a boner that will really make our situation that much more uncomfortable.

I can't help my eyes from roaming over her, taking in the white tank top with tiny flowers scattered across the material. Down to her exposed petite, yet athletic, legs. And her shorts are barely covering her perfectly round ass.

Bringing my eyes up, I can't help but notice her nipples are pebbled, and fighting this boner is getting harder and harder.

Stop thinking about things getting harder.

Her voice clears, and my attention snaps to her stoic face. "If you're done ogling me, can you tell me what you needed so badly?"

Hudson chuckles from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, taking a bite of pizza, enjoying the awkward show in front of us.

"I thought you were one of the guys."

"Clearly, not." She snarls. "Coach said he assigns rooms in alphabetical order, and lucky me, I get a room to myself that will always be next to yours."

I quirk a brow, and her eyes roll. I'd love to give her a better reason to have her rolling her eyes.

"Jacobs. Larsen. Mariano. You really should pay more attention in classes, Jacobs."

"So we're on a last name basis?"

She doesn't answer, just stares me down, and I want to melt under her stare. Chloe isn't going to make this easy on anyone.

"We aren't friends, remember?" Chloe folds her arms across her chest, and I can't help but follow her movement.

"Well, I was going to offer you the extra pizza that was delivered with ours and to see if you wanted to hang out, but if we aren't friends, fucking forget it."

She scoffs and shakes her head as she goes to close the door in my face.

"Chloe, wait," Hudson interjects. I'm going to kill him. "Take the pizza."

She smiles at him, and it's a real, genuine smile. The kind I never get and desperately crave. "Thanks, but I already ate."

He gives her a warm smile and understanding nod; she returns the gesture with a tight-lipped smile before shutting the door in my face.

"Do you always have to be such a dick to her?"

"Fuck off," I grumble and return to my spot. "Listen, I've made a mess out of things with Chloe, and I don't know how to fix it. So it's best that we just steer clear of each other."

"Have you tried talking to her?"

Taking a large bite, I chew the pizza as I think of how I could possibly explain what happened with her without it sounding like an excuse. It's been so long that, at this point, she has no reason to ever listen to what comes out of my mouth.

"I almost kissed her."

He chokes on the water he's drinking. Coughing, he tries to work the water free. "When?"

"During the ice storm."

"That's terrible timing. Did y'all talk, or did you just try to take advantage of the situation?"

"There was no taking advantage. It was just a moment we both had, and I thought it was okay."

"Clearly, you were wrong." I glare at him before he continues. "Dude, you're so fucked."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious." Before he has a chance to say anything else, I hit the play button for the game.

He's right. I'm so fucked. In more ways than one. I swear I can still smell her wildflower scent.

Later that night, I'm tossing and turning waiting for sleep to take me under. After our pizza and a few games of Call of Duty, I finally decided to answer my dad's call.

I knew I shouldn't have. I knew I should have just let it go to voicemail so I could just delete the message instead of trying to answer it. But clearly, I'm a glutton for punishment and need the punishment that his calls bring.

Hell, maybe that's part of my pregame ritual. Answering a call from my dad as he berates me about how much I suck and how much better the team we are playing is.

While most dads call to go over the game you played and give you constructive critiques on what you did wrong, I've never had that. Instead, my dad decides to tear down my game. He's planted a seed of doubt which only grows and increases the inner demons that I battle daily. These demons remind me that I'm not good enough. That I'm never going to make it to the big league. That I'm going to wash up and be useless just like my old man.

He couldn't hack it in college, and while most dads would encourage their son to be better than them, he wants me to be worse.

I know I should stop the cycle, but I'm afraid that if he doesn't have me to punish, he's going to find a reason to punish Leah. I can't have that. She's been through enough and doesn't need any more of his attention on her. Until she's out from under his roof, I'll be the punching bag he chooses to hit over and over again. In a weird sense, maybe I need the hits. Maybe they make me tougher, stronger.

Rolling over, I practice a few breathing techniques we've been doing in our yoga sessions as I try to shut my brain down and get a few hours of sleep. But before I have a chance to drift off, a noise sounds from the hallway.

As captain, it's my job to make sure that all of the guys abide by Coach's lights-out policy. Tossing off the covers, I make my way over to the door and try to peer out of the peephole.

That's when I see her.

Blonde hair piled on top of her head. Black tight shorts and sports bra. And no shirt. Fuck.

Chloe gets to wear whatever she wants, but I don't like her walking around a hotel in the middle of the night alone. Guys would take advantage of the situation and blame it on her because she's asking for it. Hell no.

She hits the button to call the elevator, and I know there's no way I'm going to make it out in time to ask her where she's going. So like a creep, I continue to watch to see what floor she lands on.

Floor two.

With a deep sigh, I quickly toss on a pair of athletic shorts, CTU T-shirt, socks, and running shoes. I glance at the alarm clock on the table between Hudson and me, one forty-five. Swiping my phone and keycard off the table, I hurry to the elevator, closing the door quietly behind me.

I guess I'm heading to the gym.