Chapter 10

Sunlight poured through the windows in the guest room. A slight headache pulsed in my temples.

"Morning."

I squinted as I looked to my left.

Crew lay on his back beside me with his eyes closed.

"Why are you still here?" I asked.

His head fell to the side, and he looked at me with sleepy eyes. "I'm not used to getting kicked out of someone's bed."

"That's because you're usually invited."

"Yet here I am," he said. "Why do you think that is?"

"You enjoy annoying me?" I said, rolling away from him. I felt the bed shift with his weight, so I glanced over my shoulder.

He sat perched on the edge of the bed. "You hungry?"

"What?" I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. "Let's get some breakfast."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"That doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Why can't two people who sleep in the same bed share a meal?"

"Why should they?" I countered.

"Because I'm hungry. And, there is nothing wrong with us hanging out."

At the moment, my stomach rumbled. There was no way that he hadn't heard it because his lips twitched. "Only because I'm starving am I even considering it."

"Stop being so tough and have breakfast with me."

"You're paying."

A small smile slipped across his lips. "Of course."

* * *

"Five-hundred and thirty-six," I said before taking a bite of my vegetable omelet.

Crew stared down at his phone from the opposite side of the booth. "That's nuts. Okay. One more. Jeter?"

"Two-hundred and sixty," I said without even thinking about it.

"Shut up," Crew said, amazed that I knew the number of lifetime home runs certain baseball players had off the top of my head.

"I told you I knew."

He shook his head and placed his phone down on the table. "I've never met a girl who knew so much about baseball."

"What do you think dinnertime talks were like when he was home? You'd think he'd need a break from it during the off-season, but nope."

"What was it like growing up with him?"

"I think you're forgetting he was only home for a four-month stretch each year. But when he was home, I was his whole world. I'd follow him around everywhere. People called me his shadow. God, I thought he was larger than life. Then I learned he wasn't."

"No?"

I shrugged. "Long story."

He glanced around the empty café. "I've got nowhere to be."

"I'm not about to unload my sob story on a guy I hated up until a few minutes ago."

"So, let me get this straight. You don't hate me anymore?"

I bit back a smile. "I'm starting to be able to stomach you."

He laughed. "Stomach me? Gee, I'm glad to hear you can stomach me."

The bell on the door jingled. Crew quickly pulled the brim of his hat down lower until it was nearly covering his eyes.

I glanced over my shoulder expecting to see one of his hook-ups. But two guys in Sharks ball caps walked toward us.

"Hey, Burke," one of them said.

Crew glanced up as if he hadn't noticed them enter. "What's up, Pryor? DePetrillo?"

Pryor, the jerk who'd pulled me in the pool, looked to me and stifled a smile. "Never wear a white T-shirt to a pool party."

My jaw clenched. "Seriously?"

Crew reached across the table and placed his hand on my arm. "Don't."

Who did he think he was telling me not to talk?

"What time you heading to the field?" DePetrillo interjected.

"We've got the autograph thing first," Crew said as he removed his hand from my arm. "So, I'll probably get there at three."

They both groaned.

"Get used to it if you think you're going to the big leagues," Crew said.

"See you later," Pryor said heading to a booth away from ours.

"I hope not," I mumbled.

Once they were gone, Crew looked to me. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not doing that thing you do."

My brows shot up. "That thing I do?"

"Yeah. The thing where you're ready to fight anyone who looks at you the wrong way."

"I don't do that," I challenged.

"You do that more than any person I've ever met."

I rolled my eyes.

"Not everyone hates you, Peyton. Not everyone is trying to wrong you. Not everyone deserves your bad attitude."

"There is nothing bad about my attitude," I said, though I didn't even believe my own words.

He took a bite of his pancakes instead of bothering to debate it.

"So, autographs tonight?" I said, trying to swing the conversation back to him since I knew he gave very little up without prompting.

"Yup."

"You know it makes the little kids' nights when you guys do that," I said, having been one of those kids before.

His lips twitched. "With great power comes great responsibility."

"I'm serious."

"I am too. I take it seriously. I know what I say to them in that brief time means something."

I took another bite of my omelet.

"And one day, when I'm in the majors, they'll sell that autograph for a lot of money."

I smiled. "Did you know the percentage of Cape League players drafted to the pros is under thirty-five percent?"

"Better than zero," he said.

I liked his optimism. "Do you think you'll make it?"

"Do you?"

My lips twisted in contemplation. "I hope not."

His head shot back. "Why not?"

"Because it does bad things to people."

He tilted his head, his eyes moving over my features. "I'm not other people. I make my own decisions."

"You say that now. Then, fame and money happen."

"When are you gonna tell me what happened?"

"When are you gonna stop asking?" I clipped.

He dragged his napkin across his lips. "Right now." He reached into his pocket and tossed forty dollars onto the table.

"I changed my mind about you paying," I said, digging into my own pocket and pulling out my credit card.

He reached across the table and rested his hand on my arm like he'd done before. I tried to ignore the little ripples that erupted beneath his touch. "I'm paying."

"This isn't a date," I said.

"Oh, that is abundantly clear. You don't date ball players," he said.

"I'm glad you've been paying attention."

His eyes locked on mine. "It's hard not to."

My eyes narrowed. Was that an insult or his attempt at flirting?

He pushed himself to his feet and I followed, not about to argue over a check. Once we stepped outside, we began to walk back toward the house, but I stopped. "You head back. I'm gonna stop by some of the shops."

His brows knitted together. "What could the girl who has everything possibly need to buy?"

"I definitely don't have everything."

He buried his hands in his pockets and moved toward me. "Liar."

I shook my head, the list of things I wanted but couldn't have was at the forefront of my brain: Love. Trust. Loyalty.

"You coming to the game tonight?" he asked.

"Probably not."

"Well, for what it's worth, I wouldn't hate it if you showed up."

"Why's that? Don't you have a big enough cheering section?"

He laughed. "It can never be big enough."

I groaned. "See?"

"What?"

"That arrogance—"

"Oh, come on. You left that one wide open for me."

"For you to what?"

"I do have a cheering section. It comes with the territory."

"You're right. That's why I hate all of you." I spun away from him and headed toward the shops.

"Lucky for you," he shouted after me. "I don't hate you."

He didn't follow me which was good because I needed time away from him. Though, it would've been easier if his scent didn't cling to me. I guess that happened when you slept beside someone.

I strolled through a hat shop, then a portrait shop, before walking around a jewelry shop. I needed a shell necklace—the kind you could only find by the beach. I bought a new one every summer, wearing it until it broke at some point during the year, just in time to get a new one.

"That's pretty," the woman behind the counter said as I pulled a white and coral shelled necklace off the display hanger.

"It is pretty," I agreed as I held it up to my neck in the counter mirror.

"Where are you visiting us from?" the woman asked.

"I live here every summer," I explained. "But I go to school in Alabama."

"Well, I think you need a keepsake from the Cape when you go back to Alabama."

"I'll take this one."

"Pretty in pink," she mused.

I put the necklace on while she rang me up, knowing I'd keep it on until it broke.

"Peyton!" Gina called as I stepped out of the shop.

"Hey," I said as she approached me.

"Whatcha doing?"

I ran my fingers gently over the small shells around my neck. "Just needed a new necklace."

"It's so pretty. It reminds me of the one we got when we were like ten. Remember we bought the same one?"

I nodded.

"Soooo," she began, "since when do you throw parties and not invite me?"

I rolled my eyes. "That was all Crew."

"Did you actually hang with baseball players?"

I shook my head. "I only went outside to shut the party down."

"Next time, call me. Cody and I would've come over."

"Oh, there better not be a next time."

She laughed. "You wanna drive with me to the game tonight?"

"I think one game was enough for me."

"Come on," she pleaded. "I can't go alone."

"Of course you can," I assured her.

"There are so many girls hanging around just trying to catch the eye of one of the guys. I can't fight them off all by myself."

My stomach turned at the thought of girls trying to get with a player. Didn't these girls realize many of the guys had serious relationships back home? Did they even care? "Gold digging whores."

"Exactly. They want to latch onto them for what they might become."

"Well, lucky for you, your family's loaded. Cody has to know you're not in it for the money."

She laughed. "You think so?"

"Besides that, look at you," I said, my eyes drifting over her flowy peach sundress. "You wouldn't be caught dead in a ball cap and cutoffs."

Her brows dipped. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, it means you're not trying to be anyone but yourself."

"You think?"

"I know."

"So, does that mean you'll go with me?" she asked.

"No."

"Peyton," she whined.

"Gina," I teased.

"I'll owe you."

"I will make you pay up."

"Deal."

Dammit. I was going to another stupid baseball game.