Chapter 2

chapter two

Grant

It's a tale as old as time: Drunk people do dumb shit.

And drunk, horny college baseball players?

Yeah, well, we're a whole different ball game, and that's exactly why I'm currently back inside the party I never wanted to attend in the first place, trying to herd my teammates like a bunch of fucking cats.

It sounds exactly the way it's going.

"For fuck's sake, Guidry, will you stop trying to take your pants off," I grunt as my fingers curl around the fabric at the back of his neck, yanking him toward me. "I sure as hell don't want to see your pale ass, and I'm sure these ladies don't want to either."

Davis Guidry, our rookie pitcher, waggles his eyebrows suggestively to the group of girls who've gathered beside us and then blows them a kiss like they're his personal fan club.

Christ.

Not sure how looking after these idiots became my job, but if I don't keep an eye on them, we'll all end up running suicides until we puke.

And the very last thing I need? To end up on social media in yet another compromising position. Not after PANTYgate, which put me on very thin ice with my agent, who's probably going to drop me at any second because I'm not worth the headache.

His words, not mine.

It would probably be fine if it was just PANTYgate that was the problem. But… that was only one out of a slew of rookies-behaving-badly incidents that have put our asses in hot water with not just our coach but also the dean and the head of the athletic department. Once backers got wind of everything that had been happening, they threatened to pull their donations, and that was the final straw.

Needless to say, we fucked up. And I kept being in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting caught up in their shit. So, here I am, babysitting a bunch of college guys because I'm not letting them be the reason this sponsorship gets yanked away or that a scout decides not to come watch me play. My future's at stake here.

"Come on, Bergeron, stop being a party pooper," he mutters as he turns to face me, sweeping his dark, auburn hair out of his eyes and flipping his hat backward.

"Did you just call me a… party pooper ? How old are we, five?"

"Yeah, well, you're being a numbnut and quite possibly the worst wingman in history. Did you see those girls? They were legit fucking me with their eyes. I probably could've fucked all three of them. At once. And you…" He pokes my chest drunkenly. "…keep ruining all the fun. You know, there's never any fun to be had with you around lately."

I roll my eyes as he pouts like a petulant toddler. "Do I need to remind you what happened two weeks ago? The last time you took your clothes off in public and ended up going viral? On more than one occasion? Actually, the better question is why do you keep trying to take your clothes off the second you start drinking?"

"No, I do not need you to remind me." He narrows his eyes with a scowl. "What I need is for you to reach back there and pull the stick out of your ass. C'mon, man, this is your last year of college. This is the time where you live it up. You get fucked-up and do stupid shit you'll tell your bros about when you're forty and reliving your glory days. Can't relive the glory days if there were none. Which is exactly why you have me ."

"Pretty sure you're just filling in as the number one pain in my ass now that Reese is gone," I retort, referencing my best friend, who graduated in May and moved to Washington state, where he's catching for their minor league team.

A busty redhead dressed as a naughty teacher passes by with a tray of plastic shot glasses, and Davis swipes two, tossing her a wink before thrusting one toward me. "Call it what you want, but admit it, life would be pretty fucking boring if you didn't have me around. Dull and fun-less."

"That's not an actual word."

His shoulder dips. "Semantics." Lifting the shot glass, he knocks it against mine, and we toss them back together.

The cheap liquor burns as it slides down my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut until I can suck in a gulp of air. "Goddamn, I almost forgot how bad that shit is. It's like rubbing alcohol."

Davis chuckles. "Cheap, nasty as fuck, but highly effective. Shit… I gotta pee. Let's go out back. I don't feel like waiting for the bathroom again."

My thoughts immediately flit back to Addie.

Mystery girl in her Mary Janes and oversized cardigan.

Fuck, she was beautiful . The kind of beautiful that knocks you right on your ass.

In my case, off the side of a deck and face down into a bush, but still.

Bright blue eyes, pink pouty lips, dark lashes, heart-shaped face with long, curly blonde hair that nearly reached her waist.

She looked out of place at a party like this. Like she was too good, too innocent to be around this kind of scene. Who fled before I really got the chance to know her. To get her number. Ask her out.

I really fucking wish I would've gotten her number.

"What, you need me to hold your dick while you pee?" I ask. I didn't realize pee breaks were a team effort.

Everything seems to be with this dude, and for a guy who values his solitude lately, it's sometimes exhausting.

"If you want." Davis smirks playfully. "I'm just saying for someone who's so worried about babysitting me, letting me venture out there all alone is a bit of a gamble, don't you think?"

Fuck me.

"Whatever. Let's go. But after this, I'm out, which means you are too. My babysitting duties are done."

He lifts his hand in a dramatic salute and brushes past me toward the back porch, pushing his way through the crowded house. It's well after midnight, and the party's still going strong, unsurprisingly. OU has plenty of places to party, but most people end up at Kappa or at the Redlight, the college bar down the street, depending on what's going on. Tonight's party is back-to-school themed, which means there are plenty of girls walking around dressed as sexy teachers. Hence Davis's insistence that we come out tonight, even though I wasn't feeling it.

After pausing to talk to a few guys from the team, we walk out back, closing the door and drowning out the party behind us. This seems to be the only place that I can take a second to breathe.

I hang back while Davis walks away, looking for a place to pee, and fish my phone from the pocket of my jeans, opening the group chat with Reese and Lane, my other best friend who graduated last year.

Not to be in my feelings, but I miss them. Having my best friends around, being on the team together. Being a redshirt senior means I'm here for another year playing ball, praying that I get drafted before I graduate.

"Oh shit."

Glancing up, I see Davis peering down onto the deck. "What?"

"I almost just pissed on this thing." He leans down and scoops what looks like a notebook into his hands, flipping it over to look at the back.

I stride over, swiping it from him before he can open it. "Lemme see. Can you please go pee so we can get outta here?"

"Fine, but I want to know what it is. Ooooh, what if it's a diary? I'm so fucking reading it," he mutters, sauntering down the stairs toward the darkened tree line.

"It'd be the only book you've read this year."

He flips me off and keeps walking as I chuckle, turning the book over to the front. I don't know what's inside, but it's definitely some type of notebook.

It's light blue, leather-bound, with a well-worn crease on the spine from frequent use. I pause as I go to open the cover. Shit, what if Davis is right and it is someone's diary or something? It feels… I don't know, intrusive or something to look at someone's private thoughts.

I run my fingers over the worn spine, feeling the smooth leather beneath the rough pads.

It might not even be a diary, who knows, and surely whoever left it behind did so by accident and probably wants it back.

So, actually, opening it to see who the rightful owner is would be the right thing to do.

Yeah.

Carefully, I flip the cover open and see the front page littered with hundreds of hand-drawn stars, varying in size and complexity, etched onto the page in dramatic smudges of dark charcoal.

The spot where someone would put their information is blank, instead filled with more of those tiny stars. Okay, well, I guess that's not going to help.

I flip the pages slowly, scanning the sketches on the paper, completely in awe.

Holy shit.

This isn't just a sketchbook. It's more than just drawings. It feels like someone's soul poured onto the pages. It's filled with mesmerizing pieces of art, and it's… incredible . The details. The linework. The shading. Whoever this belongs to is extremely fucking talented.

I continue to flip, lost in the art, until the next page has my entire body going taut, my heart thrashing wildly in my chest as I peer down at the book in my hand.

It's not the portrait of the Milky Way that causes shock to course through my body. Nor the fact that it's one of the most beautiful pieces of art I've ever seen, nor even that it feels like I could step right into the pages because it's so realistic.

No, it's not that.

It's the signature at the bottom corner of the page, the one that's so small I almost missed it entirely.

The artist's figurative fingerprint.

It's the fact that I know who this book belongs to without a doubt, without another glance, that has me frozen in place.

A swirly A that's drawn with the side of a star connected through the middle.

This is ArtGirl's sketchbook. This is her art.

The girl I fell for through a screen without ever even seeing her face. The girl who ghosted me and broke my fucking heart. I never even realized it was hers until it was too late. Until the damage was already done.

The girl I've spent practically a year dreaming about. Wondering where she went, if she was okay. Wondering if the things I felt for her were all one-sided and that's why she ghosted me.

ArtGirl was here tonight, and I had no fucking clue.

She was fucking here.

"Dude, the fuck?" Davis grunts loudly from beside me, my gaze landing on him. I'm so shocked I can hardly even think right now. "I've been calling your name for like three minutes. What is it? Is it a diary? I want all the juicy details, man. Apparently, this is the only juicy shit that's happening to me tonight." When he leans over to peer inside the sketchbook, I snap it shut before reaching up and dragging my hand through my hair roughly.

How was she here and I had no clue?

All I can think about is now that I have this sketchbook and it's hers… how can I find her? How can I finally figure out who she is?

"Rude." He scoffs. "Why are you acting so weird right now?"

"I'm not acting weird."

"You're definitely being weird, dude."

I sigh raggedly, dragging my gaze back to him, contemplating keeping this to myself like I have since the first day I met her on the forum. No one knows what happened or anything about her at all. I kept it private because… it felt like she was only mine, and I didn't want to share her with anyone else. Not even my closest friends.

Shit, am I really thinking about telling the Rookie about her? About this entire thing? All of it?

I look down at the book in my hand, brushing my thumb over the cover, realizing that I'm holding the same book in my hands that she did. Sounds fucking weird, but it's the closest we've ever been.

Under the same sky but never together.

"Alright, start talking." He quickly snatches the sketchbook out of my hands before I can stop him and puts it behind his back. "Or I'm shoving it down my pants, and then you're diving in there to get it. Ass sweat and all."

My lips tighten into a scowl as my gaze narrows. "Don't fuck with me, Davis."

"See, you're being weird about some random notebook—that I found, might I add—on a fucking porch at a party. So, spill."

Fuck it. As aggravating as he can be… maybe he can help me figure out what I should do. Desperate times, right?

"I know who that notebook belongs to, and before I tell you this shit, if you say one negative thing, I'm going to punch you in the dick. And if you tell anyone, I'm going to…"

He cuts me off with an eye roll. "Punch me in the dick, I got it. Don't worry, I'm pretty fond of Gustavo, so no jeopardizing him."

Gustavo? The fuck… Did this dude… name his dick?

You know what, I don't even care.

"First of all, give it back, then I'll tell you."

Eyeing me warily, he pauses, then produces the sketchbook from behind his back and hands it to me.

"Fine. Start talking."

I take it from him, blowing out a resigned exhale. "Over a year ago, I met someone… on the OU student forum. A girl. At first, we were just talking shit to each other on a post, but then we just kept talking. For a year, we DMed on the forum almost every day, about life, personal stuff, and I don't know… everything. I tried to meet her in person, but she was adamant that we keep things anonymous. We never exchanged names or numbers or anything too identifying. I hated it, but I didn't want to stop talking to her." I pause and drag my hand down my face. "I kinda… fell for her, and then she ghosted me. I asked her to meet me at the masquerade gala last year, and she didn't show. She stopped responding completely, and I haven't heard from her since."

Davis blows out an exasperated sigh. "Damn, dude, I'm fucking sorry."

I expected him to talk shit, make fun of me for having feelings for a girl I've never even met, but he seems oddly genuine. There's no hint of teasing in his voice.

"Thanks, man. It honestly kinda fucked with me. I mean, I just fucking want to know who she is? I had no way to figure it out when she ghosted. I tried to figure out who she was after that, but I never could. I never had enough to go on. But this?" I hold up the sketchbook, shrugging. "Maybe this is the answer. I have to return it to her somehow."

For a moment, he's quiet, possibly for the first time in his life, and then his eyes widen. "Oh shit. I've got it. You know, this is very Cinderella vibes."

"Shut up."

"No, I'm serious. Like… Girl loses her sketchbook, and you find it, and now you're searching for her?"

"Davis. Get to the point." I sigh.

He lifts his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. All I'm saying is that if you wanna find your Cinderella, then put the flyers up, and you'll find her. And lucky for you, I've been casually hooking up with a girl in the library since I moved in this summer, and you know what that means? Free copies!"

"Wait, you want me to put flyers up around OU looking for ArtGirl?" I scoff.

"Yeah?" His T-shirt-clad shoulder dips. "Why not? I mean, look, you wanna find your girl, what better way to do it? She's a student. We'll put signs up everywhere, and there's no way she won't see it and contact you. Easy. We use the sketchbook, and we draw her out. It's like Cinderella bait."

This sounds like a terrible idea, listening to the Rookie, and I have a feeling I'm probably going to regret it, but what if it does lead to finding ArtGirl?

She was right underneath my nose all night, and I had no clue. We probably passed each other at the party like two strangers. What if… What if the girl that I talked to earlier was her?

"Well? You in?"

I look down at the sketchbook in my hand and sigh. I guess Rookie's plan is better than doing nothing. "Fuck it, yeah… I'm in. Let's do it."

I have to find ArtGirl.

There's no way I'm letting her ghost me twice.