Shoot me now.
I was never big into any other activity in my high school outside of gymnastics— including sports. Frankly, gymnastics was my life, and every time some jock claimed it wasn’t a sport, it made me want to throat punch them. My parents aren’t big on violence, so you can see my dilemma.
Zoe shouts, “That’s the spirit,” and smacks my rear on our way out of the dorm.
We walk toward the baseball field. It’s already packed with more people than I’ve ever seen on this campus. I feel like a sardine as we try and stay together, our hands locked so we don’t get separated. Zoe seems to know where she’s going. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since she is on the softball team. It’s odd because she’s very vague about it and hasn’t asked me to come watch her play. In fact, I know she’s been to practice at least three times since I arrived at campus. I sense that she’s not as into tossing a ball at a bat as her brother is.
“Over here.” Zoe tugs on my hand as she guides us up an expanse of metal bleacher stairs. My calves ache by the time we reach the top. “This is good.” She sits down and pats the empty seat next to her. “We can see perfectly from here.”
I sit and look toward the field where a group of players stand. I assume that’s our team since they’re dressed in orange and
navy. Baseballs are being tossed back and forth. Like watching the crowd at a tennis match, my head swivels back and forth watching the players catch and throw. The realization that I must look like an utter fool makes me giggle under my breath.
I can feel Zoe looking at me seconds before I feel her nudge my ribs. “What’s so funny?” she asks, with a curious expression on her face. I’ve never met anyone—besides myself—nosier than her.
“Those outfits. Look at ‘em,” I make up a quick excuse as my eyes dart back to the field. Pointing at the players, I realize that their pants really are noteworthy. “You can see their butts perfectly. They’re wearing spandex for men.”
“Spandex…maybe they should be called Mandex,” she replies, smiling widely. “And for the love of all things ball, do not drool over my brother’s ass in front of me. I might hurl and,” she pauses and inspects the guy sitting in front of her, “Baldy,” she whispers. “Might not like wearing the salad I ate for lunch on his shiny skull.”
“Noted. Do not check out Tank’s perky cheeks.” I wiggle my brows. It causes her to groan in agony. “You’re horrible!” Laughter follows, as she pretends to gag behind the round, hairless head in front of her.
“Damn…” I purr under my breath, as the sight of one ass in particular graces my line of vision.
“Your little crush has blossomed to an obnoxious level, and it’s ridiculously obvious that you like him. You lie, woman. You lie.”
There she goes making accusations again. Maybe she should drop her political science classes and enroll in the police academy—she’s got a knack of seeing through peoples BS. I lick my lips, ignoring her, my attention clearly elsewhere.
“You. Are. Insane. He’s a tool!” Zoe grabs my cheeks in her hands and gently shakes my head.
“What are you doing?” I huff as my head wags back and forth.
“You’re clearly suffering from a lady boner. I’m trying to shake the need out of your pretty little head.”
It’s me who starts to cackle, receiving one too many stares from the people trying to sit peacefully around us. “You’re acting like his ass had me hypnotized.”
I get a simple nod in return. “Precisely so.”
“I don’t
like
him, like him for the record! His personality…meh. It’s that chiseled face and that nice, round, perky butt that has my ovaries going BOOM.”
“On the real, babe. I know it’s the far out of reach that is attracting you. You like a chase. I get it. At least own up to it.”
Since when did this become a heart-to-heart, and why the hell is it happening here in a sea of eavesdroppers? And for the record, I’m applying her to the academy myself.
“I’d say a little of that, a lot of the jaw line—and you’re right about the douchness. It attracts me. For the life of me, I don’t know why anyone would ever be into a guy as cruel as him, but our bodies can’t help who we want to mingle with.” I wave my hand over my midsection. “He’s like a juicy steak. I know I shouldn’t eat it, but I want to. I’m craving his meat.” Mortification dances over my facial features at my admission.
Zoe’s hand sneaks up on me as she presses her palm over my mouth. “Do. Not. Say another word.” There’s a hint of a smile gracing her lips. As much as she tries to hide it, it’s there. Letting go of my mouth, she twists and moves her attention to the field. I follow her movement just in time to see the players walk to their bases. I don’t know much about baseball, but like everything else, I did my research in between classes today. It appears that Ryle is their pitcher – the main attraction.
Go figure.
He throws his first pitch, and the batter misses. He does this two more times before we hear the umpire yell “strike three” I refrain from jumping up from the bleachers and screaming. Although I’m almost positive I’d blend in and no one would even notice me yelling, I sit still and silently squeal like a schoolgirl watching her boyfriend. Except, Ryle isn’t my boyfriend. Frankly, I’m not sure he’s ever even been anyone’s boyfriend. A fling, I don’t doubt. But an actual, go to the movies, and dine out kind of thing? I’m assuming that’s a big fat
no
.
The game goes on for what seems like forever. I do my best to pay attention, but clearly I lack concentration lately. At some point, a kid passes a blue flask to me and without even considering the consequences, I untwist the lip, sniff the container and take a gulp.
Please don’t let me get roofied,
I silently pray.
More balls are thrown.
More running ensues.
More gulps of liquid are consumed.
As time passes, the opposing team’s confidence crumbles. Like I said, I’m not a spectator of the sport, but you can easily spy a team that’s given up. They’re dragging their hopes for winning this game behind them. My eyes, now glossed over, watch Ryle toss a ball directly into the catcher’s hand. As the batter on the opposing team misses it, rage washes over his face. With a swing of his bat, he takes his hand off the wood and allows it to fly into the air. My eyes dart to Ryle, who is now holding his glove over his face. From the side of his profile, it looks like he’s laughing or trying to cover it up. It’s apparent that the player who just struck out made a big no-no, when his coach exits the dugout and grabs the poor kid by the collar on his jersey. As he is yanked aside, I swallow another gulp in his honor.
“Dude,” Zoe elbows me in the arm. “Baby sips. That’s some seriously potent shit. Jungle Juice don’t discriminate.” She frowns at me like my mother used to do whenever she caught me rolling my eyes behind my father’s back. “We’re in the last inning.”
I never liked getting scolded.
With a rebellious smirk on my face, I take another swig while Zoe stands up and cheers. The crowd erupts and, unlike a euphoric high, they don’t come down. Their hoots and hollers only escalate. Their rowdiness knows no bounds. My eyes drift up to the giant scoreboard that’s lit up like a Christmas tree.
Ahh.
It makes sense. We just won. I jump up to a standing position just in time to see a girl wearing a loose-fitting jersey with Benson on the back, jump into Ryle’s arms, her brown spiral curls bouncing.
“Naomi.” Her name escapes my lips with alcohol-induced anger. An ounce of vomit rises in my throat as she drapes her arms around the man I’ve already claimed as my property. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“Woo hoo!”
“That’a boy.”
“Ryle’s a beast!”
It’s apparent that he made the game-winning pitch by the steady sound of people hollering his name in worship.
I bolt upright, and my vision goes from normal to hazy in a nanosecond. Yet, having a buzz makes me feel somewhat powerful. I know I can’t solve world hunger, but I know that I can snag a man. I mean, I’m practically loose as a goose and—let’s face it— I’m sorta hot. Zoe glances over at me just in time for her to reach out and catch my body as it sways a little too far over. “You’re wasted. How much did you drink?”
My thoughts are jumbled.
With wide eyes, I shrug my shoulders innocently as I tip the empty flask over and reply, “All of it.”
“You’re about to be toast.” She doesn’t take a breath. “I’ll have Tank help me get you home.” Grabbing my hand, she tightens her hold on me and uses the other hand to push us through a line of people walking down the metal stairs.
I feel like royalty.
In the distance, I see the team huddled together. I can’t make out what they’re shouting, but they appear to be chanting something. There are no females in sight, so it’s odd to see Naomi glued to Ryle’s side. What’s even odder is that he doesn’t seem to be bothered by her clingy antics. I’m bothered by them, that’s for sure.
I think I can take her.
“He’s not into her, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Zoe reads my mind. “She’s pretty much a butch all the time, but they have this weird connection. I know they don’t mess around. I asked Ryle once.”
“It looks like she’s laying claim—not just hugging a friend who just won a game.” I sigh and try to keep my legs from failing me as I lock my knees to stand upright.
“You hate her don’t you?”
This is one of those instances where I know I should bite my tongue and not shit the cold hard truth. The alcohol flowing through my veins won’t allow it though. “It’s not that I hate her. I just wished she’d get fingered by the Wolverine.”
“That’s hilarious. Fucking epic shit right there.” She erupts with laughter and starts walking again, dragging me beside her like a rag doll. My shoulders collide with other arms and backs as we make our way toward the field. No one says excuse me.
Rude.
There’s only a metal gate between all of those gorgeous rears and me when we stop to get Tank’s attention. He jogs toward the gate, waving his hat in the hair like Babe Ruth. “What a game, huh?” He’s elated. His lips are stretched so far over his perfect smile, that even I blush from the sight. That smile is dangerous. Tank takes one look at me and then shakes his head in disbelief. “Tell me it wasn’t the Jungle Juice.” Zoe simply nods her head, giving him a nonverbal, ‘Hell yes, it was the juice’ look.
“Guys. I’m right here. Not drunk.” I spin around, trying to prove that I’m capable of standing on my own two feet. “Whoa…Got it.” I brace my hand on the stomach of a guy standing directly behind me. “Nice abs, buddy. What do you bench? Two-twenty?”
“She’s drunk. Excuse us,” Zoe apologizes.
“Let me grab my bag, and I’ll meet you in front of the concession stand in five minutes,” Tank says, before disappearing into the sea of people celebrating the team’s victory.
Holding a hot dog wrapped in aluminum foil, Zoe demands that I eat it, as she talks in a hasty mommy voice. Apart from her condescending tone, my stomach begs me to unwrap the dog and devour it.
The first bite is glorious. The second bite is just as good, and the third bite is sad, because I realize that I just scarfed down a hot dog like a man.
“Done.” I belch and turn my attention to Z who is sliding her fingers across her phone keys. “I spy, with my two eyes, a grouchy lady.” I watch as she tries her hardest not to laugh at me. I’m sure it’s near impossible for her to hold it in, considering I’m certain I sound like a fool. Compliments of said Jungle Juice. “Thanks for the food. It was what the doc ordered.” My free hand rubs my stomach in round circles.
Rolling her eyes playfully, I watch as Zoe’s thumb moves a hundred miles a minute as she sends another text message. I’m nosy and drunk. Which basically means my filter is gone. “Who are ya talkin’ to?”
“A boy.” Her voice is flat. She’s hiding something.
“Does this boy have a name? Or did his parents just name him Boy? Do I know him?” I spout off questions, none of which get answered.
Her lips tilt upward at the sound of her phone chiming. “Yes, you know him.”
Hmm… I count out the obvious—Ryle. That only leaves a handful of fellas that I’ve met this week. Then I remember her mentioning something about Kaiser tickling her fancy. “If I guess his name, will you get me another hot dog?”
“I’ll get you another one regardless. Food always helps sober people up.”
Spinning on her heels, she turns and makes her way back to the concession stand. “This time I want ketchup!” I holler behind her. With a wave of her hand, she acknowledges my request.
As I wait for Zoe to return, I notice my feet are covered with grass and dust from walking to the stands. It’s rather disgusting, and I would normally care, but tonight…not so much.
“You were so sexy out on the field.” The stroking of someone’s ego alerts me that Naomi is near. “I mean the game winning pitch, Ryle. You should have seen the look on those scouts’ faces. Impressed. Just like me,” she purrs as she leans into his side.
If I didn’t think I would puke, I’d fake gag.
“Yeah, I hope they stayed long enough to see it,” Ryle chimes in, his voice low and sultry.
As far as I can tell, he isn’t a man of many words. But when he does speak, which is hardly to me, it’s sexy as hell. From the gruffness of his voice, to the way that his lips slightly part, it just does something to me. And right now is no different. I pick my bottom jaw up off the ground as Zoe approaches with her brother by her side.