Read Evolve Series Box Set Online
Authors: S.E. Hall
“You mean like what happens to you when I walk in a room?” Hayden glares at him teasingly, her lips pursed, just daring him to deny it.
“Exactly like that,” he growls, diving into her lips.
“Fuck off,” I mumble, knowing he’s right…and no longer paying attention to me.
Hayden wrestles him off her, catching her breath to turn to me. “Well, what do you hear when Whitley walks in a room?”
I laugh to myself just thinking about it. “Actually, I usually do hear music, because she’s usually humming or singing to herself.”
“Ahhh.” Hayden’s clearly a romantic as well.
As fun as this is, I’m no fool, I know how to get out of the hot seat and give Parker the proverbial finger. “So, Hayden, tell me about your wedding.”
How ya like them apples, Park? I can just sit and nod, but Parker will have to interact while his starry-eyed girl rambles on and on.
Evan wins!!!
Finally.
Third Base
***Evan***
Today is the first conference softball game for the Lady Eagles, hosted at home. I do love to watch some ball, but I probably wouldn’t have gone, kinda awkward despite the rest of the “Crew” thinking we’re all cool…but Laney had arranged it so Whitley will be singing the National Anthem.
The newfound whatever between Whitley and Laney mystifies me; if only it were that easy for me. Sure, I miss Laney, and care about her, and have even managed to be around her amicably a few times, but it still jabs me in the gut sometimes. It may always. But the whole group is going to this game and Whitley personally asked me to come watch her sing, so I’m going.
She sings beautifully, her voice, melodic and captivating, ringing out across the park. And I must say, to only myself, seeing her stand out on the mound in a ball cap, jersey, and little shorts…oh boy. My whole “date anyone besides her” plan seems like a real jackass one right about now.
“Pssst, Evan!” I hear from my left and look over to see a nervous Laney standing at the fence. She begs me over with a “hurry, come here” hand, so I make my way down the bleachers and over to her. “He’s got me playing third, Evan. I don’t play third. What’s he thinking?” she asks, her voice panicked.
I chuckle at her, never understanding her lack of faith in herself; she’s an amazing ball player. Third isn’t her most practiced point, but she can do it if she doesn’t psych herself out.
“Laney, you could play third in your sleep. What are you so worried about?”
“This is college ball, Evan. I don’t move fast enough for third. Why wouldn’t he put me on first and Cassidy at three? Oh my God, Evan, I’m gonna make a fool of myself in the first game.” She rests her head against the fence in premature defeat.
“Hey,” I poke her in the forehead through the fence, “look at me.”
She slowly lifts her head, eyes rimmed with doubt.
“Knock it off. You are a great baller, Laney. Get your ass out there and make it happen. I mean it.”
She nods firmly, gritting her teeth, and heads for the dugout. I go back to my seat in the bleachers, Sawyer to my left and Whitley now settled in at my right. We’re all kinda clumped in a group; Dane, Tate and Bennett right behind us and Zach on the other side of Sawyer. One big, happy family.
“Down and ready, three!”
I turn quickly—I know that voice. Laney’s dad is here somewhere. I look around, but I can’t see him.
“What was that about?” Dane’s voice comes from behind me.
“Huh?” I turn around, not sure if he’s talking to me…yeah right, of course he’s talking to me.
“Laney; what’d she need? And why’s she look like she’s seen a ghost?”
“Oh,” I shrug, “she’s worried about playing third base. It’s not her usual spot.”
“Hmm…” is his only reply, so I turn back around.
Laney didn’t get a single ball hit to her in the first, but she did lay a good tag on an out, putting the Eagles up to bat. She’s fourth in the lineup—cleanup—smart coach. Smart pitcher, too, done her homework, ‘cause she draws the swing and miss from Laney on a high, outside first pitch.
Seven pitches later and Laney’s still battling, fouling them off like a champ. Whitley’s nails are probably bleeding she’s biting them so much and Bennett’s in tears, clearly not used to watching softball. Good God, it’s gonna be a long season.
I nudge my elbow backwards into Dane’s leg and he leans down to me. “Yell at her to quit dropping her hands,” I tell him. “Hurry.” He stalls, so I elbow him again. “Now!”
“Quit dropping your hands!” He cups his hands around his mouth and yells, and I hold in a laugh. He has no idea what he just said or why.
I should have made him yell something stupid and look like a fool.
Not really.
I think.
The next pitch is a change, which falls short, and Laney’s almost out of time. This at-bat has surely met its shelf life when the next one comes right down the middle, just a smidgen low. I take back what I said before. Not smart, Pitch.
“That’s gone,” I say to the group, almost subconsciously.
Crack!
I don’t even bother watching it. I stand and cheer, grabbing Whitley’s shirt so she doesn’t fall down the bleachers in her bouncy celebration. Sawyer’s got two fingers in his mouth, whistling, and I finally spot Jeff in the crowd, a proud smile plastered across his face. Laney just hit a two-run homer in her first college at-bat. No one, not even Kaitlyn, can ever take that from her, and my heart feels like it’s about to burst with pride.
Laney just went yard. I couldn’t be happier for her.
“Thanks, coaches!” she yells at Dane and me as she runs past us to home plate.
I don’t turn around and look at Dane, but I do manage to hear him over the crowd as he leans in to thank me.
“That was so fun!” Whitley shrieks, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. “I hope she does that every time!”
“I don’t know about that.” I hug her back. “It wouldn’t be as special if she did it all the time, right?”
She pulls back and scrunches up her nose. “No, it’d be cool every time.”
“Yeah, I guess it would,” I agree, taking her hand to sit her back down beside me. “Now watch the rest of the game, happy girl.”
Avery strikes out two batters later, so our group goes from rambunctious and pumped up to solemn in a flash, but we do all laugh when Zach turns around and slaps Dane upside the leg. “Where’s all the tips for my girl, huh?”
It’s the bottom of the fourth when time stops.
I see the hit, and where it’s heading, my body bracing in tension until she plays it through. But instead, I see her misstep. She was nervous about playing third, psyched herself out and misjudged the bounce. The harsh smack echoes, sickeningly, and Laney drops like a rock, face forward in the dirt.
“Time!” The ump screams.
Barreling down the bleachers, I make it to the fence, searching frantically for a way in when a hand lands on my shoulder.
“Stay back, boy, let them check her out.” Jeff. So calm, so collected. “She’ll be fine, just a punk knot. It got a bounce first, took the heat off.”
Then why’s she lying face down in the dirt?
It’s six hours, I swear it is, before she gets up and her coaches help her in to the dugout. Everyone claps and the players rise from their knees, resuming the game. Jeff and I stay put, right along the fence at the side of the dugout, waiting for answers. A few minutes later, she walks around the side to us and I can finally breathe, seeing her face, walking. I know she’s going to be all right.
Dane has his arm around her shoulder, guiding her to us as she holds a huge bag of ice to her face, completely covering one eye. How the hell did he get to her? Past us?
“Hey,” she grumbles, “just a shiner. Nose already stopped bleeding.” She pulls down the bag of ice to show us and I hiss with my flinch. The inside of her eye is no longer white, but blood red, as in every blood vessel has popped. It doesn’t look good at all, and I’m a little green around the gills thinking of how much pain she must be in, but her dad softly tisks beside me.
“That’s gonna be a nice one, Slugger. Can you see all right?”
“Well, since the lid is hanging over my eye, it’s a little tricky,” she tries to smile, “but it didn’t hurt my actual vision.”
“Just misread the hop. All nervous, huh?” he asks with one know-it-all brow raised. He’s probably about to tell her to rub some dirt on it and get back out there. “Gonna be scared to play there from now on?”
“No, sir,” she answers quickly, her voice determined.
“Good girl. Probably won’t ever happen again, so no need to shy away. Damn nice hit by the way.” He pats her shoulder.
“Thanks, Daddy. You proud?”
“Damn proud, kiddo, damn proud. Who’s the hardest hitting, toughest girl I know?”
“Me?”
“You.” He nods. “I’m gonna head out, beat the rain home seeing as how you’re done for the night.” He kisses the top of her head. “Love you, girl. Call me tomorrow, let me know you’re all right.”
Dane watches the whole conversation with a silent, stunned expression. I can see how it’d appear her dad is a little blasé about the whole thing, but that’s just the way he is; always has been.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask her, hands stuffed in my pockets. I’m not even sure why I’m still standing here; she’s taken care of.
“I’m fine,” she smiles at me, “thanks, Evan.”
“What the fuck? She okay?” Sawyer says, too loudly, when I make it back to my seat.
Bennett and Whitley crowd in, faces anxious, wanting to hear my reply. Even Zach looks nauseous; yep—could’ve been your girl just as easily.
“She’s fine, up walking and talking. She’ll have one helluva black eye and probably a headache for a few days, but she’s okay. Dane’s down there with her. I’m surprised they let him in the dugout.”
“Are you kidding?” Tate snorts. “He jumped that fence and pushed people out of his way; no one let him do anything. I’m surprised he hasn’t landed Life Flight in the damn parking lot to whisk her to a specialist by now.”
Bennett scowls his way and gives him an impish slap. “Hush! I thought it was sweet.”
“There they are right there.” Zach points, and we all look over to see Dane and Laney walking across the parking lot. “Where are they going?”
“I’m telling ya, he’s taking her to the doctor,” Tate chimes in again.
“He can’t, the team trainer has to check her for a concussion first. He can’t just sweep in and do it,” I argue.
“Wanna bet?” Tate challenges me.
Oh, please. Mr. Rich and Fabulous may be able to do a lot of things, but he can’t override the rules of collegiate sports.
“Looks like the softball team will be getting all new equipment,” Sawyer smirks, “and ass cushions for these shitty bleachers, I hope.”
There’s no way I believe college coaches and Dane struck up a “dugout deal.” This is ridiculous. But then again, he did just whisk her to his car; that cannot be denied.
Whatever. I’m sick of thinking about it. At least she’s taken care of.
Chosen One
***Evan***
There are different types of single. For example, some people are “Should Be Single,” because, well, no one in their right mind would seriously date them. Not until they get their act together, anyway. Perfect examples of this category are Kaitlyn Michaels and Matt Davis. In fact, those two should probably just give up all hope now and go have evil babies together.
Sawyer is what I would call “Strut Your Single.” He owns that shit and is happy about it. He would rather get in and get out, then spend the saved time with his friends. He’s upfront about it and never gives the female false hope…he scratches the itch, then goes about things more important to him.
And then there’s me. I fall into the “Quit Feeling Sorry for Yourself and Do Something about It Single.” Yeah, no catchy title for mine, I’m as pathetic as the category.
Because I’m lying in my bed, lonely and staring at the ceiling, analyzing the categories of singledom, I know it’s time to try again.
Date #3.5
Conspirator- Me, myself, and I
Girl- Amy
Stats- brunette, can be found at bar
Problems- None so far
Yes, I went back to the bar and found Amy, the girl Sawyer threw in my lap the first night I hung with him. As horrific as dating has proven to be so far, I gotta branch out. I need more friends, preferably ones that do things besides hang out with Dane and Laney. I also need female companionship, other than the one I’ve sworn myself away from for reasons I refuse to justify in my head, again. I wish it was season so I could make friends with some guys on the team other than Zach. But with only open schedule weights and conditioning right now, it’s just a “hey” or “what’s up” passing my teammates in and out of the tunnel for now.
Which brings me back to my current outing with Amy. She’s a pleaser. Everything I say, she agrees to, or she’s done it, or she knows somebody who’s done it. And who’s she kidding? I am not that damn funny, yet she cracks up at my every other sentence.
She chooses the drive-in when I ask her where she’d like to go after dinner. Grease is playing. Fucking Grease. That movie is older than me, and that’s what they’re showing? I can’t help it and I think of Whitley—she’d be giddy about a freaking musical at a drive-in. What is it about girls I know and movies with songs? You know how many songs there are in Disney movies? And we won’t even revisit the Moulin whatever nightmare. And yet, here I sit, watching some beauty drop-out with pink hair and angels in curlers floating around.
I’ve taken nice guy and turned him into pussbag. My dick hates me—he told me so—and I’m all but ready for tampons and a training bra. Fuck this; I reach over and lay my hand on Amy’s bare thigh, pulling for her to come a little closer. “You’re awful far away,” I say in a low voice.