The Strike Out Read online

  I glance at the time on my phone and realize I could quickly meet her outside her class before I have to head to training. I scroll through my phone to the schedule Priya sent me and remind myself where her class is. I could get there quickly.

  Pocketing my phone, I take off toward the west part of campus, which works out because it’s on my way to the stadium. Walking through campus is always interesting because everyone knows me. My face is all over the place just like the other baseball players. We’re easy to spot in a crowd, and we’re stopped often for high fives or bro hugs. Knowing I don’t have much time to spare, I keep my head down and walk fast as I make my way through the throng of students.

  I arrive at her building just as the doors open and people flood into the open courtyard. Almost every student has their face buried in their phones as they expertly maneuver around each other. I keep my eyes peeled for my girl, hoping I don’t miss her. After a few moments, I worry that she snuck past me, and then I see her. Hair pulled up into a ponytail, wearing my Brentwood Baseball sweatshirt, looking cute as shit in leggings and sneakers. She’s on her phone, so when she starts to walk past me, I snag her arm.

  Protest is on her lips as she looks up, but when she spots me, a smile breaks out over her beautiful face and her arms go around my waist.

  I pull her in for a hug as we step off to the side, and I turn my back to the crowd, hopefully blocking my identity for a few stolen moments with my girl.

  “Hey,” she says into my chest.

  “Hey, babe.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, looking up at me.

  “Had a few spare moments. Wanted to see you.”

  “Just a few spare moments?”

  I nod. “I have conditioning. Want to walk with me?”

  Her eyes study me. “I don’t know which is worse: this sensitive, romantic side of you, or the witty, banter-filled side.”

  “Both.” I wink and take her hand in mine. “Come on. Just for a couple of minutes.”

  “Can’t say no to that.” Together, we walk hand in hand toward the stadium and I feel fucking good.

  This. Walking with her. Knowing she’s letting me in. It makes me feel as though I really didn’t fuck this up. That I’ve been able to hold on to her.

  “How was class?”

  “Boring.” She chuckles. “I know I shouldn’t say that, but, God, the professor was stuck on making a point about compromised principles even though no one was arguing with him. It was as if he was arguing with himself but wasn’t listening to his own self talk. Just rambling.”

  “Did you daydream about me?”

  “No,” she answers quickly, making me laugh.

  “Liar.”

  “I didn’t. I was reading the text messages of the guy in front of me. He was trying to figure out how to tell this girl that he likes her. His buddy wasn’t giving good advice.”

  “What was he saying?”

  “Stupid shit like invite her to a party but don’t hang out with her. Ease into letting her know you’re available.”

  We walk past a few girls who lift their heads from their phones and eye us, their expressions morphing into surprise. I ignore them and ask, “How do you suggest he tell her?”

  “Uh, just be honest. Say ‘I like you. Will you go out with me?’”

  I stop her and tug on her hand so she turns toward me. “I like you. Will you go out with me?”

  Her smile is endearing when she says, “You know I’m already attached to you. You don’t need to ask.”

  “I might ask every day just to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

  She rolls her eyes and pushes her hand against my chest. “Lame, Green.”

  I chuckle and pull her into a hug. “Okay, I have to run the rest of the way or I’m going to be late.” I lift her chin and press a chaste kiss against her lips. “Shit,” I sigh. “I should not have done that.” I press my lips to hers again, but this time a little harder, a little longer, as my hand snakes up to the back of her head, holding her in place. “Fuck, you taste so good.” I go in for more, but she pushes at my chest.

  “You’re going to be late.” She pushes me farther away. “Go on.”

  I push my hand through my hair in aggravation. “Fucking Disik.” I pull her in for one more quick kiss and then I release her before I get myself in trouble. “You look hot as fuck in my sweatshirt, by the way. Catch you later, baby.”

  Before I can tempt myself to stay longer, I take off at a brisk jog toward the stadium. I’m going to make it just in time.

  * * *

  Holt: I was tempted to come into the diner tonight, but I knew I would eat like shit, and I need to stick to my diet.

  Harmony: Stick to your diet? Really? For your manly figure?

  Holt: That, and other things.

  Harmony: Other things?

  Holt: Not a text message question.

  Harmony: Okay, now you have me worried.

  Holt: No need to worry, baby. My willpower sucks right now, so I’m trying to keep it together.

  Harmony: You know I eat healthy too, right? We don’t have to always get burgers and fries.

  Holt: Why did you have to say that? You were my excuse to have fries.

  Harmony: LOL. Sorry but I do have to watch my girly figure.

  Holt: Weird question, and not that it matters, but do you work out?

  Harmony: I go on a run every morning, or at least try to. It’s only around the block and adds up to 1.87 miles, but it works for me. I’m sure that’s a mere warmup for you.

  Holt: I like that you know the exact distance. Maybe I can go on the run with you at some point.

  Harmony: So you can humiliate me with your pace?

  Holt: No, so I can watch your tits jiggle in a sports bra.

  Harmony: What is wrong with you?

  Holt: Nothing. Just really like your tits.

  Harmony: You haven’t even seen them.

  Holt: And whose fault is that?

  Harmony: No one’s. I’m fine with it.

  Holt: You’re selfish.

  Harmony: I just snorted. You’re lucky I’m on my break, or else someone could have gotten snot in their food.

  Holt: Ooo, a juicy snorter. I like it.

  Harmony: Seriously, what is wrong with you?

  Holt: Like I said above . . . nothing. I’m perfect, babe. Doesn’t get more ideal than this.

  Harmony: We’ll see about that. I still have a lot to test out to make sure you’re a good fit.

  Holt: I promise you, I’m going to fit damn well. Maybe a little snug, but you’ll get used to it.

  Harmony: I think it’s best if I go. You’re too much right now.

  Holt: That’s what you might say in bed too, but just breathe, babe. It’s supposed to feel good.

  Harmony: Annnd we’re done. Goodnight.

  Holt: Wait . . .

  Harmony: What?

  Holt: Send me a picture of you.

  Harmony: Ughhhh

  Harmony: [Picture]

  Holt: Fuck, babe. You’re so goddamn hot.

  Harmony: I’m wearing a diner dress.

  Holt: You could wear a trash bag and I’d still want to hold your hand.

  Harmony: Interesting that you said hold my hand and not fuck me.

  Holt: I know when to be funny and when to be romantic. That was romantic. Miss those lips, babe.

  Harmony: ^^^ And that’s exactly why I can’t seem to shake you away.

  Holt: Can’t shake Velcro.

  Harmony: Are you saying you’re Velcro?

  Holt: We both are. That’s why it works. *Wink emoji* Have a good night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  HARMONY

  “Oh, you’re smiling.” Priya leans forward and snaps a picture of me with her phone. “I’m sending that to Holt, because I’m assuming that’s who you’re texting right now.”

  I set my phone down and lean my head back against the sofa. “Yeah,” I sigh.

&
nbsp; Freaking sigh.

  When have I ever been a sigher over a boy?

  Never.

  Never in my entire life have I sighed over a boy.

  But that’s what Holt does to me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just stupid shit. He’s in study hall right now,” I answer.

  “Daredevil. Texting during study hall? I heard the baseball team’s study hall is strict.”

  “He said Knox is running it, and since Holt apparently has really good grades, he doesn’t have to be there, but he shows up for support.”

  “And texts? That’s a great example.” Priya laughs.

  “I questioned that as well. He said he’s ‘looking for a book.’”

  “Smart.” Priya takes a seat on the couch next to me and says, “So, how’s it going with him?”

  “It’s fine,” I answer casually.

  “Oh my God, you’re such a liar. But I get it. You don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about this internship that’s taking you away from me.”

  “We’re still living together.”

  She twists her dark hair around her finger. “Yes, but the diner doesn’t feel right without you, and picking up shifts here and there isn’t the same. We won’t be suffering together anymore.”

  I laugh. “I’ll still suffer with you. I worked there for two years. I’ll be able to keep up on the commiserating.”

  “I guess so.” She shifts on the couch, pulling her leg up. “Tell me about the internship, though. Is it everything you hoped for?”

  “I mean, not everything I hoped for. I’m not writing articles for them, but I am editing, and it’s really great experience. I just got done with training. I have to take a test in a few days to make sure I’m ready to take on the articles.”

  “A test?” Priya shakes her head. “That would feel like too much pressure for a job.”

  “I’m pretty confident about it. Fifer, my trainer, says I have a great eye so far and thinks I’m going to ace it.”

  “Well, that’s good news.”

  I nod. “Yeah, and it pays more than working at the diner, so I can spring for something other than Top Ramen for dinner on occasion.”

  “Are you saying . . . we could splurge on cheesy bread one night?”

  “There’s a great possibility we can.”

  She raises her hands to the sky. “Praise the pizza gods.”

  Her phone rings next to her, and she glances down at the screen. “Weekly call with the parents.”

  “Have fun. I’m going to head up to my room.”

  She blows me a kiss, answers her phone, and starts walking toward her room. When she’s out of sight, I pick up my phone and look at the text waiting for me.

  Holt: That picture Priya sent me of you reading my texts . . . Yeah, you have me by the fucking balls right now.

  I chuckle and text him back.

  Harmony: Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.

  After I send the text, I go to the kitchen and fill up my water bottle, turn off the lights, and head to the stairs just as my phone beeps again.

  Holt: Open your front door.

  I glance up at the front door as a wave of butterflies takes off in my stomach. I walk up to it, hoping he’s standing on the other side, but knowing he’s probably still in study hall.

  Without looking through the peephole, I open the door and find Holt with a single flower in his hand. His handsome face is decorated with a smile and a little more scruff than I’m used to.

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Hey,” I say, unable to hold back my excitement.

  “This is for you.” He holds out the flower and I take it. I give it a sniff because it seems like the thing to do.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” He winks. “Well, I should get going.”

  “What? No way.” I grab his hand and pull him into the house, his laugh filling the quiet apartment. When I shut the door, I reach up and circle the back of his neck to bring his lips to mine for a passionate, much-needed kiss.

  His large hands fall to my waist and he grips me tightly, holding me as though I belong to him.

  When I pull away, I say, “I’m so glad you came by.”

  “Me too. Are you done with studying for the night? Work?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty free. What about you?”

  “Done for the night. It’s why I wanted to catch a glimpse of you.”

  I slip my hand into his. “Then come upstairs and hang out with me.”

  “Upstairs, huh? You better not take advantage of me.”

  I head toward my room, the stairs creaking under our feet. “In your dreams, Green.”

  “Hey, you were the one who said you were horny the other night.”

  “I don’t know why I said that. The minute I said it, I knew you were never going to let me live it down.”

  “Correct. That’s filed away under important information to keep.”

  Chuckling, I open the door to my modest bedroom and let him in. I watch as he takes it all in, from my bed, to my desk, to the chair in the corner.

  “More girlie than I expected,” he says, running his fingers over my light pink velvet comforter. “Given your upfront personality, I didn’t expect such soft colors.”

  White walls, gold accents, light pink with touches of green here and there—I guess it does seem softer than what some people might expect.

  “It’s because you haven’t gotten to know the softer side of me. When I’m in my space, I want to be comforted, soothed. That’s what these colors do for me.”

  “I like that.” He kicks his shoes off and takes a seat in my special chair in the corner. He moves his hands behind his head and smiles at me. “Surprise me with something I don’t know about you.”

  “Hmm.” I lean against the door to my bedroom and stare him down. “I hate putting on makeup but I don’t feel like I can leave the house without it.”

  “Why?”

  “Classic mindfuckery in high school by mean girls.”

  “Then don’t wear it. Fuck them. You’re beautiful without it.”

  I smirk. “You’ve never seen me without makeup.”

  “Don’t need to see you without it. I know you’re beautiful. Lipstick isn’t going to change my mind. Do you even have anything on right now?”

  “Just mascara. It’s the one thing I can’t live without.”

  “Maybe one day you’ll show me that beautiful face without mascara.”

  “If you’re lucky.” I nod to him. “Now you tell me something.”

  I keep my distance for many reasons. One of them being he smells entirely too good right now. Another—he’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt that’s molded to his arms and chest, and it’s causing me to have dirty thoughts. Very, very dirty thoughts.

  “I have a heart condition.”

  “What?” I ask, pushing off the door, not expecting that. Is that why he was talking about a diet the other day? But he’s so healthy. “You have a heart condition?”

  “Long QT Syndrome. They found it when I was in the hospital. Another reason why I was oddly grateful for the mugging.”

  I want to be near him. I cross to the chair and he shifts, reaching for me. He pulls me onto his lap, and my hand falls at once to his heart.

  “What’s long . . . Uh, what did you say?”

  He lightly chuckles as one of his hands plays with the silky strands of my hair. “Long QT Syndrome. Basically, it can cause irregular or dangerous heart rhythms, usually under stress.”

  “Are you serious? Is it fatal?”

  “Can be,” he answers casually. “My symptoms are pretty mild. And I’m monitored constantly by Disik, the training staff, and my doctors back home. There are a few professional and collegiate athletes who have the same thing as me. But to keep an eye on it, Disik organizes regular ECGs, and I’m required to have a conversation with Disik every month about how I’m feeling.”

  “Wow, I had no idea.”
r />   “No one did. Not until last year.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my palm feeling the heavy, steady beating of his heart.

  “I didn’t disclose my condition to Disik because I didn’t want him rethinking his scholarship offer. I told my parents I told him, though. Everything was fine until I got into an argument with some douchebag fan after a tough loss. I was stressed with school and keeping my starting position, and I had terrible chest pain and had to be rushed to the hospital. Knox was there. He was scared shitless. Disik met with my parents and they went over everything they thought I’d told him. I was close to losing my scholarship after that. Not because of my heart condition, but because I neglected to inform my coach about my health, and his top priority is keeping us safe. I had to agree to Disik’s monitoring terms in order to come back this year. He kept a close eye on me all summer, and a few weeks ago, he ran me through a test. I passed with flying colors. But, yeah, something I deal with on the daily.”

  I shake my head, having a hard time comprehending Holt having a heart problem. “You seem so strong.”

  His hand rubs up and down my leg. “I am strong, babe. Just because I have a heart disease doesn’t make me weak.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly.

  “I know. But don’t treat me differently. I’m the same annoyingly obnoxious guy you decided to give a chance.”

  I smile softly, but the humor isn’t fully there as I smooth my hand over his heart. “Does it ever hurt?”

  “Only when you bruise my ego.” He smirks.

  “I’m being serious.”

  “Nah. At this point, I honestly forget that I have it. I can train the same, lift the same, run the same. The only reason I remember it most of the time is because of my diet.”

  “What’s your diet?”

  “Lots of veggies and protein is the norm for an athlete, so that’s where I focus. But I also eat potassium-rich foods like bananas, spinach, broccoli, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, and I try to stay away from caffeine, fizzy drinks and of course, energy drinks. More to help me stay balanced and as healthy as possible. But you’ll notice, I have days when I indulge.”

  No wonder his body is so ripped. The man barely has any fat on him.

  He squeezes my leg. “Any other questions?”