The Strike Out Page 5

  This guy—did you picture me motioning to myself with two thumbs? Because in my head, I totally did.

  “I don’t know, man.” Pax shakes his head. “She’s tough, but if anyone can crack her shell, it’ll be you.” See, Pax knows where it’s at. “Are you guys going to the football house later? Beer and chips, that’s the theme. Just beer and chips.”

  “You guys really do use your tiny, damaged brains to be creative, don’t you?” Harmony asks next to me, causing me to snort.

  It’s no secret that the football team throws the lamest parties amongst all the sports teams. There’s usually no originality behind the parties whatsoever besides drinking beer. That’s it. Beer.

  The baseball team, on the other hand—thanks to our resident party planner, Jason—throws the best parties on campus. There’s almost always a theme, unless it’s during the season and we’re being lazy. Even then we still serve up more than beer, and because we’re decent guys who love the Earth, we make sure every plastic cup used at the party is recycled. That right there should tell you we’re doing our part. For the record, we usually make people bring their own cups so we’re not being extra wasteful, but there’s always a moron here and there who forgets one.

  The football team despises Mother Nature.

  That’s not on the record, but more of an assessment on my end since they always have plastic cups scattered over their front yard, being blown around by the winds off the water.

  Pax chuckles and says, “I think we’ve come to the realization that we’re never going to be able to compete with the baseball team, and we’ve resigned ourselves to events based on beers and chips, and that’s it.”

  “At least you know your place,” I say with a laugh.

  “That we do. So, are you two coming?”

  “Nah.” I wrap my arm around Harmony’s stiffening shoulders. “We’ve some things to do. You know”—I lean forward and shout-whisper—“some lover-type things.”

  “What?” Harmony protests. “We are not doing lover things.” Addressing Pax, she says, “We’re not doing lover things.”

  “That’s what she thinks.” I tug her toward the wharf. “Come on, sweet buns. She likes it when I call her that—”

  “I do not. What is wrong with you?”

  Laughing, Pax gives me a wave and calls out, “And I thought you had your hands full, man. Looks as though Harmony has met her match. Have fun, you two, and don’t get caught doing your lover things in public.”

  “We’re not—” Harmony growls in frustration. “Let go of me.”

  “You know”—I pause—“I really don’t want to. I like holding your tense, very corpse-like body. Makes me feel all warm inside.”

  She pushes past me and picks up her walking pace. In about two steps, I’ve cut the distance and tug on her hand. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re enjoying a walk together.”

  “You might be, but I’m not. I need to get away from you.”

  “Hmm, is this about the lovers thing?”

  She stops and spins to face me. Eyes blazing, a deep frown creasing her brow, and small locks of hair sticking to her ChapStick-covered lips.

  I have one word for the look: spectacular.

  I know. Call me crazy, but I love an irked woman. I love seeing the fire blazing in her eyes while her hands itch at her sides, begging to do some damage. And when she licks her lips, wets the pink of her mouth, it gets me high knowing I’m about to get a tongue-lashing.

  I can’t wait for it.

  “This is about the entire day.” Hands on her hips, she asks, “Why are you even here? Did you come with friends, or did you just stalk me and figure out where I was going today so you could annoy me on one of my only days off?”

  I mistakenly wince at the stalking thing, because you and I both know that’s precisely the dirty truth. Hoping Harmony never knows the creepy sleuthing I did to get here.

  “Wait.” She holds up her hand. “Did you stalk me?”

  “You know”—I tap my chin—“stalking is such a powerful word. I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way.”

  “Then how would you put it?” she growls. If she were a cat, the hairs on her back would be sticking straight up and she’d be on her tippy-toes, moving back and forth, hissing.

  I fold my arms over my chest and give it thought. “Well, it was more like expert-level sleuthing.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Throwing her arms up in frustration, she charges past me back toward Priya, but she doesn’t get too far before I stop her again.

  “Let’s talk about this.”

  “Talk about what? The fact that you followed me home and then staked out all night to see where I was going the next morning? Don’t you have better things to do with your life?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, my brow pinched. “Fuck that. I don’t sleep outside, let alone in some college girl’s bushes—plants bushes, not pussy bush . . . Do you have a bush?”

  Her arm raises and I see it coming—the slap across my face—so I quickly lace my fingers with hers and lower her hand. She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her. Instead, I pull her closer into my chest, wrap my other hand around her back, and start dancing to the cover of “Free Fallin’” by Tom Petty.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Dancing. What does it look like?”

  Her voice drips with venom when she says, “Does it look like I want to dance with you right now?”

  “Your eyes are definitely saying ‘get the fuck away from me,’ but your hand is wrapped around my waist, holding on tight. It’s hard to decipher when you’re giving me mixed messages. I’m going to go with . . . apprehensive, but slightly into it.”

  “You’re the most annoying guy I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you for the compliment.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” she says, her head now resting on my chest.

  She’s such a fraud, it’s comical.

  Said in girly voice: Ooo, get away from me. Pee-yew. Boys, yuck. I don’t want you near me, Holt.

  Yeah, fucking right. This girl is so into me. You might be wondering why I’m saying that. I know you are. But here’s why: she’s holding on to me. Beneath that snark and attitude, the feisty independence and strength, this girl is leaning into my hold, and fuck if she doesn’t feel right being there. She could have kneed me in the nuts. She could have run. But I can feel the smile against my chest. For some totally insane reason, this girl digs my brand of crazy.

  “So . . .” she says, looking up as I guide her in circles across the dipping and diving sand under our feet.

  “So, what?”

  “So how did you find out I was here if you didn’t stake out my house?”

  “First of all, no one does that. Second of all, technology has really changed how we find people. I looked up your first name in the school database, found your last name, and then trolled Instagram. Thanks for not making your profile private, by the way. It was really helpful.”

  She mutters under her breath, but I can’t quite decipher what the slew of swear words are.

  “I’ll be honest, the yellow bikini picture really got me excited to see you this morning. Also took care of my morning wood.”

  “Ew. Are you serious?”

  Head tilted back, I let out a hearty laugh while shaking my head. “No, but glad you think it’s ‘ew’ for me to masturbate, given every guy does it at least three times a week, if not a day.”

  “Men are disgusting.”

  “Are you saying you don’t masturbate?”

  “No, I do.”

  That’s hot.

  “But I don’t masturbate to someone I met the night before. Have some self-respect and masturbate to porn like the rest of us.”

  Another bout of laughter hits me. See? My kind of crazy.

  “Jesus Christ, that’s amazing.” I stop dancing, and with her hand in mine, I walk her out to the wharf, the concrete chilly under our f
eet. “What’s your favorite type of porn? Girl on girl?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  I shrug. “Just seemed like a good fit.”

  “No.” We take a seat along the edge, the water lapping against the concrete but not quite hitting us. Straight across from us is the Chicago skyline, beautiful as ever with the sun starting to make its descent. There’ll be a few more hours of sunlight, plenty of time to hang out with Harmony. “I don’t like anything in particular, nor do I watch it often, but when I do, I just search what I’m feeling that night.”

  “So you’re a nighttime diddler? Nice. I like a good stroke at night too.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She pauses then says, “And before you ask, no.”

  “No, what?” I chuckle.

  “I think I can tell what your next comeback will be. Tell me if I’m wrong, but the next thing that was going to come out of your mouth was to ask if I wanted to go back to your place, so we could diddle and stroke each other.”

  “No. Pfft, you don’t know me at all.”

  Her brow raises.

  “I was going to suggest your place, not mine. I assume your sheets are more comfortable.”

  She rolls her eyes and then plays with her hands in her lap. “Why would you assume my sheets are better?”

  “Duh, because you’re a girl and girls always have soft things.”

  “Not when you live paycheck to paycheck. My sheets are like cardboard boxes.”

  “Cardboard is comfortable. Can’t get enough of that brown stuff.”

  “Stop it.” She laughs and shoves my shoulder.

  “Okay, so my place, because of the possibility of a dangerous papercut from a box. But I’ll warn you, if it’s my place, there’ll be a bunch of prying eyes. Hmm, you know, the more I think about it, how about I grab sheets from my place and bring them to yours, chuck the cardboard boxes to the side for later if we want to make a fort, and then we diddle each other? I really like it when a girl plays with my balls, just a heads-up.”

  Quietly she laughs, and there’s a slight shake to her head. “You’re so weirdly confident and say the dumbest shit.”

  “But it’s making you laugh, so that’s all that matters to me.”

  “Is that so? Didn’t seem like it last night. You were on the defensive, big time.”

  “You weren’t necessarily pleasant either.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who came chasing.” She challenges me with her stare.

  “Because I had a question to ask you.”

  “Is that right?”

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “Okay, so you stalked me, came down here, and spent almost the whole day with me to ask me a question?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, what’s the question?”

  “I made a mistake with my tip. Can I have my change back?”

  Her mouth falls open and then spreads into a wide grin. She pushes my shoulder, sending me slightly to the side, but not by much. She doesn’t have much muscle on her.

  I’m a bison to her squirrel—does that make sense? It did in my head. You get the picture. She’s a pipsqueak, and I’m all man muscle and glory.

  “You didn’t come here to get your money back, and I wouldn’t give it back to you at this point anyway. I gave you your chance, and you were a pompous ass and denied it, so it’s mine now.”

  “A pompous ass? For giving you a nice tip? Maybe I was just trying to be a nice guy.”

  “No one is ever simply nice like that.”

  There’s a heavy statement. One I wish I could dissect to find the true meaning behind it. This isn’t just about her distaste for athletes; this is deeper than that. Someone hurt her, maybe many people, but there’s a guard she’s wearing, a protective shield that she seems to erect any time I try to get an inch closer. And that’s fine. For now. Just means I need to slowly take it down. And God, I sound just like Jason, the feelings man. He’ll be excited about that.

  Growing serious, I reach over and tip her cheek with my finger so she has to look me in the eyes. “I’m like that, Harmony. I’m a nice guy. I might be obnoxious most of the time with my joking and innuendo, but when it comes down to it, I’m genuine.”

  Her full lashes flutter right before she says, “Intentions can be genuine, but the soul can also be greedy.”

  “This soul is anything but that.”

  “Is that what you think? Well, you took my only day off away from me because you had an agenda. Is that not greedy?”

  She speaks with such weight in her words that I really want to know what’s behind those dark eyes, and what or who made her the jaded person she is today.

  “It’s not,” I answer.

  “No?” she asks, a question in her facial features.

  I shake my head. “Not when I know you’ve probably laughed more today than you have in, what . . . months?”

  She looks away, and I know I’m right.

  “You’ve had fun. Yes, we’ve had great banter back and forth, and we’ve argued and bickered, but we’ve also laughed . . . a lot. You’ve gotten your fair share of eye candy”—she snorts—“and I’ve seen a great deal of your ass, which I’m eternally grateful for. This hasn’t been a one-sided, greedy, ill-intentioned day. It might have started off with a hint of greed, but I saw something between us that I wanted to explore. Today has been a day full of new friendships and enjoying one of the last days of the summer before school starts back up.”

  “Friendship—is that all you want?”

  A loose strand of hair falls in front of her face and before she can tuck it away, I reach out and drag it behind her ear for her. “No, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  “What if I say I’m good on friends right now?”

  “I’d say you’re lying. There’s always room for more friends in this world. Plus, after today, I’m not sure you can get rid of me.”

  “You’re so confident.”

  I bring her against my side with a tug on her shoulder and say, “I have to be. If I wasn’t confident, I would never be where I am today.” And that, my friends, is the absolute truth. And more than anything, I want Harmony Styles to like that about me too.

  Chapter Nine

  HOLT

  “Did you guys ride together?” I ask Priya and Harmony, who are folding their towels.

  “Yeah, I drove,” Priya says. We make eye contact, a silent conversation happening between us. I know she gets it the minute she adds, “But I actually have to run a few errands before tomorrow. Holt, do you think you could drive Harmony home for me?”

  See? I told you I liked Priya. I mentally give her a high five.

  “What?” Harmony protests, just like I knew she would. “No, that’s okay. I can run errands with you.”

  “I know you can, but I don’t want you to. These are private affairs,” Priya says with her head held high.

  Harmony doesn’t buy it. “Private affairs? I’ve been in the room while you got your vagina waxed, so nothing is private between us.”

  Talk about friendship. If Knox or Carson asked me to be in the room when they got the hair ripped from their balls, I would have told them to go fuck themselves. I’m all about being there for a friend in need, but waxing . . . yeah, I’ll pass.

  “This is more private than that. Real sensitive, top-secret stuff.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Harmony rolls her eyes and turns toward me. “Where are you parked?”

  I smile brightly and hold out my arm for her to take. “Right this way, madam.”

  She refuses to take my arm and starts walking toward the parking lot. I shoot Priya a quick look of thanks, which she returns with a wink, and catch up to Harmony, who seems to be on a mission to get the hell out of here.

  Silently we walk to my car, the crowd around us seeming to part as we walk by. I’m not sure if it’s because Harmony has her head down, ready to plow people over, or if it’s because they notice my desperation to keep up with her and are giving a guy
a break. Either way, we make it back to my car in record time.

  “Knew which one was mine, huh?”

  “It’s the only BMW in this part of the parking lot. Hard to miss.”

  She has a point. I take her things from her and open the door, and as her body innocently brushes against mine as she takes a seat, I pray to the Lord above to give me self-control.

  After we spent a few more minutes at the wharf, we went to the concession stand, grabbed some burgers, and took them back to Priya. We shared a small dinner together, and Harmony and I ate some more gummy worms while Priya indulged in her own little stash of vanilla wafer cookies.

  We talked, I flirted, Harmony ignored me, but on occasion, I caught her checking me out, and that’s what spurred me to keep going. Those little glances.

  Now that the sun has fallen and there isn’t much light in the area, it’s the perfect time to leave.

  I stuff my things in the trunk of my car and then get in the driver’s side, pushing the start button and letting the car rumble to life.

  “Where to?” I ask her, hoping she doesn’t say home.

  She stares out the window, not answering right away, but instead, giving her answer some thought. She’s still wearing my T-shirt, her hair is pulled back into a bun on the top of her head, and the sunglasses she was wearing all day are tucked away in her backpack. So now, I get to look her into the eyes.

  I’m about to ask her again when she finally leans back against the seat and says, “Anywhere but home.”

  Her statement sounds troubled, as though she wants an escape, and if that’s the case, then that’s exactly what I’ll give her. It’s still early in the night, and Chicago is a city full of possibilities, but there’s one place I know she’ll appreciate, if anything, just for the peace and quiet.

  “Buckle up.” I put the car in reverse and take off, blazing through the streets with the radio filling the silence between us as her attention is captured anywhere but with me.

  That’s okay, though. She needs time to process. She seems to be someone who goes with her gut, who makes decisions after some thought rather than just spur-of-the-moment. I want her to put thought into who I am, the type of man she’s witnessed all day. Fun and outgoing, but also protective and genuine.