Page 172 of Unleashed

Greg doesn’t look at her, almost like he’s embarrassed from last night. He didn’t shave today, so his stubble from yesterday is darker and longer. Sylvie grabs his arms and keeps her voice down, but I get the gist.

Val enters the dugout with a smile, but her eyes radiate concern. “Dear heart, congratulations on your graduation. I have a card for you I’ll give to you after practice.”

I smile. “Oh, Val. You’re so sweet. Thank you.”

“Are you still going back to Dover?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure what I’m doing now. Richmond has become my home. I missed it when I was in Durham.”

Val sees me watching Greg and Sylvie. “Sylvie is teasing Rod, and he’s had about enough.”

I shake my head, noticing Trashy sitting on the bleachers. “She’s harassing him about if he’s in love.”

Val sighs. “Oh, he absolutely is, but he’s fighting it like hell.”

Turning my back to Trashy, I say, “Well, I don’t want her thrown in my face.”

Val touches my shoulders and whispers, “Don’t lose faith. It’s not her.”

Greg walks away from Sylvie, but Betsy stops him. As he says something to her, I sip my water, and he resumes walking to the dugout.

Greg stops at the entrance and smiles at Val. “What’s going on in here? Some kind of secret club meeting?” Greg tries to joke but seems distracted, looking everywhere but at me.

Laughing, Val grabs a cup. “We would never dream of excluding you, Rod.”

Outside the dugout, Sylvie nods toward Greg, makes a heart with her hands, and points to me. I roll my eyes.

As if my brain is under new management, I set down my cup and go over to Greg. His Chrome scent strikes all my senses. When his brown eyes slide over my face, I grab his spiky jaw and kiss him. At first, Greg’s eager lips are all in with his soft growl until he tears his lips away and glares at me. “What are you doing?”

I blink at him, seeing a different Greg than last night. “Finishing what you started,” I mumble and Val clutches my arm.

Finn says, “Simone and Rodwell, grab a ball and warm up.” With all the ice Greg is dumping on me, I need warmth.

No sooner than I exit the dugout, Betsy asks, “Is Greg cheating on you?”

“No.”

“Patrice saw him with that blue-haired girl earlier. But then he was kissing you a minute ago. What is going on?”

“Whatever it is, it’s none of your damn business.”

“Sure,” she sneers with a dubious lilt, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I glance at Greg, who is in a stoic convo with Val. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, shakes his head, shrugs, and pushes up sleeves he doesn’t have. When he slides both hands into his hair beneath his hat, I know whatever Val is saying is heavy.

Greg storms out of the dugout, and his expression resembles a cornucopia of gloom, anger, and pain.

Val follows him, but stops to sweep one of my pigtails over my shoulder while he blows onto the field. “Dear heart, it seems as if he’s facing a reckoning. I’ll work on him. Don’t fret.” She pats my cheek with a worried smile, which doesn’t make me feel confidant.

Realizing I left my glove in the dugout, I return and when I exit, a blue-haired pincushion greets me. “Simone, hi. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Uh, sure.” On the field, Greg bitches to Hadley because, of course, he is.

Trashy sighs. “I think Greg is playing you.”

I stammer, “W-what do you mean?”

“You were his fake wife, but I think you see him as more. Am I wrong?”

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