Page 50 of Tell Me Something True

She refrained, barely, from rolling her eyes because she was trying to prove to her brothers that she was an adult and as such, could handle their overbearing ways with grace, empathy, and patience.

“He’s twenty,” she said, adding creamer to her coffee.

“Too. Old.”

She took a sip. “He’s barely two years older than I am.”

“You’re underage. He’s an adult.”

She didn’t point out, yet again, that she was turning eighteen at the end of August. Or that she’d be meeting—and hopefully dating—plenty of guys who were two, three, or even four years older once she started school at Ohio State.

“The age of consent in Pennsylvania is sixteen.” She took another sip of coffee. Pursed her lips. “So no matter what Patrick and I decide to do, it’s legal.”

Eli stopped and stared at her, eyes wide and not blinking, mouth open, for ten seconds. Then twenty.

She frowned. Walked into the living room where reception was better. “You froze. Can you hear me?”

He blinked. Scowled. And started walking again.

“I’ll kill him.”

Her brothers. So overly dramatic.

She sat on the arm of the couch. “You do realize Patrick and I have never met in person, right? We’ve never been in the same room or, as far as I know, town or city at the same time. So far in our relationship—”

“Don’t call it that.”

“—there’s been no physical contact at all. He hasn’t sent me any unsolicited dick pics—”

Eli’s face grayed and he looked ready to puke, right there on the street.

“We’re not sexting or exchanging nudes,” she continued. “We’re just talking.”

“Well stop talking to him. Talk to anyone but him.”

“What is your problem with Patrick? He’s nice.”

“I told you no baseball players. Especially ones on my team.”

Eli and Patrick played for the Oklahoma Drillers baseball team—Eli in left field and Patrick at shortstop.

And Eli absolutely did tell her no baseball players. He’d made it crystal clear when she’d FaceTimed him a few weeks ago asking him to hook her up with one of his teammates that he didn’t want her dating a professional athlete ever.

That was when she’d met Patrick. He’d taken Eli’s phone and started flirting hard with her, despite Eli’s threats.

“You still haven’t told me why I shouldn’t talk to him.”

“He’s a cocky asshole who thinks everything he wants should be handed to him on a fucking silver platter. Including girls.”

Sipping her coffee, Verity gave him a raised eyebrow look over her mug.

“Including women,” he corrected.

Patrick was cocky. At least, he’d been pretty sure of himself those first few DMs he’d sent her on Instagram. But once he’d realized that she wasn’t about to fly out to meet him at some random hotel in whatever city he was playing in that night and fall on his dick, no matter how often he offered to buy her a ticket, he’d stopped trying so freaking hard to impress her with his stats and fans and piles of money.

He’d opened up a little and relaxed a lot. Like he’d stopped playing some role he’d been assigned, and started being himself.

She liked him. She liked his sense of humor and his Texas drawl. She liked his confidence and work ethic. She liked his pretty face and toned body.

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