Page 60 of The Best Friend and the Shortstop

“Okay, how about this,” I say, reaching up and touching my fingertips to her chin. “If you make an appointment to see what your options are, I’ll . . .” I take in a deep breath, giving myself one last chance to back out of this.

“You’ll go with me?” Nikki says.

“Of course,” I respond, lifting myself up and kissing her softly.

Her shoulders relax, but only a little.

I’m off the hook, but that wasn’t what I was going to say. And because it’s Nikki, omitting feels a whole lot like lying.

“What I was going to say is if you make that call, I’ll go talk to my dad.”

My chest fills with concrete, but in an instant, it clears as Nikki leans in and kisses me this time. Her cool hands rest on my cheeks as she holds her lips to mine. And when she pulls away, she smiles like she’s proud.

“You’ll see him today?” she asks.

And there’s the concrete again. My mouth gets dry and my lips part despite absolutely no words at the ready.

“Alex.”

“I know.” I roll to my back and pinch the bridge of my nose. Nikki leans over me, folding her arms on my chest and propping her chin on her fist.

“You know what he told me at your game?” she offers.

My eyes puzzle. I forgot that I never let her finish that part. I’m fucking stubborn sometimes.

“What?” I ask.

“He said to tell you to cut the field in half. Stand quiet. Crack the whip and commit.”

I blink, a little impressed that she nailed it. I’m sure that’s what he said. Those exact words. And hearing them now takes me back to being ten and standing in the batter’s box while a kid twice my size revs up to throw a fastball past my face.

“Cut the field in half. Stand quiet. Crack the whip and commit.” That’s what my dad said then, and I hit my first homerun over the fence. He never let up, either. That became the routine. It’s how I led the division in high school batting averages. How I knocked in more runs than anyone in Odell history. It’s what got me to Tiff.

“You aren’t going to get out of your slump until you walk through this fire,” she says.

And damn if she isn’t right.

* * *

I send the text from the stadium parking lot. My game isn’t for six hours and I got out of my business ethics class early. I honestly think Nikki went to her accounting class as a way to force my hand. It’s not like I can spend these hours with her. Not all of them at least.

A few minutes pass with no response, so I start my engine with a touch of relief that I’m off the hook for now. My phone buzzes in the cup holder as soon as I shift into reverse. I slam the shifter back into park and let my head fall against the headrest while I let out a heavy laugh.

I glance down where my phone rests, the alert obvious. There’s his name, SENIOR. It’s always been Senior. I gnaw at my lip, a slight voice somewhere in the back of my head telling me to pretend I don’t see it. To leave. To go home and take a long, hot shower and then rest for an hour.

To disappoint Nikki.

I groan as I snatch my phone and swipe to read his response. I asked if he was still in town.

SENIOR: I am. Would you like lunch? On me.

I snort out a laugh. That’s the least he owes me after all this. Fucker better have five-star meals delivered to Mom for the next ten years too.

I’m not really hungry, so I come up with an alternative.

ME: Not hungry. Can you come to the field?

I prop my phone on the steering wheel and await his reply.

---