Page 47 of Stealing Summer

Before I could respond, a tall, clean-cut-looking man joined us. He greeted Reese with a firm handshake and clapped him on the back before he turned to face me.

"Chandler, right?" His handshake was firm, warm. "It's good to meet you," he said, his gaze holding mine for a beat longer than necessary, as if trying to read the story behind my eyes.

"Likewise, Mr. Carrington," I replied, feeling the weight of his assessment.

“Good to see you, son. Hope you’re ready to claim your MVP title tonight.” Though his tone was casual, I sensed an intense competitiveness behind the words. This must’ve been Reese’s dad. It was clear that winning was important to him.

Reese’s jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. “Guess we’ll see what happens.”

Reese’s dad gave him a curious look, though the moment quickly passed.

Reese’s hand found mine, his grip tight. I knew he was feeling the pressure, but I refused to let him feel it alone. Hand in hand, Reese and I walked through the crowd, mingling while his parents circulated separately.

I scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face among the sea of people. That’s when I spotted him—Boston, sitting at one of the tables with Caroline practically in his lap. He caught my gaze and shot me a playful wink before turning his attention back to the giggling girl beside him. He looked so handsome, but it was Boston, so I wouldn’t expect anything less.

The announcer’s booming voice came over the loudspeaker, welcoming us all to the ceremony, and asking us to take our seats. I leaned forward in anticipation, listening for what the announcer would say next.

Sure enough, when the announcer called out “Best Batting Average,” Boston’s name was announced and Reese rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated yawn. I noticed the dismissive gesture and shot him a glare.

Boston walked up to the stage to claim his trophy, the crowd was cheering him on. He took a dramatic bow and I couldn’t help but smile, proud of how far he had come. Something told me this wouldn’t be the last of Boston’s baseball accolades. I clapped loudly as Boston made his way off stage, trophy in hand. I knew how hard he had worked to earn that award. But the ceremony wasn’t over yet.

“Next up,” the announcer’s voice said, “the award for Best Defensive Player of the season goes to “Parker Hartford!”

The cheers exploded all around me. Parker’s grin was infectious as he accepted the award. I yelled, hoping he could hear how proud I was.

The ceremony seemed to be winding down, and I leaned back in my chair, thinking we’d seen the last of the accolades for the evening. That’s when the announcement came that perked up every ear in attendance.

“Before we conclude tonight’s celebration with the MVP award,” the presenter announced, a hint of mystery lacing his tone, “We have our annual leadership award winner to announce. This next one is going to a player who is the voice of reason—someone who many look up to.”

“Quiet down, I want to hear this,” a voice whispered nearby, as everyone’s focus returned to the announcer.

“The Christopher Michael Leadership award for excellent leadership goes to Crew Morrissey.”

A loud applause erupted, the noise echoing off the walls, as players and staff stood to their feet. Crew, with his sun-bleached hair and bright smile, stepped forward from where he was seated. Reese couldn’t help but smirk and cheer because Crew was his best friend.

“Way to go, Crew!” someone shouted amidst the clapping, and several whistles cut through the air.

“He’s so dreamy,” sighed one of the girls from the table next to ours.

“Total eff boy, unfortunately,” her friend chimed in, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. “I heard he was hooking up with someone in the bathroom earlier.”

“Seriously?” the first girl gasped, her eyes growing wider.

Her friend confirmed with a knowing nod, her lips curling into a smirk that suggested she enjoyed the gossip as much as the news itself.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” the announcer bellowed. “The Most Valuable Player for this season is... Reese Carrington!”

The crowd exploded as Reese stood up before jogging up on stage. I joined in the applause, extremely proud of him. As he accepted the MVP trophy, flashing his trademark smirk, I noticed Boston’s smile fade ever so slightly. I knew Boston must’ve felt disappointed not to receive it, and I’m sure it stung a little that Reese got it.

But as the team came together on stage for one last team photo, I saw the two of them smiling together despite their rivalry. I let out a small sigh of relief. In the end, the game brought them together, even if only for a moment.

twenty-five

Reese’s arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me in close as we swayed to the music. I could feel his chiseled abs through his thin shirt, his muscular frame pressed against mine. Looking up into his eyes, I was mesmerized—I couldn’t believe I was here with him. I had to stop myself from pinching my own arm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

“You fit pretty well in my arms,” he murmured, his voice low.

I felt a blush creep across my cheeks. “I like being in your arms,” I replied coyly.

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