Page 19 of The Trouble with Players

They both looked to me, waiting for my rationale. “He probably doesn’t want to risk any videos of him going viral, especially if he’s got any shot of getting drafted.”

“Makes sense,” Janie agreed. “So, all these girls get left with is the memory—”

“And the crummy T-shirt,” I added.

Gina and Janie laughed.

“He seriously doesn’t talk?” I asked.

Janie shrugged. “From what I hear, not really.”

“That’s weird,” Gina interjected.

“Yeah,” I said, “since he has no trouble voicing his disdain for all things me.”

The left fielder caught the third out, and the Sharks jogged off the field. As they did, I spotted Crew and his eyes were locked on mine, narrowing coldly. What the hell? Didn’t he just tell me—behind closed doors—that he wasn’t my enemy? Because he was sure acting like it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I walked through the kitchen and into the living room, running my finger over the back of the sofa as I passed by it. I stopped at the sofa table that held photos of the many summers spent at the beach. I’d been so happy in the photos with my parents over the years. My father’s giant smile had always made me think he was so happy with our family. His athletic arms were wrapped tightly around me in most of the photos, always making me feel so safe. So special. So loved. Tears glazed my eyes as I looked at my mother’s smiles. She was so beautiful. So happy. So oblivious. Just like me.

Preventing my mind from venturing to further dark places, I climbed the stairs to the second floor. I moved past my room and went into the guest room. I didn’t feel like messing with Crew tonight. What Janie said about him struck a chord with me. Him hooking up with faceless girls was the reason I despised ball players like him—and my father.

I grabbed some clean clothes, then walked into the bathroom, undressed, and showered, cleaning my skin of the humidity in the air. Once I finished, I slipped on my panties and a T-shirt, pulled my wet hair up in a messy knot on the top of my head, and climbed into bed. Sleep found me sooner than I expected.

* * *

“Why’d you leave before the game ended?” Crew’s voice was a blur between my dreams and reality.

I stirred.

“Were you bored?” The weight of his body dipped the mattress. “You missed my second home run.”

I grunted.

“Other girls would’ve been impressed,” he said, more surprised than bragging.

“I have a face. I’m not other girls,” I finally mumbled.

“That’s abundantly clear.”

I opened my eyes. He was on the edge of the bed taking off his sneakers.

“What happened to your hand?” I asked, noticing the bandage wrapped around the palm of his left hand.

“I had a splinter. It got infected.”

“A splinter at the beach?”

He cocked his head, as if I should’ve understood how he got a splinter.

“Ohhhhh,” I said, realizing he’d picked up the pieces of my broken Adirondack chair.

“Most people would say, ‘Thank you.’”

“Why? It seems like karma to me.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he couldn’t figure me out.

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