Page 46 of The Fake Out

“Trust me?” I asked, setting the wine and cups on the ground beside me.

With a slow nod, like she wanted to but wasn’t totally convinced she could, she studied me. Good enough.

“Okay.” I grabbed her waist and turned her so her back was to the wall. “When I say three, jump.”

Her big brown eyes widened, and she locked her hands around my wrists. “Wait. Wait.” She looked over her shoulder, then zeroed in on me, her mouth parted in disbelief. “You do not think I’m going up there, do you?”

I tightened my hold on her waist, my fingers digging into the softness there, keeping her from escaping. “No, I don’t think it. I know you’re going up there. Trust me.”

“You can’t lift me,” she scoffed.

I frowned at her. I wasn’t the scrawny seventeen-year-old who’d been picked up by a triple-A team anymore. Even at six-two, I still barely tipped the scale at 190, but I was just as strong as any of the guys on the team. “Try me.”

“I’m heavy,” she pleaded, her eyes full of fear and what I swore was embarrassment.

That was nonsense. I didn’t lift a lot because I didn’t want to wreck my shoulders by pushing it. But I could bench 305. I was a professional athlete; it was insulting that she thought I couldn’t help her jump up a couple of feet.

Brows lifted, I tightened my grip on her. “So on three?”

“Fine.” She glared, sliding her hands to my shoulders. “But I warned you.”

I counted, and when she jumped lamely, I lifted her the rest of the way and settled her on the ledge.

She shrieked. “I can’t believe you did that.”

I set the wine and cups on the wall, then pulled myself up next to her with little effort. “I told you I could.”

She rolled her eyes at me, scoffing, but I just grinned as I slipped over the side.

Once I’d dropped down onto the rocky ledge that ran out into the dark water of the harbor, I rested my hands on her waist again. “Gonna actually trust me this time?”

Head tipped to one side, she studied me. I could see the eye roll before it happened, so rather than wait for it, I lifted and pulled her down beside me.

She squeaked again as she settled on the rocks. “I can’t believe you just did that,” she said again, this time her tone filled with awe rather than incredulity.

I didn’t get it. It was like no one had ever lifted her before. She peered around me, taking in the water and the horizon. Then she focused on me once more, carefully stepping forward onto the uneven surface.

“What is this?”

“A breakwater. Goes a half mile into the bay.” I tipped my chin toward the rocky path. “It’s a bit uneven, so you might want to take those off.” I pointed to her heels.

Part of me thought she might fight me on it. Barefoot, outside, in the dirt. But without a word, she slipped the sky-high heels off and hooked them over her finger.

“This way.” I guided her silently down the rocky wall. About halfway, I stopped and set the bottle of wine and glasses down. Then I shrugged my suit jacket off my shoulders and laid it out.

“Wanna sit?” I nodded to my jacket and held out a hand for hers. Once she settled, I plopped down beside her. Our legs dangled off the edge, not even coming close to the water below. The only sound was the lapping of the small waves against the rocks as I poured wine into both cups and handed her one.

She took it and brought it to her lips for a slow sip as she surveyed the dark water.

“How often do you come out here?” she asked, setting the cup on a flat rock beside her. She was perceptive, quickly understanding that this wasn’t a new thing for me.

“About once a week. Maybe more often in the summer,” I admitted. This last year, I discovered that December and January were cold as fuck in Boston. “The city can be overstimulating.” It was overwhelming at first. The smells, sounds, lights. Even the people.

Having this quiet space centered me. In high school, I’d been given labels to explain why my thoughts ran wild. Why I couldn’t focus in class and why I struggled to pay attention, which so often led to walking into furniture and tripping over things.

The second I stepped onto the baseball diamond, though, all the chaos faded away. At first, teachers assumed I was doing it on purpose, begging for attention, because the jump between being unable to focus and being hyper-focused was so severe it was hard for many to comprehend. As it turned out, my brain just worked differently. Neurodiverse. I was nowhere near the only athlete who fit that bill.

“I like that you can see a few stars here.” Gianna leaned back on her palms and tipped her head back. The smooth skin at the column of her neck called to me. Begged me to press my lips to it. To taste her softness. “I always wanted to paint a good night sky. Not a city skyline. I’ve done that more times than I can count. But the sky in the middle of nowhere.”

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