Page 8 of The Fake Out

He scoffed. “I’ll be around, and plus, I’m covering yours.”

Irritation made my blood heat. That’s exactly what I thought. “No.” I hated his steamrolling.

“You moved here to save money, so I got the food. Don’t be annoying.” Chris snapped the napkin onto his lap and turned his attention back to Avery, who was settling next to him.

Emerson cleared his throat.

I whirled on him, fisting my hands on my hips. “I’m not letting him pay for everything.”

His eyes softened, the green turning a mossy hue, and he nodded. “I get it. Chris steps in and takes care of people without thinking about how it might make them feel.”

That was exactly it. But I didn’t want to burden my brother when he was already letting me stay here.

Emerson dropped his voice lower. “But he doesn’t live here, so you and I will work it out. Venmo goes both ways.” With a smile, he passed me one of the plates he was holding. “Now enjoy dinner, because I’m almost as good a cook as I am good-looking.”

I scoffed, fighting back the smile wanting to work its way across my lips.

Angling in, he gave me a once-over. “The grin is cute, but I prefer the full smile. That, Mariposa, is showstopping.” With a smirk, he left me standing there in shock.

Did my brother’s best friend just flirt with me?

“Bosco, Damiano,” Coach Wilson barked.

Curious, I surveyed him from across the locker room. Usually, I did my best not to insert myself into issues that didn’t involve me, but pregame was boring as shit. Sitting around made me crazy. I didn’t want to plan for the game. I just wanted to play it.

“Hannah needs you two for a social media promo.”

“No fucking way.” Chris’s head snapped up from his phone, where he was probably texting with Avery.

Tom Wilson, who happened to be Avery’s dad, glowered at his pitcher. But he didn’t take one step across the royal blue carpet. He simply crossed his arms and tipped his chin up. Like a warning from the general—no words needed.

Chris swallowed audibly and slumped into the white folding chair set up in front of his locker. “No disrespect, but Coach, Hannah and I have a deal. I don’t stir up shit, and she doesn’t make me perform like a trained monkey.”

As much as I loved the guy, he was a dick.

“I’ll be the monkey.” I hopped up from my own chair and gave Coach a smile. Hannah’s media stuff was usually fun, and I had no interest in sitting around for the next six hours, waiting for the game to start. Last week I’d volunteered to sit in the dunk tank. I had a blast while hundreds of fans under twelve tried their hand at hitting the bull’s-eye. Might have been my favorite pregame activity so far. Though right up there with it was making balloon animals for the opening of the puffin exhibit at the Boston Zoo. And the event where we ran bases was amazing. Honestly, now that I was thinking about it, there was no way I could choose a favorite.

Coach gave me a clipped nod.

“So it’s the A-team, then?” Kyle Bosco, who normally enjoyed the chaos of Hannah’s ideas as much as I did, came up beside me and held out his fist, looking to bump knuckles.

Instead, I wrapped an arm around the right fielder in a half hug, half hair rub. “You know it.”

He pushed me away and turned back to his locker to fix his hair. “Fucker.”

“Don’t worry, dumbass, he didn’t mess up your perfect highlights,” Mason Dumpty, our center fielder, mocked from the couch he’d settled into a few minutes before. He’d spent the last thirty minutes stomping around looking for his folding chair. I was pretty sure only Bosco thought the hide-the-chair game was fun.

Bosco glared. “I do not get my hair highlighted, but I don’t wanna look like shit on Insta or YouTube.”

I snickered and ducked so the towel he pitched at me hit our new first baseman, Jasper Quinn, instead. The kid had just graduated from college and had only been with the team for a few weeks. My hope was that trading Deckato, the seasoned veteran, for the young kid was a way to free up some money to extend my contract, but thus far, my agent had heard nothing.

“Stop dicking around and get going.” Coach Wilson pointed out the door.

Cringing at the reprimand, I headed out to find Hannah in the tunnels, with Bosco hot on my heels.

“Traded spots again?” Hannah arched a thin brow at me. It had become a regular thing, me covering for my best friend with her.

“You prefer me anyway.” I smirked.

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