Page 20 of Bad Ball Hitter

Of all the bad ideas I’ve had throughout my life, agreeing to come to the park with my ex and his shiny new toy ranks at the top. I was good. I had cleansed Drake from my soul years ago and laid that body to rest. Now, I can’t so much as look at Drake without sinking into a deep, spiraling memory abyss. Seeing him with another woman is hard enough, but witnessing them interact with my son? That is unfathomable.

A bead of sweat rolls down my back as I lean against the picnic table and watch Drake attempt to toss a Frisbee with Jake. I say attempt because Miranda keeps being a ball hog. Ball or disc? Is a disc hog a thing? Either way, every time Jake misses, she swoops in and scoops it up, much to Jake’s dismay. The poor kid has returned the Frisbee only a handful of times. His little hands clench at his sides, but he has said nothing to her yet.

Drake wears that same low-key scowl that says he’s irritated but is trying hard to maintain his calm. If Miranda intends to show how good she is with kids, she’s going about it all wrong.

Speaking of good, a piece of me died when Drake’s muscular frame moved with the effortless grace of an athlete when he walked into the apartment. He’s wearing black athletic joggers with a tight-fitting t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders and toned arms. It took everything in me to keep from absorbing the rush working through my body every time I looked at him.

Like now.

So much for burying that ghost. The damn thing resurrected and wrapped itself around me like a weighted blanket.

It’d be easier to keep hating him if he wasn’t so good-looking.

Miranda scoops the Frisbee right before Jake gets there. I bite my tongue to keep from mouthing off. My gaze strays and meets dark brown ones. My body heats with that familiar warmth. This is so bad. I can’t have thoughts about my roommate’s boyfriend.

“Miranda, I want to throw it,” Jake yells, breaking our connection.

“You need to catch it, then.”

“You’re always hovering. I don’t get a chance.”

“What’s going on?” Drake asks, irritation dripping in every syllable.

Miranda’s eyes narrow as she shoots me a glare. My lips form a tight line. She has no one to blame but herself. I wouldn’t be here if she weren’t trying to use my child as a prop. This is on her.

“Miranda won’t play nice. She keeps stealing my turn.”

“That’s not true. You just need to be better,” she says with a huff—an actual huff. Like, who’s the seven-year-old here?

“He’s seven, Miranda. He’s still training.” Drake jogs over to Jake, who stands with his hands balled into tiny fists. He whispers a few words to him, and whatever he says makes Jake laugh. They fist bump before Drake puts distance between them. “Stand off to the side, Miranda. I want to work some more with Jake, one-on-one.”

She stomps over to the side and crosses her arms over her chest. Her bottom lip juts out, but Drake doesn’t pay her any attention.

His focus is on Jake, leaving me mesmerized as a smile plays on his lips. It’s the same one that knocked me sideways ever since we were kids. His throws are effortless as he pivots on the ball of his foot, muscles flexing under the fabric of his T-shirt.

And I stand there, taking it all in, wanting to resist yet wanting to embrace every second. This was my dream many years ago—Drake in his element, playing with my son. Except it was supposed to be with our son, without this resentment, the other woman, and the remnants of a heartbreak.

I never thought about us getting back together. It wasn’t a possibility, so I didn’t want to torture myself. But that doesn’t mean I ever forgot what we had. Drake had issues. He may have been reckless throughout school, but he was the most attentive boyfriend. Drake was my entire world. Right until he wasn’t.

I reach for my necklace and worry the pendant with my fingers as my thoughts trail back to the day he gave it to me.

“Drake. You’re going to get caught again. I don’t think Principal Jenkins will be so lenient this time.”

“It’s fine.” He grabbed my hand and led me through the outside door to the school pool house.

“I don’t want to spend Valentine’s Day in jail.”

“You’re being dramatic.” He laughed. “Besides, I have permission.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “By whom?”

“The janitor.”

“Seriously?” I didn’t believe him, not in the least. “And what did he actually say?”

He stopped walking and faced me, the corners of his mouth lifting to that sexy grin that made my heart race. “He didn’t want any horsing around.”

“And what do you call this?”

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