Page 22 of Bad Ball Hitter

“Like this.” He guides my hand, and we send the Frisbee sailing in a perfect arc. My pulse races, not from the throw, but from the brush of his lips against my ear as he whispers, “Nice job.”

My gaze meets his, and the thanks I would mutter dies on my lips—pools of brown as dark as the deepest night stare back. The pounding in my chest quickens. Birds grow silent. I see a flicker of something more than amusement in his eyes. For a fleeting moment, I think it’s longing. There’s a tension between us, thick and alive, like the static before a storm. His breath fans my face, and I find myself leaning closer, caught in his gravitational pull.

“It looks like Lila has the hang of it. Can we get back to playing?” Miranda’s voice shatters the moment.

Drake seems to shake out of his haze and steps back. “Let’s go. You ready, Jake?”

We fall into an easy rhythm, laughter bubbling between us as we chase the Frisbee. Admittedly, I’m not as bad as I remember. With each throw, the awkwardness from earlier fades. Miranda seems to settle into a pattern without stealing the spotlight. Maybe she learned. We keep the Frisbee toss going until Jake says he’s tired.

“Mom, I’m thirsty.”

“I have to use the restroom.” Miranda charges Drake and gives him a seductive smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Drake’s expression is impassive as we head to the picnic table. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed by her or trying to contain himself around Jake. The thought of them together burns. I need to learn to get through this.

“Remember that summer?” Drake’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, the smirk I loved so much firmly in place. “The one where you convinced me to steal second base during that championship game?”

I laugh before I can help it. Those were simpler days when I used to attend his baseball games. We had a slew of hand signals I’d flash throughout the night. In this particular play, I thought he’d have a chance. It turned out I was wrong. “You were so mad at me when you got tagged out.”

He chuckles. “Mad? No, Lila. That was the moment I knew you were trouble.”

“Good trouble,” I correct him, and the easy banter feels like slipping into an old, favorite pair of jeans—comfortable, familiar.

“Best kind.” He winks, sending a familiar shiver down my spine, one I try to ignore. “Jake has some of that same spirit, you know.”

“Does he now?” I watch Jake race around, tiny legs pumping with determination. “Looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Maybe not,” Drake agrees, watching Jake with a softness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. It’s disarming, making the past feel distant and the pain not so sharp. But the only resemblance Jake has from me is learned.

“I’m surprised you brought a Frisbee instead of a baseball.”

“I didn’t want to be too preposterous,” he shrugs. “I wasn’t sure what he liked.”

Sadness envelopes me. I’ve been so wrapped up in working and hating everything sports I never thought about asking Jake if he’d be interested. “I honestly don’t know. The way he took to throwing a Frisbee, I’d say he’d be down.”

“I’ll have to teach him someday.”

Our gazes meet once again. Before I can answer, Miranda returns and wedges herself between Drake’s legs.

“Did I ever tell you guys about when I caught a home run ball at one of Drake’s games?” Miranda flips her dark hair over one shoulder. She leans in closer, her perfume a mix of ambition and jasmine. “It was like fate wanted me to have that ball.”

“Really?” Drake raises an eyebrow, and I catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “That’s quite the coincidence.”

“Totally,” she presses on, oblivious to his bemusement. “And then I got to meet all the players in the VIP area. It was so fabulous, except you didn’t show up.”

“Sounds like quite the night.” He nods, but his attention drifts back to Jake, who’s now chasing a butterfly with the joy only a child can muster.

“Unforgettable,” she says, but her word hangs, trying to snag his interest. And now I know what she meant when she showed me the baseball earlier.

Fate.

Isn’t that what she said? They were fated.

Funny how I had thought that once, too.

CHAPTER NINE

Drake

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