Page 51 of Easy Out

“It was fine. Hart took care of him.” That makes Morelli laugh.

“I’m sure he did. I’m glad to see the two of you working so well together.” Morelli beams with pride and happiness toward Hart. It’s obvious there is a familiarity there that only comes from a seasoned relationship. “I look forward to reading your papers in a few weeks.”

Morelli moves on to the next pair in our row. “Sounds like he’s cool with what we’re writing about,” I say to break the silence. Hart nods. He places his forearms on the table and leans into me. I’ve figured out this is one of his signature moves.

“When did you start playing baseball?” I ask before Hart can bring up my fear of abandonment again. His eyes narrow on me, noting every bat of my eyelashes or fidget of my lips.

“I’ll answer your question even though it’s my turn but don’t think I haven’t forgotten what you said before. That conversation isn’t over.”

“Okay,” I say to placate him. I don’t plan on talking about it again.

“I started playing baseball when I was four or five. It was a way for me to spend time with my dad at first. I didn’t have to talk a lot when I played baseball. That was a nice perk.” He gives me a rueful smile.

“When we figured out I was pretty good at it, and it made me happy, my parents invested more time and money to make me the best I could be. It’s because of them I’m here now.”

“I’d say your dedication,” my eyes flick to his biceps that are currently testing the durability of his cotton t-shirt, “and talent is part of the reason you’ve made it so far.”

"I like it when you say nice things about me, brujita. And when you look at me like that?" He bites his lower lip and shakes his head. He shouldn’t do that. It isn’t fair. He can’t bite his lip like that and not expect me to want things. “You shouldn’t look at me like that. Not now. Not here.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you, cariño,” he whispers an inch from my face. My whole body trembles. In a blink, he leans back in his chair as if the whole interaction didn’t happen.

“When did you start dancing?” He asks without giving me a moment to recover.

“Um, I started taking ballet when I was around four years old. When I was seven, I tried contemporary.” I take a deep breath. Ballet makes me think about my mom. I miss her.

“I had to take a few years off. I didn’t start dancing again until high school when I got a job cleaning a dance studio. The owner let me take one free class a week.”

“You have a lot of natural talent.”

“You’ve only seen me dance one time.”

“That one time was very informative.”

“I bet,” I say, shaking my head and grinning. “All of that is stuff I’ve picked up along the way. I joined the King’s crew halfway through my freshman year here at Newhouse.”

“The King’s crew. Those were the guys you hung out with at the club?”

“Yeah. We have girls in our crew too.”

Hart glances up at the large clock at the front of the room. Class is about to get out. We’ve been talking for almost an hour. It feels like minutes. “Do you want to grab a sandwich at The Round Table? I’ll even get you another one of those brownies you like.”

“Tempting but I can’t. I have plans. Anyway, sharing a brownie with you was a one-time thing. Don’t expect me to do that again.”

“That’s a shame. I would share with you.” I close my notebook on the page that is still blank and drop it in my backpack. “What are you doing for lunch?” I can’t tell if he is worried about what I’m eating or who I’m going to spend my time with.

“I’m having lunch with Sydney and some other girls from our dorm. We try to meet up once a week to check in and gossip. I’m sure they will ask about you. They always do.” I grumble.

“What are you going to tell them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I’m teasing him, but his face is beyond serious. I lean into him, wrap one hand around his bicep under his sleeve, and drape the other one over his forearm. “I value your trust, Hart. If you think I would risk that by telling the girls something, you don’t know me at all.” I rub my thumb over the goosebumps erupting over his skin.

“Gracias cariño.”

When class ends Hart and I split off in opposite directions. He said he would save me a seat in Anderson’s class. That small gesture makes me feel giddy. I float through the quad on fluffy clouds and over rainbows until I reach our favorite table.

Sitting across from Sydney at lunch, I realize how much I’ve kept from her. My best friend. Sydney doesn’t know much about the kids I’m helping, my fears, or where I come from.

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