Page 38 of Strike Zone

“So you’re going to marry the guy?” My fingers flex around the cool metal of the cart. Why does this bother me? I can try to fool myself all day long saying it’s me being concerned for a friend. That ain’t it and I know it. I’m just too afraid to say it out loud.

I throw a few more bags of chips into the cart before we move on to the cookie and candy aisle.

She hesitates before answering, “Yes?” The word comes out more like a question and that little inflection in her voice offers me hope.

Hope for what? You are going over to her place to attempt to hook up with her roommate, you idiot.

“I still don’t see how you can say yes to marrying someone you don’t even know, let alone not in love with.”

“Is that your plan? Marry for love?”

“Yes,” I say confidently.

“The trail of broken hearts left in your wake makes me wonder if you’re capable.”

“I may not act like it now but I do want that someday.” I want what my parents have. I’ve watched them fall in love over and over again every day. They fight and argue, but they love hard. Even through the tough times they find a way to still laugh together.

Wren grabs a couple bars of dark chocolate and I pick up a bag of chocolate peanut candies.

“Not everyone is suited for that kind of relationship. I’m being practical.”

“Practical," I scoff. "Love should be wild. So wild it consumes every part of you,” I say, stepping closer to her. “Yet, rooted deep enough in your heart it won’t be ripped away when the weather gets rough. There’s no room for practicalities in love.”

“Maybe I prefer being sensible.” She lifts her chin in defiance.

“You mean settling. You’re willing to settle for some guy that isn’t going to be loyal to anyone but himself. You are setting yourself up to live a very lonely life.” Her eyes turn to stone and she huffs an angry breath. Too bad. She needs to hear this.

“You can keep pretending that it’s what you want. That you prefer a life of solitude. I’ve watched you, birdie. You light up around other people when you give them a chance.”

I saw it when she was dancing around the kitchen. Witnessing her drop her guard and not worry about who’s watching or what anyone is thinking, it was a revelation. An awakening occurred in my soul. Seeing Wren come alive set off a stirring inside of me that's impossible to explain.

It’s tempting to pull her close to me again. I like the way she felt when she was wrapped up in my arms while we danced in my kitchen.

Without the pretense of dancing, I’m not sure how she would react. Instinctively I step closer. Her eyes scan my body and she bites down on her lip. Her grip tightens on the shopping cart.

Why are you so tempting to me?

“I’m not pretending.” Her jaw tenses. “I’ve always been better on my own. My teachers even wrote it on my report cards growing up. ‘Doesn’t play well with others. Better with independent studies.’ Can we drop it? We should focus. We still need a few more things and Charlie is waiting. Are you going to push or do you want me to?”

“I’ll push. You hop on the back.” I gesture toward the end of the cart.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. Get on. Prove those teachers wrong and play with me.”

“One aisle,” she says, stepping on to the rail at the end of the cart. “Don’t go too fast either.”

“It’s cute how you keep making all these rules for me to break,” I say before sprinting down the empty aisle. She shrieks when I take the corner hard and fast. “Having fun yet?” I ask as we zoom down the next aisle and back around to where we started.

“So much,” she says sarcastically, with a slight curl to her lips.

Hopping off the cart, she reaches on her tiptoes to grab a bag of cookies on the top shelf. Even at five-nine she can barely get her fingers to graze the side of the packaging.

Her shirt rises just enough to expose a sliver of her skin. It’s barely an inch, but with her it might as well be a mile. That tiny bit of skin is enough to give me a slight chub. Damnit. This girl teleports me back to middle school every time we hang out.

“A little help would be nice,” she grunts, as the cookies get pushed further back with her efforts.

Standing behind her, I slide a hand around her waist. I allow myself one touch to see if her skin is as soft as it looks. And it is. Of course it is. I know I’m tempting my fate as I stroke my thumb over her.

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